Page 49 of Fixation

HARPER

I ’ve been sleeping.

For how long? No clue.

A lifetime, maybe.

This wasn’t a drug-induced sleep.

I’m just bone tired. Groggy. My limbs are heavy.

“Harper.”

Lips on my temple. They’re warm. Softer than the tingling stubble that grazes my skin as Anderson trails kisses along my cheek. My jaw.

After we left the hospital, he brought me here, wherever here is. Since then, I’ve been floating. Switching between consciousness and unconsciousness.

Nothing hurts too bad. There’s no pressure on my skull.

I’m not dying.

But oh my God, closing my eyes. That feels nice.

What’s really happened while I’ve been out, though?

Anderson could’ve done anything to me. Could’ve put me in my bed. Or his. Or dragged me to the basement.

He could’ve either nursed my injuries or fucked my helpless body.

With him, nothing’s guaranteed.

Loving a psychopath comes with a price.

One I’m paying now. Happily.

“Where am I?” Opening my eyes is a struggle. I let my eyelids stay where they are. I trust Anderson. I don’t fight it.

Velcro tears. Someone rubs my left wrist. Kisses it. Soothes it. Soft and claiming.

My body is hot for him. My soul is all warm and tingly.

I guess I have my answer. I’m in the basement. With Anderson.

The first time he did it, I was terrified. Panicked. I was sure this would be where I died. I didn’t. With Anderson, I’ve become more alive than ever.

I’m the best version of me, and it’s all thanks to him.

My eyes remain closed as he smooths a finger over my right wrist. When he kisses it, then brushes his lips to mine.

Only then do I force them open, eager to see him. “Hey.”

“Hey.” Anderson is already at the foot of the bed. He works on undoing the restraints on one of my ankles.

Tearing. Rubbing. Kissing.

My heart swells at his furrowed brow. At his intense concentration, how he’s focused on me.

This thing we have is unorthodox.

Him, kidnapping me for no fucking reason. Me, loving it.

“We’ll be having guests soon,” he says.

“Guests?”

My question prompts him to raise his head and look at me. The corner of his lips tips up. “Yes.”

“Who?” The indignation in my voice is because I don’t want guests. I want him.

His games. His sickness.

He sees right through me. Which is why he’s ignoring me. He’s playing into it, being stoic and silent while working on my other ankle.

Desire pools between my legs as I plan out our fake fight.

When I’m ready to start our games, that’s when I kick him as hard as I can.

Anderson wasn’t injured in the accident like I was. Hasn’t slept for an eternity like me, either.

His instincts are sharper, his grip stronger. He catches my foot before it hits his chest. A broad chest that’s covered in a crisp button-down white shirt.

“Argh!” I give the other foot a try.

With his free hand, he grabs that one too, raising it to his mouth. He swipes his tongue over one ankle, then the other.

Slow, sensual, commanding.

Chill runs up my spine. The obscenity of the act silences me.

I’m wet for it. “You didn’t have to lock me up.”

“Well aware.”

I brace myself for more fake fighting. My skin tightens. My need for him is as intense as the look he’s giving me.

Is he going to say Red ?

“Our guests, Miss Arlington.” No, no Red . I don’t know if I’m relieved or disappointed. “Will be your lawyer and mine. And detectives Rockdale and Englewood.”

His voice is as detached as it’s ever been. He lifts my legs higher, then his sinful lips lock around one of my heels and suck. Release.

I moan and clutch the soft sheets of his hospital bed. My nipples poke through one of Anderson’s gray T-shirts. My pussy, I realize too late, is exposed to him. I’ve got no panties on.

“They waited a day.” He kisses my other heel. My toes curl. “I couldn’t hold this interview off any longer. I’m sorry.”

“Why am I here?” He’s immune to my growls. To my bared teeth. And I enjoy fighting him. I wiggle my toes. Press up on my hands. But the way he’s holding me, like some kind of mermaid…I’m trapped. “Why am I a prisoner?”

“A patient.” His scoff is severe. It’s a part of our game.

Relieved tears sting my eyes. He’s as invested in this roleplay as I am. “Why?”

“You’re mine.” He runs a long finger over the arch of my foot, and I whimper, clenching my thighs. “You’ve been bad.”

“How?”

There are risks in getting used to him.

I accept them wholeheartedly, raising my arms for him. That’s my way of telling him he can scoop me up, which he does, after releasing my legs.

“I didn’t do anything.” Fake confusion has my eyebrows scrunching. “I was kidnapped.”

“Consciously, no, you didn’t.” This calm doctor’s voice is messing with my psyche. Hot. We go up the stairs, through the basement door, then climb to the second floor. “You might not have even meant it.”

“Meant what? To have a psycho taxi driver pick me up?” Warm steam welcomes us as Anderson steps into his bathroom. The water is already running. There’s a new bench in the center of it. But I don’t want this back-and-forth to end. “Stop being so cryptic! Just stop it.”

It’s the second time his lips tip up. I can’t help but lean in and steal a kiss. I can’t stop myself from clawing at his neck and biting him.

“No, you didn’t mean to have a thief as your taxi driver.” The word thief comes across as a curse.

“Then?”

Anderson sets me down, hands on my waist to steady me. My ankle is fine. It’s my mind that’s racing. “What did I do?”

“I was worried sick.” His cold expression is gone. “Lost my goddamn mind when he had you.”

He whips off my T-shirt.

“It fucking hurt, Harper.”

I get the full effect of Anderson’s glare. He keeps it on me while he undoes the buttons of his shirt with one hand. His free arm is hooked around my middle, supporting my weight.

He removes his shirt, then his undershirt. Pants. Boxers.

His clothes are left on the vanity. Neat and perfect.

I deny myself touching his hard cock. He could force me. I wish he would.

“Loving you fucking hurts, Anderson.” I mean it. Not because he’s aggressive and rough with me. Because he transforms me. Breaking through my cocoon is a battle.

“All that matters is that you do.”

As he manhandles me into the shower, under the stream, I understand him.

Everything in his life is meticulous.

Everything except our relationship.

What he feels for me can’t be contained inside a neat box. It leaks out like poison filling the room until it drowns us both.

“What now?” I ask.

“Now, we’re going to take a shower.” Looking at me through the water cascading down on us, he cups my cheeks. So much love. He loves me. “Then, when you’re better, I’ll show you how badly it hurts to love you.”