Page 10 of Unethical

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 letherwalls 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—thefacade—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.

Chapter Ten

Sarah

My next patient comes in soon after Maxim leaves. Her dress sleeve hangs off her shoulder, and she looks as manic as she always does. She plops down with an exaggerated sigh, tugs up her sleeve, and begins her sordid tale where we left off last time.

I don’t even need to speak, but I interrupt her to force out my cursory introduction. There aren’t enough hours in the day to get to the bottom of what’s wrong with Mrs. Birch.

Newly and unhappily married. Pregnant again, with a one-year-old at home who runs her ragged. She told me this baby was an attempt to save her marriage. The non-professional in me wanted to ask if that has ever worked in the history of marriages. From my many years in this very chair, I can attest that it has not.

I don’t have kids myself. My biological clock is ticking away, and the way she talks about being a mother makes me glad I’m running out of time. I realize how terrible this must sound,but then again, I’ve never been in a relationship long enough towantto have children.

Maybe my viewpoint would be a little different if I’d been with someone that screamed “daddy material,” but most of the men I’ve dated have been poster children for people who need therapy, and I’m not the person who can psycho-support a partner. I’d rather stay single and childless than have a baby and be forced to care for the babyandthe other parent.

I think all of these things as Mrs. Birch drones on in the background. My focus has entirely flown the proverbial coop. But how can I focus on any patients after I’ve had a session with Maxim?

My chest is a permanent shade of red from the frustration he drums up inside me. He’s playing a cruel game by relaying snippets of information about his life without ever giving me the full story. He pretends to nibble the bait at the end of the hook, but he’s only looping it around detritus at the bottom of the pond. I’m perpetually snagged, and I need to cut the line and let him loose. Half the stuff that comes out of his mouth is probably a lie anyway.

Mrs. Birch blabbers on in the background as she picks at her nails and fiddles with the collar on her haggard dress. She talks about everything that’s ever happened in her life, and I should really listen to what she has to say. But I can’t. My thoughts continue to circle Maxim.

The way he stood over me.