Chapter 9

Chapter Nine

Maxim

“ H ave you been able to hold a job?” she asks.

What a stupid question. Of course not. People don’t readily jump at the chance to hire a felon.

“Nah, but I’m currently working under the table for a mechanic. Learned quite a bit about cars while on the inside.”

She starts talking about how a routine would be good for me. I hardly listen. I’m too busy staring at the silky deep-green shirt beneath the buttons of her jacket.

Since I started watching her, her breasts have become familiar to me, and I focus on the bare image of them in my mind. I can see them so perfectly, and it makes me hard as fuck. I cross my legs to keep her from noticing. I imagine ripping off her jacket, then that silky shirt and black bra, and devouring her chest as I raise the front of her skirt.

“Maxim? Are you listening to me?” she asks, a sharp rise in her tone.

No, I’m not listening, because I’m imagining her mouth being used for something besides analyzing me. I’m thinking about her last night.

I’m pretty certain she was using that showerhead for nefarious purposes. I wonder what she was thinking about. Was it one of her many clients? Could it have been me? Have I wormed my way into her mind yet?

“Yes, doc. Routine is vital to my rehabilitation, yadda, yadda.”

She crosses her arms over her chest. “Do you even want to be helped?”

No. But I can’t say that. Like a fish on the end of a line, I need to string her along at least a little bit. “Of course I do.”

“Then why are you so closed off about your past? Your present? What am I supposed to talk to you about?”

I’d prefer it if she used that mouth for something other than analyzing me, but here we are. She breaks her professional facade and allows her shoulders to fall. She sighs.

I’m frustrating her, and I love it.

“I do my best, doc. I wasn’t raised to talk about my feelings. It’s not gonna happen overnight.” I reel out a little more line, a sentence that makes her think she’s peeled back a thin layer to learn more about me. She hasn’t, but I’m happy to let her think she has.

Her shoulders rise, as if my words have rejuvenated her. It’s so cute. “Tell me how you were raised, Maxim.”

“I mostly raised myself.” I smirk because I’ve only pretended to open the door so I could close it in her face once more. I’ve gone right back to dead-end answers.

She blows out a breath and clicks her pen once. “I’m done with this session. I’m clearly the only one taking our sessions seriously, and I can’t help you if you don’t want to help yourself. You’re welcome to stay for the hour, but I’m done placating you today.”

She stands up, goes to her desk, and plops down in the cushiony computer chair. From the top left drawer, she produces a pair of reading glasses. She slides them over the slender bridge of her nose and proceeds to ignore the fuck out of me.

It’s hot.

I like how she looks with her glasses on. So prim and proper. So different from the man sitting across the room from her.

I want to ruin her. Steal every ounce of innocence from her body and fill her with my evilness. Corrupt her with my depravity. Make her forget all about wanting to selflessly help people and teach her to focus on selfishly getting the attention she so desperately craves.

I consider whipping out my dick and jerking off to her right here, but then she’ll end our sessions for good. I can’t have that. I want more time with her, not less.

There must be some way to get her to let her walls down, and I’m pretty sure I know just what would do it. That woman needs to be fucked and filled. Pleased and teased. I want her to forget everything she’s ever learned except my name. I need her to crave the man she despises.

I might even let her inside if she let me inside her first. That seems like a fair trade.

I stand up, and she tenses. I make my way across her office, and she tightens her grip on the mouse to keep her hand from trembling. It doesn’t work. The jitter in her muscles might be slight, but like a hawk viewing a mouse in the grass, I see every twitch of movement.

“What’re writing about me, doc?” I lean down to look at the screen, but she turns it toward the window with a scowl.

“None of your business,” she says.

“If it’s about me, doesn’t that make it my business?”

A lock of hair lies across her neck, so I lean closer and blow it away from the gentle thud of her pulse. She shoves her hand against her throat to shield her precious skin from my warm breath, but I don’t miss the goosebumps rising from her flesh. I affect her, even if she won’t admit it.

“Fine, don’t get yourself all worked up,” I say. “I was just curious.”

I stand up straight and wipe my hands down my jeans, smoothing my lap. Her eyes stay glued to the screen, but if she just turns a fraction of an inch toward me, she’ll get an eyeful of my dick straining against the fabric.

Would she scream if she noticed how hard I am for her? I’m certain she would, but I’m less certain of the emotion behind that sound. Disgust, no doubt, but would she be disgusted with me, or with herself for liking what she sees?

“I’ll see you next week,” I say. “Who knows, I might even be more willing to talk by then.”

“Doubt it,” she says under her breath.

She needs to watch that pretty mouth of hers. If she keeps it up, I might not be able to control myself. I love her snark too much. It contradicts the face—the facade —she shows everyone else.

Everyone but me.

She’s not the sweet professional she wants everyone else to believe. I see the real Sarah Reeves. And she’s mine.