Page 44 of Unethical

Fucking heaven.

The closest I’d ever get to such a place is inside her.

She screams out as her walls stretch to accommodate my girth. I raise my hand to her chest, taking a handful of herperfect breast before pushing my grip to her throat. I keep the weight leaned into my legs as I fuck her with my hand around her neck.

Her hands lock around my wrist, and a moment of worry crosses her face. If she’s worried I might kill her, she shouldn’t be. To live without her would be intolerable. I just like how she looks beneath me, with my hand around her slim, fragile neck. The power to take her life surges through me, but the thought of doing it makes me sick.

Because I love her too much.

I stop thrusting. All motion ceases. I don’t even think I’m breathing.

People like me can fake emotions when prompted. We can mask and say what people want us to say or what we’resupposedto say in any given situation. When a person is crying, we know we’re supposed to ask if they’re okay, even if we couldn’t care less or don’t feel any empathy.

But I wasn’t prompted by anyone. She hadn’t even said a word about it. That thought came from me. From my own fucked-up little mind.

I thrust again. Hard. Fast. Because I need to drive that emotion into her if I can’t say it. She squeezes my dick as her back arches, and she rises against my hand. I put one hand on her lower belly and keep her down on the bed so I can drill her. So I can feel her coming around my dick.

“Maxim!” she screams as her rhythmic spasms speak to my cock.

I release her throat and pull her against me so that she can scream her pleasure into my flesh. I’ve never felt as close to anyone in my life as I do at this moment.

I come with her as her pussy squeezes the life from my dick. I fill her and stay inside her until my cock softens and I pull outof her. Come drips from her. Mine and hers. I gather it on two of my fingers and stuff it back inside her.

She’s mine.

And with my entire being, even if I can’t speak the word, I’m hers.

Epilogue

Sarah

The clock ticks beside my head, and I hear every millisecond of time as it passes. It’s hard for me to focus on my clients today. I have way too much on my mind.

How can I parade around like an ethical, well-respected therapist when I’ll drop to my knees for a client if he so much as slips the zipper down? Well, not just any client.

Only him. Only Maxim.

And as if thinking his name makes him appear like some kind of fucked-up apparition, he materializes in the doorway. His eyes dip to my chest as he comes into my office and takes a seat on the chair across from me.

“Hey, doc,” he says as those haunting eyes rise to mine. They hold a whole different meaning now.

“Maxim,” I say as I sit in my chair across from him.

His gaze watches my every move. The way I cross my legs. The clipboard as I set it in my lap. My eyes as they meet his.

“I brought you a little snack,” he says as he holds a container filled with cantaloupe toward me. “No surprises in it this time.”

“Surprises?” I ask, though maybe I don’t want to know.

He clears his throat and shakes his head. “We can talk about it later.”

I slide a manila folder toward him, and he smirks before he grabs it.

“Is this my sentence?” he asks as his massive fingers rove over the folder.

“Something like that.”

He opens it and flips a couple of pages. His eyes track the words as he reads. Those full lips slowly part.

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