10. Willow
10
WILLOW
T he drive home feels endless, my mind spinning with fragments of today’s session. Axel’s words echo in my head, each syllable a caress that makes my skin tingle. The recording in my bag could be a brick of lead for how heavy it feels.
I park in the driveway and grip the steering wheel, breathing shallowly. The tape contains evidence of my unprofessionalism—the way he picked apart my carefully constructed walls like they were tissue paper. No one can hear that recording.
I reach for my bag. The weight of the cassette pulls at me, a physical reminder of my failure to maintain boundaries. Of how much I want to replay his words in the safety of my bedroom, alone with my shameful urges. I climb out of the car and head toward the front door, which opens before I reach it. Mom stands in her flour-dusted apron, wisps of hair escaping her usually perfect bun.
“There’s my girl!” Her smile brightens my mood. “How was work today?”
I force my lips into what I hope passes for a smile. “Great, actually. Really productive sessions.” The lie tastes bitter.
“You look tired, honey.” She brushes a strand of hair from my face, and I fight the urge to flinch. If she only knew the thoughts running through my head, the chaos Axel has stirred within me.
“Just a long day.” I clutch my bag closer. “I’ll freshen up before dinner.”
“Of course, sweetie. Take your time.”
I hurry past her, my heart thundering. The tape feels like it’s burning a hole through my bag, branding me with shame. Yet, I can’t bring myself to let it go.
I stumble into my bedroom, dropping my bag by the desk. The tape and recorder lands with a heavy thud that makes me jump. My heartbeat is erratic as I walk into the bathroom and lock the door behind me.
The bathroom mirror shows a stranger—pink-stained cheeks, dilated pupils, and hair slightly mussed. I barely recognize myself. Cold water splashes against my face but does nothing to calm the fire burning beneath my skin.
“Get it together,” I whisper to my reflection. “He’s a patient. A dangerous one.”
But Axel’s voice keeps replaying in my mind, each word precise and calculated. He looked at me like he could see the unhinged thoughts lurking in the deep recesses of my mind.
I grip the edge of the sink, trying to steady myself. Water drips from my chin as I take deep breaths. In. Out. In. Out. The techniques I teach my patients seem useless now.
“Dr. Matthews,” I practice saying firmly to my reflection. “You will maintain professional boundaries.”
But even as I say the words, my eyes drift to the closed door, knowing the tape recorder sits just beyond it. The temptation to listen to our session again claws at me. I tell myself to analyze him and better understand his manipulation tactics.
I know it’s a lie.
The cool water hasn’t helped at all. If anything, I feel more wound up than before. My skin feels too tight and too sensitive, and every nerve ending seems overstimulated.
“Willow?” Mom’s voice calls from downstairs. “Dinner’s almost ready!”
I press my forehead against the cool mirror. “Coming!” I call back, hoping my voice sounds normal.
How am I supposed to sit through dinner like this? How can I face my mother’s loving concern when I’m coming undone over a psychopath’s words?
I splash my face again and pat it dry. The mirror shows someone almost put together now—almost normal. It’ll have to do.
Downstairs, Mom has set the table with her usual care. Steam rises from a golden-roasted chicken surrounded by creamy mashed potatoes. The familiar sight and smell should be comforting, but my stomach twists.
“Here, let me help.” I grab the serving spoons, needing something to do with my hands.
“You’re quiet tonight.” Mom passes me the potatoes, searching my face with that knowing look that drove me crazy as a teenager.
I focus on scooping food onto my plate. “Just processing everything from today.”
The chicken tastes like cardboard in my mouth. I push it around, keeping up appearances while my mind drifts to the tape upstairs.
“This is delicious,” I state, forcing down another bite.
Mom frowns slightly. “Are you feeling alright? You’ve barely touched your food.”
“Actually...” I set down my fork. “I think I need an early night. This job can be tough mentally.”
“Of course it is, sweetie.” Her hand reaches across the table to squeeze mine. “It’s a big adjustment. Why don’t you head up? I’ll take care of the dishes.”
“Are you sure?”
“Absolutely. Get some rest—adjusting to any job is exhausting, especially as demanding as yours.”
Her concern makes me feel guilty. If only she knew what was really keeping me from eating and sleeping.
“Thanks, Mom.” I kiss her cheek. “Love you.”
“Love you too, honey. Sleep well.”
I head upstairs, my steps quickening as I near my room. The tape recorder waits exactly where I left it.
I change into my pajamas, the soft fabric doing little to soothe my fraying nerves. The tape recorder sits on my desk, a silent temptation mocking me. I should erase the recording and draw a firm line between my professional and private life.
Before I can talk myself out of it, I snatch up the recorder, plug in my headphones, and slide under the covers. Hitting “play,” I fast-forward to the part where Axel starts describing his fantasies—my throat goes dry.
“I’d start by binding you. Arms above your head, legs spread wide. Then, very slowly, I’d use my mouth on you. Everywhere. Teasing you until you’re begging me to let you come.”
My body’s reaction is immediate. A familiar ache settles between my thighs, and I bite my lip, shame warring with infatuation. Axel’s deep baritone wraps around me like a sinful embrace, making me want to abandon protocol.
His voice painting the raw, unfiltered fantasy in my mind makes me hot. My eyes drift shut as his words paint sinful pictures in my mind. A soft groan escapes me, fueling the arousal unfurling inside me.
I lower my hand, my fingers tracing the outline of my pajama pants where they cling to my pussy. I pause before slowly slipping my hand beneath the fabric.
My skin is hot, and my thighs are already damp. One finger traces lazy circles as Axel’s voice coaxes my cravings to the surface.
“You’re imagining it right now. Your pretty little mind is picturing what it’d be like to be used by me. Filled by me.”
I bite my lip, my heart pounding in my chest as I imagine it’s Axel’s body pressing me into the mattress. My finger slips between my folds, finding my aching center. A gasp escapes me at the first touch. My body’s insatiable need startles me.
“I’d eat it like it’s my last meal. Tongue-fucking you until your juices drip down my chin. Sucking your clit until you scream my name.”
His words are my undoing. I give in to the urge and slip two fingers inside myself. I’m so wet, so ready for it. My hips buck into my hand as I stroke my aching clit with my thumb.
I imagine Axel’s strong hands pinning mine above my head. My back arches as I thrust my fingers in and out, desperately seeking release.
“Then, I’d slide my cock inside. Slow at first, watching your face as I stretch you open.”
I bite my lip hard to stifle a moan. My fingers move faster, fueled by his words, my body responding to the dirty images his dialogue conjures.
“But I wouldn’t let you come. Not yet. I’d fuck you toward your orgasm and make you ride the edge, screaming my name.”
“Fuck!” Pleasure explodes through me as I ride out the intense wave. My breath comes in ragged gasps, my heart pounding like a drum in my chest.
My hand slows, my body sated for now, but my mind still racing with the forbidden images Axel has planted there.
I freeze, the reality of what I’ve just done crashing down on me. Shame crawls over my skin like a thousand insects. Quickly, I turn off the recorder, and my fingers hover over the “erase” button—I should do it. It’s the sensible thing to do.
Instead, I carefully place the tape back into its case and hide it like contraband at the back of my nightstand drawer. Like I’m an addict with a secret stash. The irony isn’t lost on me.
I climb back into bed, torn between my guilty conscience and the remnants of arousal still tingling in my body. Axel has invaded my mind, infecting me with cravings I don’t understand.
Sleep eventually takes me, but it’s restless and filled with vivid dreams. Dreams where I’m bound and at Axel’s mercy, his eyes fixed on me with unyielding intensity. Dreams where I cry his name like a prayer, each syllable a testament to my surrender.
When I wake, drenched in sweat and breathing hard, I make a decision in the darkness before dawn. A reckless, career-ending decision. But the pull toward Axel is stronger than my professional ethics and years of training and boundaries. I need more of him—his words, presence, and darkness- and I’m willing to cross whatever lines are necessary to get it.
The rational part of my brain screams warnings as I formulate my plan, but I silence it. Once awakened, some hungers demand to be fed at any cost.