Chapter 9
Nine
Ryell
During the bilateral sagittal split osteotomy procedure, my brain wanders. I’ve done this procedure more times than I can count, my hands moving on muscle memory at this point.
“Fifteen blade,” I say to Candice, waiting for the instrument. She places it firmly in my hand, and my mind flashes back to how I cut Janet’s carotid artery with an instrument just like this.
Tipping my patient’s head back and prying their mouth open, I cut an incision inside the lower edge of his mouth along the gumline so I can access the mandible, getting a clear view of the bright white bone before the site fills with blood.
As I make the cut in the ramus bone of the jaw, I think about Lane in his cell.
It’s been a week, and he’s still hesitant to pose for me.
I’ve drawn how he was positioned on my bed before I got naked, how he looked with tears leaking down his face as I stuffed his mouth full of my dick, how stretched and edible his hole looked with my cock splitting him open.
I want to see that again. Him posing, my dick in his mouth, and fucking his ass until he forgets his name.
But he’s reluctant. Every day after work, I’ve gone to his cell with food and my sketch pad, wanting new material from a live model.
But Lane never sits still, always on the move or not allowing me to get a good angle of his face to draw him.
The stubble on his jaw is growing in, making him look more rugged and handsome.
After I cut through the ramus, I reposition the jaw, correcting an underbite that affects the quality of life for the patient. Not that I really care if it’s affected or not, but it’s a surgery I love because of its precision and need for perfection. All my work is perfect.
I align the jaw until it’s to my liking and fits the patient’s face, then start adding screws and plates.
The peace of the procedure has my thoughts drifting to yesterday before I brought Lane his dinner. He hasn’t noticed the small camera mounted to the corner of his cell, thinking anything he does when I’m not there is a secret.
He was sitting on the bed, staring off into space. His lips moved as if he were talking to himself. Even with the volume turned all the way up, I couldn’t make out the words. When he stopped talking, he shoved two fingers into his mouth, sucking them as if they were a pacifier.
Lane looked fucking wrecked on the screen, like he was barely holding it together. But when I went down with a tray of food, baby wipes, and my sketch pad, he yelled and ranted and spat at me, threatening the full might of the FBI as soon as he got out of that cell.
Like he was ever fucking getting out.
I was silent, allowing him his tantrums while I tried to sketch a good image of him. That never worked, which left me more frustrated than I’m comfortable admitting.
Seeing him like that last night had my dick hardening, loving the slow slip of control. It reminded me of the control he gave up when I fucked him and sucked his dick into my mouth. He was wrecked but in a different way.
While I watched him slowly descend into his loneliness and despair, I pulled out my dick and stroked myself, thinking about how he would look under me, with that vacant look in his eyes.
It would mean I broke him, completely. As I watched him on that camera yesterday and jerk my dick, I thought about how he looked when he found out who I really am.
I came hard, coating my phone with my arousal, tugging my shaft until I was empty.
I can’t wait to have my seed leaking from Lane’s ass again. As soon as—
“Dr. Harper!” Candice hisses, placing her hand on mine lightly but urgently.
I glare over at her. “Is there a problem?”
She shrinks away but doesn’t remove her hand.
“Sir, you didn’t put in the last two plates in the upper jaw.
You’re about to close without completing the procedure,” she whispers so only I can hear.
The other assistants, as well as the anesthesiologist, look at us curiously but not with any sort of accusation that I almost fucked up.
Releasing a frustrated breath, I school my expression, even though she can only see my eyes. “Thank you, Candice. My mind is somewhere else today.”
She nods and lets go of my hand. “It’s okay, Dr. Harper. I’m glad I saw it before there were complications.”
But there already are complications. Not with the patient, but with me. I’ve never been this distracted. I’ve never let a victim intrude on my thoughts as I was working. Then again, I’ve also never kidnapped someone with no plans to kill them right away. Everything is different with Lane.
Wrong.
Out of sorts.
Fucking Lane.
He won’t let me draw him, won’t show me when he’s in distress, and now he’s fucking with my career.
I keep my temper in check as I finish the procedure, chronicling through every step in my mind to ensure I completed it. Once I’m done and go over notes with Candice, I scrub out, throwing the disposal gown into the trash before I wash my hands at the sinks.
As I leave, I call my clinic and tell them to reschedule my last few patients to tomorrow where I’m supposed to have my administration time. I need to go see Lane now.
Behind the wheel of my car, I open the camera app on my phone that will show me Lane. He’s curled into a ball on his bed, his shoulders heaving. Is he…crying?
“Fuck,” I whisper, rubbing my hand down the phone as my dick lengthens. I love his tears. Love knowing that he’s almost broken. Only one week and he’s already losing his shit. I wonder what two, three weeks will do to him.
Though I want nothing more than to take myself in hand, I ignore my erection as I close the app and start my drive home.
I have time to think about what I’ll say or do when I get there.
How I’ll call Lane out for being so fucking weak that after seven days, he’s already losing his grip on his fucking sanity.
But is he? He assumes he’s breaking down without me seeing, but he has enough of a grip on reality that he can put a mask on and show me the fight he had when I saw him on the news.
Maybe Lane isn’t as close to slipping as I thought he was.
My temper is at its peak when I get home, and I barely put the car in park and take the keys from the ignition before I’m jumping out and storming to the front door.
Once inside, I hurry to my basement and thunder down the stairs, not bothering to hide my arrival.
Lane hops off the bed, scowling at me. His hands are at his sides, balled into fists, as if he would deck me if he could.
I wouldn’t doubt that if there was a fight between us, Lane would be hard to beat.
But I don’t plan to fight fair. He won’t leave this cell until I break him or until I kill him.
Whichever comes first.
I don’t say anything when I stop a few feet from his cell, glowering at him. His jaw ticks, and he narrows his eyes at me. His hatred for me is palpable, and it makes my heart rate speed up and my dick stir in my pants.
“Are you done breaking down now? Done crying into your fucking pillow?” I ask, trying to needle him to get a reaction.
I’m rewarded with his flared eyes and a soft gasp that reaches my ears like the sweetest melody.
He schools his features quickly. “Fuck you,” he spits. “You fucking kidnapped me, and you’re threatening to kill me. Only a fucking psychopath like you wouldn’t react to that, you fucking monster.”
I shrug, taking a step closer to him. “You fucked a monster.” I touch myself through my pants and smile when his eyes drift down to my crotch. “Want a repeat?”
His gaze flicks back up to mine. “Fuck you.”
I chuckle. “You ready to pose for me? I have my memories, but I’d much rather sketch you live.”
“Okay, I will,” he says, surprising me. He lies on the floor and looks up at me. “Where’s your sketch pad? We can do it right now.”
It’s my turn to narrow my eyes at him. He’s too fucking eager, too quick to do what I want him to do. No fight. But his eyes reflect conflict, like he’s warring with himself to do what I ask.
Lane has something up his sleeve, and it starts with his easy acquiescence. I wouldn’t have seen it if he were to at least give me some pushback. But this eagerness? Nah, this isn’t him.
I don’t like to be fucked with.
Moving closer to the cell, I look at him lying on the floor and sneer. “You’re full of shit.” His face transforms from compliance to anger in less than a second. Gotcha. “If you’re trying to get on my good side so I’ll let you out, you’ve got the wrong psychopath, Agent.”
Lane gets to his feet and races across the cell, knocking against it as he sticks his free hand through the bars. One of his nails grazes my chin as I step back, laughing at how feral he is.
Yes.
This is what I want. The fight, so when I break him, I’ll know I earned it.
“Fuck you, you fucking monster! I’ll fucking kill you!” he shouts, looking unhinged as fuck. Spittle flies from his mouth as he yells, “If these bars weren’t in the way, I’d fucking kill you with my bare hands!”
“Oh?” I ask, removing the remote from my pocket. “Let’s see.”
He appears confused for a moment, then surprised when I click the button on the remote, and the bars of the cell door recede.
Lane steps back, eyes wide. But he still raises his fists in a fighting position as I step inside the cell.
“Show me,” I taunt, keeping my hands to my side.
Even though Lane is weaker than he was when we met, he has federal hand-to-hand training. It doesn’t matter if he’s on his last leg, he would still be a formidable opponent.
But I have training too, so taking me down won’t be as easy as he thinks it’ll be.
With a roar, Lane rushes over to me, throwing out a jab that would have struck me in the nose had I not leaned back. Wind whips past my face as he follows it up with a left hook with his chained hand.
Grabbing on the chain, I wrap it around his throat and yank. Not hard enough to hurt but with enough force to show him his attack wasn’t very thought out. Then I push him against the wall, using my full weight to keep him pinned.
Lane shouts and fights against me, trying to dislodge me by being squirrely.
I’m larger than Lane and better fed, so his fighting does nothing but makes him rub against my dick.
He reaches back with his right hand and tries to hit me in the face, but I gather his wrists into one hand and thrust them over his head.
Pushing his face harder into the wall, I roll my hips into him. Lane freezes, breathing heavily.
“Get off me,” he grunts, twisting his hips but stopping when he encounters my erection again.
“No, I rather like it here.” I don’t thrust into him, though there is friction on my dick from Lane panting and trembling.
“This would be a good position to draw you in,” I tell him, dipping my mouth close to his ear.
“You naked, chained to the wall, ass poking out obscenely.” I lick a stripe up his neck to his ear.
He tastes salty, and his natural flavor explodes on my tongue
“Never,” he grunts through a moan. “I won’t…ever willingly pose for you.”
“Why not? I’d do a good job at capturing your likeness.” I drop one hand down to his ass and squeeze. I chuckle when Lane pushes into my palm, though he tries to wiggle away in the next breath.
Lowering my voice into a sultry purr, I say, “I’d draw you, then I’d show you how much I love your body.” I bite and nip at his neck, laughing against his skin when he moans and leans his head back onto my shoulder.
I attack his neck, kissing and licking while I grind against his nice, round peach of an ass.
“Stop it,” Lane says as he pushes his ass out, his moans filling the cell.
I move my hand around to his dick, feeling how hard he is. “Do you really want me to stop?”
“Yes,” he growls. So I do. I remove my hand from his dick and push away from his body, though I keep control of his hands. Lane whimpers and moves his hips back to my cock.
I chuckle and slap his ass, loving how he cries out from the sting of my hand on him. Then I slide forward and use his ass to rub off. “You like that, don’t you? You like being at my mercy?”
“Ryell. Damn you. God fucking damn you,” Lane pants, rolling his hips into my thrusts.
“You like this, Agent. Just admit it. Admit it and I’ll let you come.” I lean down and suck marks into his skin, my arousal ratcheting up as I hear his soft whimpers and gentle moans.
My balls tighten to my body, and I sink my teeth into Lane’s neck as I come, filling my pants with a nut so big I almost lose consciousness.
When I come back to myself, Lane is still wiggling his ass, panting with his need to release. I halt his movements, then shove him onto the bed. He lands in a heap, unable to get to his feet before I’m out of the cell and the door is closed.
Lane looks at me with a mix of arousal, frustration, and hatred. It only fuels my need for him. His desire to fuck me and fight me is heady, and I want more.
“When you’re ready to pose for me,” I say in a composed voice, even though I feel anything but, “I’ll give you an orgasm. But don’t fuck with me, Lane. I’ll know if you are.”
Then I walk away, the angry words of my favorite captive reaching my ears.