Page 19 of Fixation

“What do you do in your spare time?” I ask, hoping it might save me. Might stop me from losing myself in him.

Before he shoves his fingers in my ass, he goes lower. His finger circles my clit, and I’m falling for his seduction like a fool.

I have to keep talking. Have to snap out of it. “When you’re away from the hospital? You said you were busy. Busy doing what?”

He considers this. Considers some more while his fingers are back to pressing against my ass. While he squirts another load of soap and rubs it into my skin.

“I’m paying off an old debt.”

An old debt? To who? For what?

His gaze says he won’t answer those questions. That I maxed out on the two I had, and that’s it.

“Relax.” This order is harsher than the ones that have come before it. His fingers circle my tight hole. Putting pressure on the rim. “I won’t ask you twice. You can take it like a good patient. You can fight me on it. Either way, I’m going to shove my fingers in your tightest hole.”

The terrifying thing is that he’s telling the truth.

I suck in a deep breath.

As soon as I let it out, he pushes his finger inside me.

“Oh,” I whimper. I cry. “Oh my God. Please, stop.”

“Shh.” He shoves it in and out in purposeful strokes. “Almost done.”

“It stings.” And it’s humiliating. And awful. It’s not supposed to feel so good. “I—please, stop.”

“Why did you move to New York?” He’s ignoring me again. His free hand is firm under my waist, holding me up.

Concentrating on the answer is impossible. Not because he caught me by surprise. In my short stay here, I’ve learned to expect that I have a stalker who knows too much about me. A deranged angel who cares.

My problem is that I’m putting everything into staying still so I won’t start fucking his hand. I have to pretend that the invasion hurts, even though his touch is getting me worked up.

“Answer me.” His clinical voice sends a thrill up my spine.

We stare at each other.

His silence is ominous.

The threat becomes real when he pulls his fingers out of me.

He stares me dead in the eye. A wipe sterilizes his hand. After he’s clean, he soaks the washcloth in the bowl of warm water.

“To be inspired. That’s why I moved. Inspiration,” I groan the answer as he places the cloth on the top of my back.

For years, I underestimated the power of touch.

The effect it could have on me. Apparently, I’ve been desperate for it, for someone to tend to me this intimately.

I need that from him. “I’ve lost it. I want it back. ”

Anderson’s hand holds me up by the crease between my waist and thighs. He dips the washcloth again and returns to my skin.

“The r-r-routine,” I murmur when he slides the wet washcloth down my thighs.

He hums his approval at my moan, completely unaffected. He nods when I clench on air. I never imagined that having my calves washed could be sensual.

It is.

“My creativity…” The sheets scrunch under my grip. “My creativity was dying. I was dying.”

“You weren’t running from anyone?” The tilt of his head suggests he’s genuinely curious. Mildly relieved.

Here he is, my kidnapper, worried that someone might’ve hurt me.

“That’s four questions,” I seethe, hoping I’d wipe that look off his face. The look that pushes me further down that rabbit hole, to that place where I don’t hate him. “You said you had three questions.”

His fingers burrow into my flesh.

I whimper. He smirks, removing the washcloth from my body.

Anderson’s eyes darken. “I also remember telling you that life isn’t fair.”

The need for him burns brighter, devastating me. Wanting him is a violent ache. It turns the butterflies into spiders. The tingling in my spine into knives.

“Please.”

“Did anyone hurt you?” A drop of water lands on my crack.

A horrible tease that has me shaking and squeezing my pussy.

“I’ve got nowhere else to be. That means I can stay here, with you, for hours .

I won’t touch you, won’t go anywhere until you answer me.

Until I’m certain that no one’s out there to hurt you.

As your physician, your health and wellbeing are my top priority. ”

His devotion to me is addictive. It’s terribly wonderful.

If he weren’t here, holding me up, if the bed wasn’t supporting my weight, I would drop to the floor. I’d keep falling and falling and falling.

I have a stranger being extremely protective over me. A doctor who hurts and takes care of me.

Who is this man, even?

I’m paying off an old debt.

I’d linger on those words. I’d try to put two and two together. Except another drop of water trickles down my sensitive crack, over to my pussy, and I can’t. Can’t even focus on breathing.

“No one.” For all my frustration, my voice is nothing but a whisper. “The only person I’m running from is myself.”

Silence. Then he’s scrubbing my pussy clean.

“I’d have killed them for you, you know.

” He isn’t musing. He’s informing me while my mind disintegrates at his touch.

I have no doubt he means it. No doubt whatsoever, with his fierce eyes and the tension in his jaw.

“Would’ve flown over there tonight, found whoever it was who touched you, murdered them, and been back here for breakfast.”

Violence was never my thing. I haven’t watched any horror movies unless my family produced them, and even then, I cover my eyes.

Right now, it’s comforting.

This, hearing a stranger, my captor, say he’d kill people for me…I shouldn’t be reacting to it the way I am. I’m soaking the washcloth. Rocking my hips. Gasping while he watches me with his stony expression.

Anderson cleans my pussy from top to bottom. In round motions. He drops the washcloth to the bed, parting my lips and rolling my clit between his fingers.

His tending to me is sexual. Methodical. He’s debasing me by turning me into this creature I don’t recognize.

This sick doctor-patient fantasy we’re reenacting…in many ways, it’s freedom.

This is the door I couldn’t find anywhere else.

Not in the parks scattered across the city.

Not in the architecture and history and people.

Him. Only him and?—

“Fuck,” I breathe out as he nudges a finger into my ass, twisting it left, then right. “Fuck, fuck, fuck. Stop. Please. I—you were supposed to wash me. Please.”

He pauses. “Is there anything you need from me? Really need from me?”

Your hand in my hair. Your face in my pussy. The ice in your eyes, I want it to thaw. But also, please, let them stay as cold and heartless as they are.

Though what I actually need isn’t something from you. It’s from me. I need to remember who you are and who I am and how the fuck I got here. By being kidnapped.

“I want you to go to hell,” I spit out. “I want you to stop making me feel these things. I don’t want this.”

“Still dirty, I see.” My doctor wipes his fingers a second time, being thorough about it. He dips his hand and scoops water from the bowl. “Let me take care of that problem for you.”

The water splashes over my pussy. His fingers are right behind, rubbing, scrubbing. As if he’s actually trying to clean me.

“No!” My shout quickly transforms into a moan. “Don’t want it. Don’t want you. Leave me alone.”

Trying to crawl out of this bed, I put one hand in front of the other.

Anderson is there to put an end to my miserable escape attempts.

I’m being yanked toward him, the front of his body pinned to my side.

“Lying is such a filthy, dirty thing, Miss Arlington.” The pressure on my hip is gone, his hand is in my hair, shoving me to the pillow. “I’m helping you. You should be thanking me.”

“I don’t want to come.” But I do. I am coming while he fingers me, crying, thrashing. “Please, stop. Please, it’s humiliating. I don’t want it.”

“Yes, you do.” He moves around me, a shadow ghosting across my face.

I’m flipped onto my back, head hanging off the bed, jaw cradled in his hand. I’m speechless.

Anderson isn’t. “You don’t have the right coverage for this kind of care…”

For orgasms. He means orgasms.

If he hadn’t been holding my jaw right now, it would’ve dropped. From fear. From desire.

“But don’t worry.” His voice is rugged. “I accept other forms of payment.”

With his free hand, he pushes his pants down.

Everything in me hates to admit how beautiful his cock is. He’s big and perfect. The skin is smooth over his hard length. A vein cording it. The tip is wet.

“Open.” He taps the head on my closed lips.

“No.” Yes.

My answer is irrelevant. As soon as I part my lips, his dick is inside my mouth. He won’t let me bite him, holding my jaw just the way he wants it, his thumb pushing my teeth out of the way.

“That’s it.” He thrusts in, filling me. Holding still while allowing me to adjust to his girth. Soothing me with a stroke of his thumb. With the weight of him between my lips.

I relax around him, wanting him despite having my common sense scream at me otherwise.

“That’s a good patient. All better. All clean. You’re doing so well. I’d”—he rocks his hips, once—“ fuck , do anything for you.”

He has to be insane. There has to be something fundamentally wrong with him.

My breasts swell. My aching center clenches. I’m just as depraved. As broken.

I drool and moan each time he hits the back of my throat. Relax for him with every praise.

“I’m close, Miss Arlington.” Each word is a jerk of his hips. A way to gag me. To control me. “Yes. Suck harder, baby. Press your lips. Use your tongue. Lick, fucking lick me. Be good. Take it. Yes, you’re doing it. Jesus, you’re so good.”

His grip on my jaw is hard enough to bruise.

“You’re going to swallow.” He barely finishes the sentence.

A growl takes over him. The most feral, satisfied sounds escaping his throat. They reverberate through his body, and I feel every one of them.

I swallow every drop.

“Very good.” I’m sobbing by the time he pulls out. He tucks himself in, his dark eyes softer than before. Just barely. I sob harder for that, for how kind he looks.

“Will you ever let me go?” Worse still, will I ever want to go?

“I promised you I would.” He cups the back of my head, sliding me onto the bed, gently. From there, he towels me off until I’m dry.

“When?”

My eyes are on him, while his are on the new set of clothes he brought me. A small pair of red panties that I recognize as mine.

The gray sweatpants, white T-shirt, and white sweater have to be his.

They’re soft. They’re wrong.

“When you’re healed and rested.” After he puts my new clothes on me, he places me in a chair near the bed, then Anderson gets to changing the sheets on the bed. Then my pillowcase. “When I can stop being your doctor and become something more. When you realize you’re mine.”

“Never.”

I’m back on the bed. He removes the soaked bandage around my arm. Anderson sterilizes the open wound, bandaging me a second time.

“Maybe sleeping it off will help you change your mind.” Alcohol chills my arm, right above the bandage. He inserts a new IV.

“Ow!”

“It’s for your own good.”

To be locked up here? To be sedated by something stronger that’ll keep me unconscious for hours? “No!”

“Shh. It’s okay.”

“No.” Truth is, I’m incredibly sleepy. I didn’t feel the pinch of the needle, though. Must’ve missed it. “No.”

“Not like it matters, but I didn’t sedate you.” His eyes, dark, consuming, and honest, watch me from above. “You’re exhausted. Just another reason why you need me.”

“You didn’t?” My limbs are heavy, but in a good way. It’s me falling asleep. Really me.

“No, Miss Arlington, I didn’t. Get some rest. I’ll be here with dinner when you wake up.” He pulls a new blanket over me.

It smells clean, and it’s impossible to hate him for it. Impossible to cry.

His attention, the softness of it, is painfully addictive. I start forgetting why I hated him in the first place.

Oh, right. He’s kidnapped me.

When I was the most broken I’d ever been. Then he put me back together.

He gave me a vacation from hell.

I even…yeah. I’ll admit it to myself. New ideas are surfacing. Darker designs are born from the quiet down here.

This basement. This silence. It’s waking something up in me.

Bit by bit, I feel my creativity creeping up on me.

And in a way, it feels nice. Returning to my body. To myself.

I’m safe here.

Safe enough to let go.

Safe enough to fall asleep.