Page 31 of Fixation

If any other person told me there were people after him, I’d call him a liar. This isn’t a movie. This is real life, where being chased or stalked isn’t the rule. It’s the exception.

I believe Anderson.

He’s as vicious as they come, fucking me to the wall, sucking on my bottom lip like he’s possessed.

And he’s telling me the truth.

When he grabbed me from my doorstep, he needed me badly. Yet he didn’t kiss me there. Didn’t force me inside through the front door where anyone could see us.

No.

Quick as lightning, he snatched me from the street.

“Who’s out there?” I whisper, my voice clipped. Being pounded like this makes to breathe. To focus about anything other than this need for him. “Who could be worse than you?”

“A compliment.” His eyes light up. “Is that a way of thanking your doctor?”

“You—”

“Be a good girl, Miss Arlington. Take my cock.” He thickens inside me. “Tell me you missed me.”

“What is wrong with you?” What is wrong with me for clinging to him? For having another orgasm to build inside me?

“I see,” he snaps, and what little emotion was in his expression is gone.

The pace of his thrusts slows while he reaches down, bending to get my panties out of his jeans.

“You’ve earned it.” The scrunched material is a weapon in his fist.

“Anderson—”

“Punishing you is a fucking turn-on.” He fills my mouth with my underwear. Instead of fighting him, I pin my heels to his ass. Tears roll down my cheeks for letting him do this to me. “You make everything worth it. You’re so good, even when you’re bad.”

He removes his hand from my mouth.

I bite my underwear harder when I should be spitting them out.

Dammit.

“Harper.” My name is a prayer on his tongue. His eyebrows lower. “Fucking milk me. Beg me to fuck babies into you. I need it. I need you.”

My pussy clenches around him at the word babies .

Talking about breeding me is his kink. Another mind-fuck. A way to control me.

He’s been to my house. Invaded my privacy in every sense of the word. He knows I’m on the pill. Has to.

“Harper.” He lights up my nerve endings, each and every one of them. “Be a good whore for me and come on my cock.”

I must be losing it because this orgasm he’s demanding, it can’t be contained. There’s no holding back. I whimper.

And he just ruts harder and faster, claiming me. Taking what isn’t his.

“Good girl. Gonna come in your tight little cunt.” He swipes his tongue along my swollen lips. Tastes my used, ruined panties. “You’re going to take every drop. You’ll let it run down your thighs when you go to bed tonight. You’ll think of me. Fucking dream of me. Our future children and me.”

His merciless way of fucking me heightens every sensation.

My need for him is all-consuming. It explodes out of me in the shape of violence.

Hands on his shoulders, my nails sink into him. I hurt him through his hoodie as I lose myself in him.

The pain I inflict only turns him on more. He parts his lips, sinks his teeth into my gag, and steals it from my mouth. Takes my panties in his palm, never letting go when he moves to grab my hip, pressing them to my skin.

Anderson looks like a wild animal. Out of control, slamming into me. Kissing me.

Devouring me.

I’ve never felt this cherished. Desired. Needed.

The most brutal stroke happens when he comes. His cum spills into me, so much of it that it trickles down my thighs. My obsessive stalker groans into my mouth, and my body leans into him.

He makes it hard to hate him. Hard to let go, even when he sets me down on the ground. Even when he pries my hands off him and helps me back into my clothes.

My jaw drops when Anderson stuffs my panties into his pocket after arranging his jeans.

“Beautiful,” he murmurs, almost to himself, his eyes glazing over me. Burning me through my rumpled clothes. As if he can’t help himself, he cups my cheeks in his large palms, tipping my head up. My silly heart trips over itself. “Beautiful.”

My emotions are too complicated to put into words, but I have to know— “What are we doing?”

“Whatever I decide we do.” Another wave of heat and longing and terror claims me when Anderson lowers his lips to mine.

“You have to be more careful, Harper. Or I’ll have to restrain you to your hospital bed again.

I won’t have my patient running around at night.

Risking herself. It’d be irresponsible of me. ”

“Oh my God.” My head pounds with confusion. “What the fuck, Anderson?”

In a complete one-eighty, he reaches for the floor. His bag is there, which, of course, I didn’t notice.

I noticed him.

Anderson is a whirlwind. A black hole that sucks out everything else, leaving only him.

He’s back to standing, to towering over me, pinning me in place. One hand on my throat, his grip possessive.

With the other one, he reaches for his phone.

His. Phone.

“Seriously?” His obsession with me keeps me on high alert throughout the day. And though he scares me, I’ve grown used to him. Attached. I loathe the idea of him splitting his attention between me and someone else. “You’re on your phone? Now?”

“Be quiet, kitten.”

I do as he says. Whatever upsets Anderson has to be terrible. It scares me down to my core.

His eyes are on his phone, his face illuminated by the pale glow of the screen.

When he’s back to staring at me, the feeling of being neglected disintegrates into nothing.

I’m the center of his world again. “Stay here. I’ll be right back.”

“Why?”

“Say you’ll stay.” His gaze warns me this isn’t a game. He’s serious.

I nod. “I will.”

He holds onto me for a second longer, his face hardening.

And then he takes off. Long, elegant strides. Broad shoulders squared. Dr. Maguire walks like a man built to destroy something. Who fears nothing and no one.

Somehow, though, tonight, he seems wary too. And protective, more than he usually is.

Where’s he going anyway? What’s he going to do? Leave me here until he—what? Canvassed the area? Is he an undercover FBI agent? Is being a doctor a front for something darker? More dangerous?

What’s going on?

Before my thoughts spin out of control, he reappears in the alley.

A hand on the side of my neck. His lips firm on mine.

I won’t ever be kissed like that. I won’t ever get over how elegant his fingers are. He holds my neck like I’m precious. Like he could snap it at any moment.

“Go home.” He turns me around by my shoulders.

“No one’s out there that I’ve seen. But…

” It’s sinister, the way his mouth brushes my ear.

“You look freshly fucked, kitten. And while I’m wearing my mask and hoodie, while they might never realize it’s me, I’m not taking any chances with you.

Soon, though, the whole world will know you’re mine. ”

“Who are they ?” I try to turn my head. He pushes it back to where it was with his hand, controlling my movements. “You have to tell me. Do I need to hire security?”

“No need. I’ll be the one protecting you from now on. Go home, Harper, before I decide to take you with me again.” His low, rugged growl does the worst, unspeakable things to me. A second later, I feel the weight of my phone in my pocket. “Oh, and don’t you dare wipe my cum off your thighs.”

With his last gentle push, I start walking.

I don’t look back.

But I do look out the window once I’m home.

Because would you look at that, I’m the stalker now, hoping to catch a glimpse of him.

Something, anything.

Anderson never shows up.

I’ve never regretted a single decision or a single step I’ve taken in my entire life.

My mistakes are a part of who I am. They’re what makes me human.

Take one of my bestselling designs, for example.

Three years ago, I picked up the wrong hammer and ruined the texture. I tried to fix it by sawing it in a wave shape—I was a California girl, so it only made sense that the ocean would come to my rescue.

Right?

Wrong. I hated it. I was about to throw it away.

Mom walked in when I was holding it over the trash can.

Wait. What if you bend it a little? Yes, like that. Make a ring out of it. Add a gemstone or a few cyan crystals.

Together, we sat at my workbench. She encouraged me while I turned it into a piece I could be proud of.

So, yeah. Mistakes are good. They teach you about life.

Letting Anderson catch me out there in the street is another mistake I’ll never regret.

I toss and turn in my bed, my blankets twisting around my body worse than before. They cling to me, right where I’m sore.

Where I’m clean.

Of course I went against his orders. Of course I scrubbed him off me.

My skin hums when I imagine him there, waiting to punish me.

I shake my head. Push a strand of hair behind my ear.

Seeking his approval is insane.

It’s unstoppable.

He latched on like a parasite, and now he’s inside me. Everywhere.

The sun hasn’t risen yet. The pink and orange hues of dusk should arrive in about an hour or so.

The wise thing to do would be to pull my blanket over my head. Play some white noise on my phone. Give sleep a shot.

I’ll try, and I’ll fail.

Better put this restless energy to good use. To work.

The dark summer collection I’ve been sketching and working on waits for me in the back of my head.

The one that’s inspired by my stalker.

“Let’s go,” I murmur to myself.

My rug is soft beneath my feet as I roll out of bed. I run my fingers through my hair, which has dried since the shower.

There’s nothing to do about the knots, so I twist my hair into a messy bun.

A loose strand dangles in front of my eye, and I brush it behind my ear. I groan, resenting the ghost of Anderson’s finger. Missing it.

I drop my hand, then cross my arms over my chest.

The encounter with Anderson has left me sensitive. The feel of my night shorts brushing the tops of my thighs, my white matching top moving along my peaked nipples…it’s a lot.

I have to get out of here. To create.

Then why do I gravitate toward the wall that’s connecting our houses?

Why does my hand flatten on it like I’ll feel him on the other side?

I’m a fool. A reckless girl in love with the devil.

As if I’m being chased, I sprint out of my room, and instead of going to my studio, I race down the stairs. Away from him, the source of my panic.

When I reach the first floor, I put my hand over my chest. Breathe in. Breathe out.

“You’re fine,” I whisper. “Absolutely fine.”

Except I’m far from being fine. I’m talking to myself, for fuck’s sake.

But since I’m pretending that I am—otherwise, I’d lose it for real—I head toward the kitchen.

And stop dead in my tracks in the foyer.

There’s someone outside my door.

The porch glows under the lantern’s flicker. A shadow looms behind the frosted glass beside my door.

A broad silhouette, unmoving. Watching.

A scream lodges in my throat. My hand flies to my collarbone, but no voice comes out.

This isn’t the man Anderson warned me about.

It’s Anderson himself. The scariest and most attractive one of them all.

A hand slams on the glass, in the same way I flattened on my wall a minute ago.

Only difference is this one is bigger. More terrifying.

Monstrous.

His hand has the power to choke me.

To love me.

“Harper,” he says, and at the same time, I find my voice.

I scream.