Page 23 of Pose for Me
I was silent, allowing him his tantrums while I tried to sketch a good image of him. That never worked, which left me more frustrated than I’m comfortable admitting.
Seeing him like that last night had my dick hardening, loving the slow slip of control. It reminded me of the control he gave up when I fucked him and sucked his dick into my mouth. He was wrecked but in a different way.
While I watched him slowly descend into his loneliness and despair, I pulled out my dick and stroked myself, thinking about how he would look under me, with that vacant look in his eyes. It would mean I broke him, completely. As I watched him on that camera yesterday and jerk my dick, I thought about how he looked when he found out who I really am. I came hard, coating my phone with my arousal, tugging my shaft until I was empty.
I can’t wait to have my seed leaking from Lane’s ass again. As soon as?—
“Dr. Harper!” Candice hisses, placing her hand on mine lightly but urgently.
I glare over at her. “Is there a problem?”
She shrinks away but doesn’t remove her hand. “Sir, you didn’t put in the last two plates in the upper jaw. You’re about to close without completing the procedure,” she whispers so only I can hear. The other assistants, as well as the anesthesiologist, look at us curiously but not with any sort of accusation that I almost fucked up.
Releasing a frustrated breath, I school my expression, even though she can only see my eyes. “Thank you, Candice. My mind is somewhere else today.”
She nods and lets go of my hand. “It’s okay, Dr. Harper. I’m glad I saw it before there were complications.”
But there alreadyarecomplications. Not with the patient, but withme.I’ve never been this distracted. I’ve never let a victim intrude on my thoughts as I was working. Then again, I’ve also never kidnapped someone with no plans to kill them right away. Everything is different with Lane.
Wrong.
Out of sorts.
Fucking Lane.
He won’t let me draw him, won’t show me when he’s in distress, and now he’s fucking with my career.
I keep my temper in check as I finish the procedure, chronicling through every step in my mind to ensure I completed it. Once I’m done and go over notes with Candice, I scrub out, throwing the disposal gown into the trash before I wash my hands at the sinks.
As I leave, I call my clinic and tell them to reschedule my last few patients to tomorrow where I’m supposed to have my administration time. I need to go see Lanenow.
Behind the wheel of my car, I open the camera app on my phone that will show me Lane. He’s curled into a ball on his bed, his shoulders heaving. Is he…crying?
“Fuck,” I whisper, rubbing my hand down the phone as my dick lengthens. I love his tears. Love knowing that he’s almost broken. Only one week and he’s already losing his shit. I wonder what two, three weeks will do to him.
Though I want nothing more than to take myself in hand, I ignore my erection as I close the app and start my drive home. I have time to think about what I’ll say or do when I get there. How I’ll call Lane out for being so fucking weak that after seven days, he’s already losing his grip on his fucking sanity.
But is he? He assumes he’s breaking down without me seeing, but he has enough of a grip on reality that he can put a mask on and show me the fight he had when I saw him on the news.
Maybe Lane isn’t as close to slipping as I thought he was.
My temper is at its peak when I get home, and I barely put the car in park and take the keys from the ignition before I’m jumping out and storming to the front door.
Once inside, I hurry to my basement and thunder down the stairs, not bothering to hide my arrival.
Lane hops off the bed, scowling at me. His hands are at his sides, balled into fists, as if he would deck me if he could. I wouldn’t doubt that if there was a fight between us, Lane wouldbe hard to beat. But I don’t plan to fight fair. He won’t leave this cell until I break him or until I kill him.
Whichever comes first.
I don’t say anything when I stop a few feet from his cell, glowering at him. His jaw ticks, and he narrows his eyes at me. His hatred for me is palpable, and it makes my heart rate speed up and my dick stir in my pants.
“Are you done breaking down now? Done crying into your fucking pillow?” I ask, trying to needle him to get a reaction.
I’m rewarded with his flared eyes and a soft gasp that reaches my ears like the sweetest melody.
He schools his features quickly. “Fuck you,” he spits. “You fucking kidnapped me, and you’re threatening to kill me. Only a fucking psychopath like you wouldn’t react to that, you fucking monster.”
I shrug, taking a step closer to him. “You fucked a monster.” I touch myself through my pants and smile when his eyes drift down to my crotch. “Want a repeat?”
