Page 70 of Fixation

I don’t want this.

“That’s enough.” I’m breathless when he yanks my fingers out of my mouth.

Get a fucking grip, Harper.

Anderson raises my fingers, twisting my hand gently. When he examines me, the darkness retreats from his eyes. They’re as impersonal as can be.

Cold and detached.

That’s impossibly worse, being his patient again. He’s making it out to be as if nothing’s happened just now.

As if he wasn’t the first man I gave a hand job to.

As if he weren’t the first man to make me come.

He confuses me down to my core by being indifferent as he places my hand on the bed beside me.

His gaze remains on my face. I feel more exposed than ever, quickly shoving my shirt and sweatshirt down my body.

Raising my sweats will take too much wriggling. I’m exhausted, so I reach for the blanket. When I grab for it, the swift shake of his head is an order to stop.

I resent him.

I listen to him.

The blanket falls on top of my legs. My wet underwear is out in the open.

My hand lands on the soft sheets of the bed.

His lips press together. His expression is unreadable.

For a second.

He’s making a sound of approval in the back of his throat. “Glad we got that out of the way.”

My orgasm? His? Am I just here to tend to his sick needs?

These thoughts bounce around in my head, driving me crazy.

“Got what out of the way?” I stifle a scream. Drown the urge to reach for him.

To beg him to explain—please, for the love of God—what he’s doing to my head.

“Your lesson in trust. You passed, Harper. You’re the one who let me shove your fingers in your mouth. You sucked and licked them.” The words come out flat. A simple explanation fora simple truth. “Now, you’re going to let me clean you up, here on the bed. When you’re ready, when you’re better, you’ll have your shower. With me there.”

The double entendre in the wordbetterechoes loud and clear.

Better physically, as in not sick.

Better mentally, as in when I want him.

“You can’t just make me.”

“Wasn’t I clear? This isn’t up to you.” His eyes darken. “Or do I need to tie you up for that?”

Yes, you bastard. I’ll die before I submit to your deranged orders.

The insults sit at the tip of my tongue.