Page 8 of Trick or Treat: The Rebirth
But the haze of lust is soon tinged with droplets of reality, memories of the consequences that have already ensnared me. Michael pulls back, his eyes searching mine, and I see their vibrant green depths clouded with the mix of uncertainty and desire. He breathes heavily, almost as if he's holding back his own fears, mirroring my internal struggle.
“Are we really doing this again?” he asks, the question lacing his voice with an edge of vulnerability as if he’s afraid the answer might shatter the moment.
"I don't know. Are we?" I ask him because I really don't know.
“But can’t you feel that it’s more than just desire for each other?” His eyes lock onto mine with an intensity that threatens to pull me under.
“Maybe so,” I concede, uncertainty clinging to my words. “But there are boundaries, Michael, and they exist for a reason, and after the last time, we put a pin in it.”
He shakes his head, stepping back enough to give us both space to breathe, though I desperately want to close the distance again. “Boundaries are just walls we build to protect ourselves from what we truly want. We’ve both been burned before, and I don’t want to live in that fucking cage anymore.”
"Michael, you know you're not the only one right?" I blurt out, feeling myself getting stuck in the past in a memory with Blade. "Like, you're not the only guy I'm "seeing"." I put in quotes, hating the awkward talks about feelings and shit
All my feelings died the night the guys did. Everything about me died that night, and now I'm just a shell of a women, still broken and mentally unstable. I have no fucking care in the world anymore. They changed something in me or brought something to the light. I can't even remember the girl I used to be. Her memory is gone, like she never even existed.
"Are they other patients of yours?" He asks, clearly with no shame, jealousy a flicker in his brown eyes.
I nod, getting him right where I want him. I've played this game before, and I'm pretty good at it. "Yes, three others," I admit with a straight face, watching him begin to lose it on the inside.
"I don't mind being your forth," he laughs, his smile so bright and happy for a man in his position in life is crazy.
"It's either me or a second chance at life—rewrite your wrongs or some shit like that. You can't have both, because with me, there's a high chance you're gonna lose your life." I stare at him, the tension sizzling.
"I'm more than willing to take the fucking risk, mi vida." Michael pulls me against his chest, my hands gripping his shirt as I look up at him, locking eyes. "I'd happily die for you."
"You have no fucking idea what you're getting into, Michael. I'm not the person you think I am," I warn him, but he still looks as if he doesn't give a fuck—his mind's already made up.
"In case you forgot, mamí, I'm no fucking Saint. I'm in for murder—one murder—but I've killed more than once, Doctor Stone, " he whispers in a warning tone, trying to assert his dominance over me.
I turn, still in his grasp, and scribble the address to the church on a post-it note, sticking it to the palm of his hand. I close his fingers around it and take a step back, but all I want to do is take a step forward.
"I'll see you tonight at eight," I whisper breathlessly, feeling weak in the knees from the look he's giving me, all while still trying to remain in control and professional.
"I'll be there at eight," he says, suddenly walking closer. "But right now you're going to bend your ass over your fucking desk so I can fuck you properly."
The order in his tone leaves no room for debate. It's his way and I don't get another option. This is one of the things I love about Michael; it's why I picked him to be a part of this. The intensity of his command sends shivers down my spine, a mix of fear and excitement thrumming in my veins. I’m caught between the urge to resist, to assert some semblance of authority, and the intoxicating feeling of submission that he brings out in me.
"Michael, we shouldn't—" I start, but the look in his eyes quickly silences me.
They blaze with a ‘no-nonsense’ determination that sends my heart racing. He reaches for my waist, guiding me to lean against my desk, the cool surface skates against my heated skin. I can feel my pulse quickening as I glance toward the door, the weight of what's to come hanging heavily in the air.
“Stop fucking pretending, Doctor Stone,” he murmurs my actual therapist name, his breath hot against my ear as he leans in closer. “We both know you want this—want me. Just Give. The. Fuck. In.”
With that, he uses one hand to cradle the back of my neck while the other moves to my hip, pulling me more firmly against him. His touch is possessive, igniting every nerve ending in my body. I can feel the animalistic energy seeping off him in waves, pushing against the tough walls of my restraint.
“I don’t want to lose control,” I whisper weakly, but even as I say it, I know it’s a lie.
The truth is, I’ve been reveling in the chaos ever since I met him, and being with Michael both exhilarating and terrifying.
“Control is overrated,” he replies, his lips brushing against my skin as he speaks, igniting a flurry of goosebumps. “Let me show you how good it feels.”
In a swift motion, he spins me around, hands gripping my arms as he applies just the right amount of pressure to keep me in place. His eyes bore into mine, deep and searching as if looking for a sign that I’m on board with this madness. My heart races against my ribcage—the fear of what’s to come intermingling with an overwhelming desire I can’t fight.
“Let me do this for you,” he commands, voice thick with raw need.
In a flick of his wrist, he pulls my skirt up slightly, exposing more skin. It sends a wave of shivers through me, and I feel myself being drawn deeper into this vortex of forbidden lust. I nod just slightly, an acknowledgment of his unyielding grip onmy will. It’s enough for him. In an instant, he spins me back around and lifts me effortlessly onto the desk, his arms tan, tattooed, and muscular.
"Esa es mi buena chica," he murmurs, a satisfied grin spreading across his face. I nearly melt as he claims the space between us, his body leaning into mine possessively. “Now just relax, and let papito take care of you.”
