Page 53 of Psycho Pack

Let him have something to study in the mirror later.

"Eager to start the experiment, Doc?" I growl against his mouth.

He pulls back just enough to fix me with that clinical stare that drives me fucking insane. "The preliminary data is quite promising." His long fingers trail down my chest, mapping every scar like he's cataloging evidence. "Though I'll need a larger sample size to draw any meaningful conclusions."

I slam him back against the wall, grinding my hips into his. "I'll give you a meaningful conclusion."

"Fascinating." His voice stays maddeningly steady even as his cock hardens against mine. "Subject displays typical alpha aggression patterns when preparing to suck?—"

I drop to my knees, yanking his pants down before he can finish that smartass observation. His cock springs free, already hard and leaking.

"Let's see how steady that goddamn voice stays now,Doctor."

His fingers tangle in my hair as I swallow him down. Not gentle. Not careful. I want him to lose that fucking composure. Want to hear that controlled voice crack and break.

"Interesting… technique," he manages, though his breathing hitches. "Your oral fixation suggests?—"

Would he just shut the fuck up already?

I hollow my cheeks and suck harder, cutting him off mid-analysis. I have no idea what I'm fucking doing, but if he wants me to suck, I'll suck. His hips buck forward, cock hitting the back of my throat.

Finally, a reaction.

I glance up to see his head thrown back against the stone, that perfect mask of nonchalance starting to slip. His hands tighten in my hair, surgeon's fingers trembling just slightly. "Fuck?—"

The curse sends a surge of triumph through me. I pull back, letting his cock slip from my mouth with an obscene pop. "What was that, Doc? Didn't quite catch your scientific observation."

He yanks my hair, forcing me to look up at him. Those pale blue eyes are dark with hunger now, clinical detachment giving way to something rawer. "Perhaps this would be more productive with less talking."

I bare my teeth in a feral grin. "Make me stop."

He does.

His cock shoves past my lips again, harder this time. Less controlled. I take him deeper, hollowing my cheeks as he fucks my mouth. His usual precise movements are getting sloppier, more desperate.

I reach down to palm myself through my pants, already achingly hard.

His hand shoots out, grabbing my wrist.

"Don't." His voice cracks slightly. "I didn't tell you you could touch yourself."

I pull off him with a growl. "You ain't my fucking boss."

His fingers tighten in my hair, hauling me back to my feet. Before I can react, he spins us around and slams me against the wall, pinning me there with his lean body. His mouth crashes into mine, all that clinical precision gone, replaced by raw hunger.

"You want to be in charge?" he growls against my lips. "Then fight me for it."

I surge forward, but he slams me back against the stone, surprisingly strong for someone so lean. His teeth sink into my neck, sending lightning through my veins.

"Fuck," I hiss, my hips bucking against him.

"That's the idea." His hand slides into my pants, wrapping around my cock. No hesitation. No gentleness. Just that perfect fucking grip that makes my knees weak.

I grab his wrist, trying to take control, but he twists out of my grip with fluid grace. His other hand locks around my throat, thumb pressing against my pulse point.

"Stay still," he orders, voice low and dangerous. "Or I stop."

"Make me," I snarl, but my body betrays me, going pliant under his touch.

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