Chapter 3 #2
"Are they other patients of yours?" He asks, clearly with no shame, jealousy a flicker in his brown eyes.
I nod, getting him right where I want him. I've played this game before, and I'm pretty good at it. "Yes, three others," I admit with a straight face, watching him begin to lose it on the inside.
"I don't mind being your forth," he laughs, his smile so bright and happy for a man in his position in life is crazy.
"It's either me or a second chance at life—rewrite your wrongs or some shit like that. You can't have both, because with me, there's a high chance you're gonna lose your life." I stare at him, the tension sizzling.
"I'm more than willing to take the fucking risk, mi vida." Michael pulls me against his chest, my hands gripping his shirt as I look up at him, locking eyes. "I'd happily die for you."
"You have no fucking idea what you're getting into, Michael. I'm not the person you think I am," I warn him, but he still looks as if he doesn't give a fuck—his mind's already made up.
"In case you forgot, mamí, I'm no fucking Saint. I'm in for murder—one murder—but I've killed more than once, Doctor Stone, " he whispers in a warning tone, trying to assert his dominance over me.
I turn, still in his grasp, and scribble the address to the church on a post-it note, sticking it to the palm of his hand. I close his fingers around it and take a step back, but all I want to do is take a step forward.
"I'll see you tonight at eight," I whisper breathlessly, feeling weak in the knees from the look he's giving me, all while still trying to remain in control and professional.
"I'll be there at eight," he says, suddenly walking closer. "But right now you're going to bend your ass over your fucking desk so I can fuck you properly."
The order in his tone leaves no room for debate.
It's his way and I don't get another option.
This is one of the things I love about Michael; it's why I picked him to be a part of this. The intensity of his command sends shivers down my spine, a mix of fear and excitement thrumming in my veins. I’m caught between the urge to resist, to assert some semblance of authority, and the intoxicating feeling of submission that he brings out in me.
"Michael, we shouldn't—" I start, but the look in his eyes quickly silences me.
They blaze with a ‘no-nonsense’ determination that sends my heart racing. He reaches for my waist, guiding me to lean against my desk, the cool surface skates against my heated skin. I can feel my pulse quickening as I glance toward the door, the weight of what's to come hanging heavily in the air.
“Stop fucking pretending, Doctor Stone,” he murmurs my actual therapist name, his breath hot against my ear as he leans in closer. “We both know you want this—want me. Just Give. The. Fuck. In.”
With that, he uses one hand to cradle the back of my neck while the other moves to my hip, pulling me more firmly against him.
His touch is possessive, igniting every nerve ending in my body.
I can feel the animalistic energy seeping off him in waves, pushing against the tough walls of my restraint.
“I don’t want to lose control,” I whisper weakly, but even as I say it, I know it’s a lie.
The truth is, I’ve been reveling in the chaos ever since I met him, and being with Michael both exhilarating and terrifying.
“Control is overrated,” he replies, his lips brushing against my skin as he speaks, igniting a flurry of goosebumps. “Let me show you how good it feels.”
In a swift motion, he spins me around, hands gripping my arms as he applies just the right amount of pressure to keep me in place.
His eyes bore into mine, deep and searching as if looking for a sign that I’m on board with this madness.
My heart races against my ribcage—the fear of what’s to come intermingling with an overwhelming desire I can’t fight.
“Let me do this for you,” he commands, voice thick with raw need.
In a flick of his wrist, he pulls my skirt up slightly, exposing more skin.
It sends a wave of shivers through me, and I feel myself being drawn deeper into this vortex of forbidden lust. I nod just slightly, an acknowledgment of his unyielding grip on my will.
It’s enough for him. In an instant, he spins me back around and lifts me effortlessly onto the desk, his arms tan, tattooed, and muscular.
"Esa es mi buena chica," he murmurs, a satisfied grin spreading across his face. I nearly melt as he claims the space between us, his body leaning into mine possessively. “Now just relax, and let papito take care of you.”
I shudder against the smooth wood of my desk from his accent as he leans in closer, the heat of him radiating like a furnace.
His strong hands slide beneath my thighs, hoisting my legs higher as he plants soft, teasing kisses along the tattoos on my calves with his full, wet lips.
The juxtaposition of his gentle touch and the delicious tension in the room sends my heart into a fucking frenzy.
“I see you, you know,” he says softly, his lips meeting the sensitive skin behind my knees. “Everything you try to hide—your pain, your fears. But you don’t need to hide from me. I want you bare, in every sense of the word, mí Chiquita hermosa.”
My breath hitches as he moves up, trailing kisses along my inner thighs, each one igniting a fire deep within me that just fans the flames even more.
It’s not just his dominant nature but the intimacy behind it that sets me ablaze.
It echoes what we are—a chaotic blend of need and vulnerability, of past scars longing for healing in each other’s embrace.
Meaning we're both fucked up.
I dart my fingers through his short, dark hair, pulling him closer, and urging him to continue. “Michael…” I whisper, teasing him as the tension builds, a yearning I can't fully comprehend.
“Shh…” He silences me with an expert flick of his tongue against my skin.
I lose myself in the haze of pleasure mixed with dizziness, letting go a little more with every second.
As he continues to explore my body, I find not just the chemistry we’ve sparked but also a connection.
But I know deep down it'll never work. He needs to stay at an arms length like the rest of them.
Hunter has more leeway with me since we've known each other long and have been through more together than they have.
In the depths of my mind, the looming shadows of consequence hover like a stalker—tall, dark, mysterious, and waiting to fucking pounce when the moment finally shatters.
But with every kiss, every teasing brush of his warm, olive skin against mine, I find myself more willing to slide down this dangerous path.
“Are you with me?” he asks, his hot breath sending shockwaves through me. I can feel my pulse quickening as I look into those intense, green eyes.
“Yes," I breathe, holding his gaze steady, knowing exactly what I’m signing up for.
“Good,” he smirks, determination lacing his features. “Because tonight, we’re rewriting the rules.”
As he continues his teasing assault, I close my eyes, surrendering to the moment and losing myself in the twisted, forbidden dance we’re creating—a dance that will lead us both into the depths of the unknown, where nothing is quite what it seems, but everything feels so fucking right.
As Michael's lips glide against my skin, I feel the tug of impending confusion pulling at my insides—a swirling cocktail of ecstasy and trepidation. I remind myself that everything about this moment is wrong, yet I can’t muster the strength to pull back.
My body thrives on the danger, the raw connection, and the exhilarating chaos that follows.
The chaos makes the noises in my head quiet.
The thrill makes the shadows on the walls less noticeable.
The danger makes the twisted thoughts not as bad.
“Touching you like this feels so fucking good,” he murmurs, eyes alight with that familiar wild fire.
He places an open-mouthed kiss right where my thigh meets my hip, prompting a gasp to escape my lips.
The sound of my breath fills the quiet room, tempting him further while my heart races at the thought of being discovered.
But the world outside has never felt more distant.
It's just our two fractured souls drawn together by bits and pieces of broken trust and lifelong trauma, longing for something we aren’t even sure how to fucking name.
“Michael, we can’t…”
“Can’t what?” he interrupts, lifting his head to meet my gaze, searching me rather than assuming anything. “What we have is real, even if it’s messy. I can feel it in the air between us.”
My fingers curl into the edges of the desk, grounding me amid the storm of emotions swirling within.
I could argue that everything we were doing was reckless, that my clinical mind warns me of the disaster it could entail.
But there’s another part of me—the darker, more insatiable part—that craves this chaos, craves him.
I bite my lip, contemplating my next words, but he closes the distance once again, his breath ghosting over my skin and igniting every nerve ending in my body.
“Just give in to it, hermosa,” he pleads softly, and I can’t ignore the way his voice wraps around my brain, turning my dark thoughts into feathers, light and floating.
He stands up straight, towering over me for a moment before he grabs both my ankles, pulling me closer to the edge of the desk.
The shift in position sends a rush of vulnerability coursing through me, reinforcing the power dynamics pulsing in the room.
There's something intoxicating in that—the thrill of him taking charge, steering me toward something raw and honest.
Deep down, I know there’s only a thin veil between therapy and whatever the hell we’re creating here, but right now, I don’t have the fucking willpower to stop it. I nod as his hands glide up my thighs, leaving trails of heat in their wake.