Come in, Valerio.
Sometimes, I hate this job.
I stare at my reflection in the small vanity mirror.
The welt on my cheek is still visible, no matter how much I try to cover it with concealer.
Sarah Gomez’s only talent is spending her husband’s blood money and hitting people who can’t hit back.
Her husband is mid-level mob royalty; if I retaliate, I’m the one who ends up in a landfill.
So I sat there and took it like a little bitch.
All I was able to do was cut the session short.
One of the few things that reminds me why I enjoy this job is the man currently sitting in my waiting room.
Valerio.
The dress I chose to wear today is tailored just for him.
It’s shorter than anything I’ve ever worn in my life, stopping just where the curve of my ass begins.
Beneath it, there’s nothing but bare skin—no panties or bra.
This is a violation of every ethical code I’ve studied.
But with Valerio, I find myself wanting to break my own rules as much as I want to break his.
God, what am I doing? My nipples pebble against the silk regardless of my doubts.
I’ve never done this before. But there’s something about Valerio that brings out the worst in me. The idea of being the one to make him feel something is intoxicating. Power. That’s what this is about. The power to be the first.
When I open the door, he’s standing there with his usual unnerving stillness. His eyes, usually flat and predatory, widen almost imperceptibly as they take me in.
“Come in, Valerio.”
His gaze follows me as I walk to my desk. It burns me like a type of worship only sinners know.
He sits, but his posture is rigid. His eyes remain fixed on me as I cross my legs, the silk sliding up to reveal the lace tops of my stockings. I know he can see everything—or rather, nothing at all. If he squints really hard, I’m sure he can take a peek at my pussy.
A second after I form that thought, I see him squint. I have to bite my lip to stop myself from laughing.
“We touched a nerve last time,” I start, my voice professional despite me sitting in a puddle of my own fucking juices. “Your father. We’ll leave him in the cellar for today. I’m more interested in the present.”
Valerio’s eyes are glued to me in an attempt to see a sliver of my cunt. Not so soon, Valerio.
“Your father,” he repeats, dazed. “Yes.”
He’s trying so hard to focus, and it’s not working. Poor thing. Stifling my laughter isn’t easy. I clear my throat, and that seems to snap him out of it, a vein in his temple pulsing as he notices the bruise peeking through the makeup.
“Does it hurt?”
“Why do you care? You don’t feel empathy, Valerio. Remember? Is it because you’re the only one allowed to break things in this office?”
I don’t want to discuss the slap, or how weak I felt because I couldn’t defend myself. To get him right back where I want him, I lean forward, letting the neckline dip until my left nipple makes an appearance.
He looks like he’s forgotten how to breathe. It’s almost pathetic. A little laugh bubbles up in my throat. The big, bad psychopath is short-circuiting at the sight of a nipple.
His eyes flick from my exposed breast to my face, then back again.
“Why are you dressed like this?” he asks, his voice strained.
“This?” I look down at myself. “It’s just a dress, Valerio. Does it distract you?” I uncross my legs slowly, then recross them the other way, feeling a cold breeze hit my pussy. “I thought we were discussing your inability to form emotional connections.”
A thin line of saliva connects his parted lips. He’s actually drooling. The sight sends a jolt straight to my clit.
“You’re testing me,” he says.
“I’m conducting a session, Valerio. That’s all. Tell me what you’re feeling right now. Be specific.”
His hips jerk involuntarily. A dark wet spot spreads across his trousers. All I can think about is tasting it.
“I feel…” he trails off, his brow furrowed. “Warm.”
Warm? That’s all he can manage? The first stirring of lust in his deadened senses, and he calls it warm?
“Warm where?” I press, walking around the desk until I’m beside him. I pretend to adjust a book on the shelf, knowing the movement pushes my ass right in his face. “Describe the sensation.”
When I turn back, his face is flushed, his eyes wild with a hunger so raw it’s almost frightening.
“Here,” he finally manages, gesturing vaguely toward his groin. “It’s… uncomfortable.”
Uncomfortable. He doesn’t even have the vocabulary for arousal. This is better than I could have imagined.
I sink to my knees in front of him, maintaining eye contact. “What do you think would happen if you acted on this feeling?”
His gloved hands grip the chair arms so hard I hear the wood creak.
“I would…” He swallows hard. “I don’t know.”
He’s never even imagined it before. Never considered what he might do with desire. The thought makes me wetter than I’ve been in years.
“Let’s explore that,” I murmur. “In hypothetical terms, of course. What would you want to do to me if touch wasn’t such a big trigger for you?”
His hips buck again, more forcefully this time. The wet spot grows larger.
“Touch,” he finally gasps out. “Everywhere.”
“Where specifically?” I press, my own breath coming faster now.
His gaze travels from my breasts down to my hips, then lower to where I’m kneeling. I spread my legs, making sure he can see everything I have to offer.
“There,” he growls, gaze pinned between my legs.
God, he’s so broken. So beautifully, perfectly broken. And I’m the one who has found his weakness—the only thing that can tame the beast—and it’s my cunt.
I stand up slowly, giving him a full view as I lean over my desk, pretending to adjust something. I move my hips from side to side, putting on a show for him that I’m still not sure I ever plan to finish. Only fools sleep with psychopaths.
I hear the chair squeak as he humps his hips into the air, grunting when he releases into his trousers, coming undone. Without a single fucking touch.
A drop of my own arousal drips down my thighs.
“Interesting,” I murmur over my shoulder. “It appears even psychopaths have breaking points. And yours, apparently, is between my legs.”
“Is this what normal people feel?” he asks, panting. “This… hunger?”
“Some call it desire,” I reply, sinking into the chair opposite him. “Others call it lust. What would you call it, Valerio?”
“I don’t have words for it.”
I’ve given him something he can’t name, can’t categorize, and can’t fucking control. I’ll make sure he never forgets who gave it to him.
I check the clock. Fifty minutes. Exactly.
“Time’s up,” I say, fixing my dress to cover myself.
“We’ll have to create a vocabulary just for you, starting next session. Same time?” I add, with a smile that’s all teeth.
Valerio blinks, the haze clearing from his eyes. The monster is back. For a second, I think he’s going to grab me to finish what I started. But he just reaches into his pocket, dropping something into my palm.
It’s a ring. A heavy gold band with a diamond that I recognize instantly.
“This is Sarah’s ring,” I gasp. “How? Where is she?”
“She won’t be coming back for her next session,” Valerio hisses. He’s cold again. The lust is gone, replaced by that usual void. “She had a lesson to learn about marking things that don’t belong to her.”
I stare at the ring. There’s a trace of something dark on the gold. Dried blood. He killed her for me.
“You’re insane,” I breathe.
He shakes his head, but tries to hide a small smile of amusement that I spot anyway.
“Don’t wear that next Tuesday,” he orders as he walks toward the door. “Not if you want any more answers from me. I find it… difficult to concentrate.”
I clutch the dead woman’s ring… not really wanting to admit that all I feel is relief that I won’t have to work with her anymore. And a strange fuzziness that Valerio took care of it for me. Am I shocked that he knew? Not in the slightest. We already established he’s stalking me.
I’ve crossed all the lines. There is no more doctor, no more patient. There is only the hunter—and the thing that wants to be caught