Page 32 of Fixation

ANDERSON

S howing up at Harper’s home when she’s already up means one thing.

I’m late. I should’ve been here earlier to take care of what’s mine.

Swapping her birth control pills would’ve come first. Second, I’d hug her while she slept.

But I fucked up. She’s awake.

I would’ve gotten here sooner, but I had to catch a couple of hours of sleep. Except I never got to actually sleep. I was in hell.

In what had to be the longest nightmare of my life, I got a clear vision of what would happen if I failed to protect Harper.

Sergey and Stas had her bound to an old bed. They forced me to watch as both of them raped her. Held my eyes open with duct tape, and my wrists and ankles tied to a chair.

She wasn’t moaning for them. Wasn’t coming.

She was bleeding out of her ass.

Crying in real pain.

Her gaze was anguished.

Unlike the times I had her, there was nothing sexy about that.

I woke up drenched in sweat, showered, threw on my scrubs, and slung my backpack over my shoulder. Then I scanned the entire neighborhood for either one of them.

Stas, that son of a bitch, stayed gone. If I had to guess, he’d only shown up to threaten me.

He didn’t see me last night, but I saw him. After telling Harper to wait for me, I jogged to the closest payphone and called in suspicious activity. The police cruiser must’ve been enough to scare the lurking bastard off.

Only after making sure no one was stalking us did I head to Harper’s front door.

Which is why I’m late. Why I’m here now, listening to her light footsteps padding down the stairs. Watching her shadow move through her home.

Watching her shadow move inside her home.

My muscles tense in anticipation. Anyone passing by could see my cock straining in my scrubs.

I was deep inside Harper’s tight pussy a few hours ago, and it’s as if I’ve never been there at all.

The closer she gets, the more my body prepares to take her.

My skin is tight over my muscles. My ribs expand to fit the size of my heart. It’s pounding hard to a savage beat.

She’s in there, less than a foot away.

“Harper.”

What a beautiful sound, to have her scream for me.

Her terror does unthinkable things to my head. My sanity slips.

The need to pick her lock like I’ve done dozens of times and take her physically hurts. The pounding in my ears is excruciating. The itch of my fingers won’t go away.

Having control over her body would soothe the beast in me. But it’s her mind I’m interested in playing with today.

“Harper, enough.”

My command works. Harper is quiet, as if I have my hand on her mouth.

Her silhouette stays in place.

She’s waiting for me. My God.

“Harper. Open the door.”

A second of hesitation, then—“No. No.”

“Yes.” With my palm on the glass, I feel her. Enough to know that her heart beats loudly. That she’s a mess.

That this game turns her on.

“You can’t keep doing this to me.” Her voice is shaky. “You—I’m losing my mind, Anderson. You helped me when I was sick. I’m not sick anymore. Why do you keep stalking me? Why are you doing this? Can’t we be normal?”

This is another version of her why me question.

It has me slamming my hand on the glass, hard.

Who else? Who the fuck else?

“This is what we have, Harper. For better or worse.” It’s the simplest way to put it.

“I’m turning into this person I don’t recognize,” she whispers. The shape of her shadow grows as she comes closer. “You’re a good man, and you’re the worst. It’s wrong to want you. It’s wrong to be okay with the things you’ve done to me.”

I won’t tell her to open the door. To give me her mouth.

To see if she’d been a good girl, or if she washed me from her thighs. Her pussy. I already have the answer to that. The muted sound of water rushing through pipelines earlier gave her away. My cum isn’t dripping down her thighs.

That’s okay.

I’ll punish her for it.

Another day.

Today, I want to see her more than anything. Then I can sneak back into her house and swap her pills without feeling that painful craving all over.

“Come to the window,” I order.

A bird chirps in one of the trees outside. The dark of the night breaks, softening.

And Harper makes me wait. She’s testing my patience.

Getting me hard as a rock.

“Why?”

“I want to talk to you.” That’s the truth. I can’t play mind games if we’re not talking. I can’t fully embed myself in her life if I stay silent.

“You-you what?” She hears the honesty in my voice, and it flusters her. Fuck me, I’d give a kidney to witness her flushed cheeks. “Just talk?”

“Just talk.” I’m done waiting, heading toward the window.

Without another word, Harper follows. Her fingers hook on the curtain, and she drags it to the side.

Staying in place, as stoic as I am, requires every bit of my restraint.

My mouth is set in a firm line. Jaw tight.

My heart is a violent beast, thrashing against my ribcage.

Her beauty destroys me from the inside. Those full parted lips. Her hitched breath. The outline of her nipples through her thin top.

Breaking the window and eating her alive is so fucking tempting.

Patience.

I stare at her in silence. The look I’m giving her should be the same one I gave the cadavers I dissected in med school. That’s what I’m aiming for, anyway. Planting fear in her heart is addictive.

And it works.

She shivers at that, hugging her body.

“You said you wanted to talk.” Her voice is clearer through the glass than it was through the thick front door. I catch the wobble in her confidence and I savor it. “So talk.”

Something changes inside me.

There will be time to chase her fear later.

Right now, with the morning so quiet it feels holy, I want something softer.

Her.

A piece of her heart. Something I could never steal just by stalking her.

I choose the first question that comes to mind. “Why did you become a jewelry designer?”

Her quick huff tells me so many things about her. An abundance of stories. I don’t ask a follow-up question, though.

I wait.

“No, no, no. You? Judging me?” She switches the placement of her arms, pressing her hands to her hips. “No. I don’t want to talk about it. It’s none of your business, and I do not?—”

“Be quiet.” At my sharp tone, Harper closes her pretty mouth.

My brow furrows, blood pumping into my biceps.

Her confession is as interesting as it’s disturbing.

“Judging you? Harper, I am so fucking proud of you for everything that you do. I never said and never will say that you chose wrong. Who did? Give me their names.”

She said she didn’t run from anyone in LA. But she is hurt. She does carry a mean comment around with her, and I won’t have it.

“No one.” She shifts her weight from one foot to the other.

My head tilts. A silent command.

Eventually, she obeys, crouching until we’re at eye level.

I have her attention. I’m never letting go. “Names, Harper.”

She leans in closer, green eyes glimmering in the low lights of the house. “You can’t kill everyone I went to school with, Anderson.”

At that last comment, pride swells my chest. She believes I’m capable of killing people for her. She realizes that, as long as I breathe, I will bury the monsters in her life.

“That’s where you’re wrong.”

Before I can think better of it, I press a hand on her window. Right next to her face. I need her.

“Anderson.” The corners of her eyes crinkle. Harper’s no longer glowering or showing signs she fears me. She’s smiling. Edging closer. Her nose almost touches the glass. “It’s old news. Some crap they wrote about me in the yearbook.”

“I swear on my life, Harper.” I’m not used to this. Being useless. Idle. Standing out here, doing nothing, puts my whole body on edge. “I’ll stay here, parked outside your home, until you start giving me names.”

“You’re insane, you realize that?” Her nose twitches with disbelief.

My heart lurches at that, fingers digging into the glass. “I’m persistent and resourceful, yes.”

“Yes, you are. Look, I’m sorry for snapping. I—” She closes her eyes, shaking her head. When she opens them, they’re wide, mildly horrified. “I can’t fucking believe I’m apologizing to…to you.”

My cock jerks. Every part of me is elated that I’ve turned her into this.

Into being mine.

“What I’m trying to say is, they aren’t important anymore.”

“They.” The word is bitter on my tongue. “It’s always they .”

Something in my voice must get to her, because she’s as close to me as she can be. Sitting on her windowsill, her nose lightly pressed to the glass.

“ They hurt you,” she deadpans, looking at me. Seeing through me.

Infuriating.

“This isn’t about me. Speak.”

Her suppressed smile messes with my psyche. Melting parts of me that I’ve spent years trying to ice over.

“Okay.” We’re a lot alike, Harper and I. She’s quick to rearrange her features. To hold the cards close to her chest. “I never cared about fitting in, or my GPA, or extracurricular activities. I sketched during classes and lunch breaks. I experimented with soldering at home.”

She pauses, waiting for me to ask what soldering is. I’m silent.

Not because I don’t care what the term means. It’s because, as soon as I had cameras in her house, I immediately started researching who she was and what she did for a living.

That’s how I learned that soldering is the process of joining metals together. With the damn blowtorch I want as far from her as possible.

“You know what soldering is. Of fucking course,” she mumbles to herself, her voice a gorgeous mix of amusement and hesitation. “Anyway. They made fun of the blisters on my fingers. Of the dark circles around my eyes. I’m—I thought I was over it. Then you asked me about it, and I snapped.”

What she doesn’t say is that she cares about my opinion. She’s having a hard time coming to terms with that. With the fact that she’s more than a warm body to me. More than tits and curves and a pussy I want to pound from sunup to sundown.

Nothing about it feels warm and fuzzy. My heart rages on her behalf. She was bullied.