Page 36 of Fixation

HARPER

A nderson killed a man.

He killed someone I know, and I don’t actually care. I should. I pretended that I did.

I screamed and shouted, true. It was the logical thing to do.

It was the shadow of the old me acting out.

That woman, the wise, sensible me, would think it’s fucking insane.

That Anderson is fucking insane.

Deep down, I don’t care. Not one bit.

He killed him and though it jarred me when I first heard of it, now I’m relieved.

I’m not sure if that terrifies me or just confirms what I’ve become. His .

He protected me. He’s helping me like I asked him to.

He made me want him.

He’s the worst and the best.

With him, I’m being stripped of my responsibilities. He saves me time and again.

I’ve fallen for Anderson.

Doesn’t mean I’m any less terrified of him.

My chin quivers as I fight to keep my face still. I’m exposed, my clothes shredded by his hands and scissors.

I’m restrained, captured.

His.

I’m so wet for it.

“What are you doing?”

At my question, he pauses. A God kneeling between my thighs.

“You’re right.” Anderson turns to examine the syringe that’s sitting on top of the cart. “This, this is wrong.”

“Uh—really?”

“Yes.” He nods. “This position. It’s wrong.”

“Oh.”

The tilt of his head is ominous.

“This isn’t the right position to take your virgin ass.” His eyes scan my face like he’s choosing which part to break first. My stomach flips. Horror and lust crash into each other. “I won’t be able to keep your ankle elevated and punish you at the same time this way.”

Two short sentences. That’s all it takes to knock the air out of me.

“I never said you could take me there. There’s—” My gaze darts frantically around the room. “There’s no lube here. I’m not ready. I don’t—you wouldn’t.”

It’s so depraved. And what’s worse is not the missing lube. That isn’t what makes my stomach twist and flutter.

It’s the promise of pain. The danger of being completely at this man’s mercy.

“I said I won’t harm you.” His voice is as cold and impersonal as the first time I was here. “I won’t do that to my favorite patient. I do have lube here.”

Anderson pulls out a drawer. He places the bottle on the cart next to a new, empty syringe, as if this is just another day at the hospital.

“No more questions from now on.” Fisting his thick cock through his sweats, he adjusts himself. I ache to run my tongue along his length. Fearing him is such a turn-on. “No more doubts. You were the one who came to me. Let me help you.”

I’m flushed. It extends beyond my cheeks and neck this time. Heat floods my skin as I watch Anderson release my ankle from the restraint.

He’s being considerate. Careful. I feel like a delicate bracelet in his hands.

The Velcro screeches, the sound coming from my wrists. It’s pulling me out of my musings.

He’s on top of me. Looking after me.

My strangled breaths have Anderson’s eyes flaring. I pant for him. Long for him.

“This is the best course of treatment.” His strong legs keep him upright while he’s finishing up.

My heart beats loud and fast when Anderson leans in. His arms cage my face. Locking me between them.

His scent and stare are so hot that my brain short-circuits.

“Be a good fucking patient.” I feel the weight of his cock on my thigh. His lips are soft as they brush mine. “Don’t resist me.”

Everywhere our bodies touch is another thread tying me to him.

Our connection is explosive. It brings me to life.

It brings me to my metaphorical knees for him.

I must be losing my mind.

I am.

A laugh bubbles out of me. Anderson quirks an eyebrow.

His eyes are piercing. Determined. Curious. “You’re scared.”

“You’re going to hurt me,” I snap. “You’re going to drug me. How the hell am I supposed to feel?”

“I told you I wasn’t going to drug you.” His smirk is wicked. He sees through me, how turned on I am. “That isn’t how I’ll be using the syringe today.”

No, it isn’t. When Anderson rises to grab the syringe, he doesn’t pinch me with it. Instead, he snaps it in half and puts it back in its place.

Gasping, I’m flipped onto my stomach, my wounded ankle in his grip the entire time. In his possession.

I’m not the least bit surprised that it doesn’t hurt. He knows what he’s doing. He knows me.

He’s the one I came here for.

“What do we have here?” Anderson’s thumb caresses my ankle. With his free hand, he shoves two fingers into my pussy. “Ah, a filthy patient. So wet.”

I’m so embarrassed that I hide my face in the pillow that still smells of me.

His clinical touch on my ankle makes me shiver.

“I’m not filthy.”

“Tsk, tsk.” I groan into the pillow when he shoves his fingers deeper. He lets go of my ankle, running his hand higher up my leg. Anderson stops at my thigh while keeping my ankle elevated. “No lying.”

“Please.” My voice is muffled. By the pillow. By my arousal. My shame. By how much I like being vulnerable around him.

“Hmm. You think you deserve mercy?” He pulls his fingers out of my sex, smearing my arousal over one ass cheek. Then the other one. “You’re asking for a gentle touch? You want your doctor to take it easy on you?”

“I—”

“I wasn’t really asking.” One crack and I’m silenced.

Oh. Oh .

He spanked my pussy.

“You won’t get it.” He does it again, hard enough that I can’t even scream. “Any of it. You’ll receive the treatment you need.”

Sick desire spreads through me when he leans into me, lets my foot drop slightly, but not all the way. He’s protecting me.

“What you need is…” His lips are close to my ear. They send pangs of electricity all over my body, and my hips rock into him. Searching for him. “You need to be treated like this doctor’s slut. That’s what you’re going to get.”

I cry out, crying louder when he bites my shoulder.

“Your clothes.” This isn’t an act; his frustration is genuine. “They’re still on. They have to go.”

Anderson rises, slicing the back of my shirt with his scissors, again, so he can peel it off my body entirely. Then my sleeves. My leggings. What’s left of my shirt falls to my sides. Torn. Ripped. Discarded.

“That’s better.” He pauses, but not really. I sense movement behind me. Using his knee, he nudges my leg that’s on the bed to the side. “This way, I have easy access to your cunt.”

He slips a foreign object into my pussy. Slowly.

“What is that?” I cry, my tears spilling on the pillow.

They’re tears of frustration. I want more of him.

As he drags it in and out of me, I try to focus on its shape.

It’s round and sharp at the same time.

Like the plunger a syringe.

“No. Anderson.” My traitorous body leans into his touch. Begging for more of this sickness. More of Anderson’s groans. “Stop. I don’t want this.”

“You mean you can’t want this. Or should I say, couldn’t want this, before you met me.

” He drives it faster, harder, deeper in and out of me.

This thing is nowhere as big as his cock.

It’s a million times more shameful. “Now you can want this and you do. You’re dripping down your thighs. Making a mess like the slut you are.”

“No. No, no, no.”

“Since you won’t stop lying…” The syringe is gone, dropped on the metal cart judging from the clink sound. But I’m not safe. Anderson’s voice warns me that he’s nowhere near done with me. “I’ll have your pussy answer for you.”

He sounds downright menacing.

A shiver crawls over my spine like cold fingers trailing skin. “Don’t hurt me.”

No answer. In a way, this is far more terrifying than when he speaks. I tilt my head to the side, trying to blow my hair out of my face.

I don’t have to try for long. My unhinged protector brushes my hair over my shoulder. My heart gives a painful thud at when I see.

The stethoscope’s earpieces are fixed in his ears. His lips pressed into a fine line.

“Quiet.” He’s back to lifting my thigh.

He’s positioning something between my thighs.

Another foreign object is being pushed into my sex.

A round, cold surface that I’m familiar with. The chest piece of his stethoscope.

“You can’t—” My breath hitches as he slides it over my walls, pressing it to them. “You can’t do this. Your stethoscope is inside me.”

“I said quiet.” The crack of his hand on my ass is harsh.

He’s disciplining me, as if I’m an unruly patient.

The way he’s looking at me, with his brow low and a reproachful glare, solidifies it.

He has every right to do it. I want him to do it.

“That means you aren’t allowed to make a sound, Miss Arlington. ”

I twist my head as far as it goes to look at the outline of his cock. He’s hard. Big. Dampening his sweats.

He’s aching for me.

And he doesn’t let me get lost in him. He yanks me back to the present moment, back to the filth of what our reality is.

Anderson shoves the stethoscope deeper. Skimming it over the wet, soft parts of me. Desire shoots through me, lighting me every nerve ending.

His eyes narrow. His biceps flex as he works to hold one of my legs up. While he searches for something inside me.

I’m not sure what makes me hotter, his sinful exam or his cock jerking.

“Desperate,” he concludes, pulling the stethoscope out of me.

Our gazes lock. He doesn’t so much as blink when he sucks the wet diaphragm into his mouth.

He’s obscene and mouthwatering as he licks it, ignoring my small cries of, “Please, Anderson. Dr Maguire. Please.”

He pops the stethoscope out of his mouth, but only when it suits him. Slowly, he removes it from around his neck and discards it on the cart.

“Now that we’ve established that desperation is your diagnosis.” The sight of the syringe sends a spark of fear through me. He talked about fucking my ass, but no, not this. Not this. “I’m going to put this back in your pussy.”

It’s humiliating, how relieved I am. How grateful I am that he’ll only be putting it in that hole.

The most humiliating part, though? I liked having it there.

“Such a good girl.” A few inches in, and Anderson stops. Curses under his breath.