Unethical

Chapter 17

Chapter Seventeen

Maxim

I grip the steering wheel and think about last night. It was ballsy of me to sneak into her home and take her cunt with my mouth, but I wouldn’t take it back. I loved making my therapist come on my tongue. The therapist who hates everything about me and dreads each and every week she has to see me.

But she only hates me until I’m between her legs. When I’m there, she squirms for me.

My cock hardens, and I rub my hand over my jeans, pressing against my length. I can’t stop thinking about those sounds she made and the way she clenched and twitched from pleasure. I want to feel that around my cock more than anything. I’m blind with that need.

I can’t help but wonder what she’d have done if I unzipped my pants and offered her the dicking she needed just as badly. Would she have let me slip inside her soaked cunt? Would I have been able to fill her like I filled that fruit?

Fuck.

I can’t go to my appointment with this rock-hard ache between my legs. I look around the lot and pull out my cock when I see no one around. My fingers glide up and down the sensitive skin as I relive last night.

I finger-fucked her in the woods the night before a session too. I wanted to see her agony face to face. Now, I want to see it again. The confused anguish as she thinks about me just as much as I think of her. Only, it’s not me she’s thinking of. It’s the man in the mask. Her boogeyman.

I stroke myself as I think about her sweet moans. Her trembling thighs on the sides of my head. I imagine fucking her, tearing her open for my selfish pleasure. Ripping her apart. She dangles in front of me, and I don’t know how much longer I can wait for her to give it up to me willingly. She doesn’t have to, of course, but I would love to see that same torn hunger that I felt on my tongue last night.

I come with a groan, catching it in my hand, then bringing my palm to my mouth and closing my eyes as I tongue my flesh the same way I lapped at her pussy. With long, driven strokes, I clean myself off so I can go into that little office and try to talk about my past. I swallow the salty, slick come and wipe a drop from my lower lip before smirking at myself in the rearview mirror.

“Showtime, doc,” I whisper, brushing my hair from my face with my clean hand.

I get out of the car and head into the office, careful not to wipe the last bit of residue off my palm. The bell above the entrance goes off as soon as I walk in, announcing to the otherwise empty office that I’ve arrived. I head right for the big white door at the end of the hall, the one with Dr. Sarah Reeves’ placard next to it.

When I step inside, she’s crying at her desk. I should have knocked, but then I would have missed out on seeing this painful, raw emotion oozing out of her.

“Maxim, I-I’m so sorry,” she stammers, wiping the tears from her face. “I can’t?—”

I step closer and put my hand over hers, pressing my come into her skin as I feign a human emotion that comes naturally for everyone else. It’s a comforting gesture that she meets with her hand over mine.

Well, I thought it was comforting. She actually grips my wrist and plucks my hand off hers.

“I can’t do a session today,” she says.

I take a step back from her. “But what if I’m in the mood to talk, doc? What if I came in here wanting to spill all my guts for you?”

“You aren’t and you didn’t. We both know that.” The ghosts of her tears dry on her face. I’ve distracted her from whatever has her so upset, at least.

Believe it or not, I don’t love seeing her cry, even if I like being the reason she’s crying. I like that she’s distraught because she doesn’t know what to do with her feelings about the masked man pleasing her— me pleasing her.

I stride toward the couch and plop down, dropping my hands to my knees before my fingers intertwine on my lap. “What do you want to know about me?”

Sarah stands and walks to the chair right across from me. She sits down. Her chin rises. I can hardly tell she was crying any longer. “I don’t think you’ll tell me anything that isn’t a lie.”

“I’ll tell you a truth if you tell me why you were crying.”

She scoffs but leans back in the chair. Her eyes dance around as she stares at me, as if she’s trying to figure out if it’s worth spilling her secret to get out one of mine. It’s the only chance she has of getting that out of me, so she should take this opportunity.

“Fine,” she says. “But you have to talk first.”

“What do you want to know, doc?”

She circles her chin with her fingers. “Did you kill your foster parents?”

“Bold question.” I lean back, my shirt riding up as I put my hands behind my head. “But yes, I did.”

She blinks at me with much less of a reaction than I expected. It’s because she knew that answer already. She knew all along.

“Why?” she asks.

“Ah, one question at a time. My turn. Why were you crying?”

She shakes her head. “I’m not comfortable talking about this with you.”

“I’m not comfortable talking about my dead fucking foster parents with you either, but here I am. Spill.”

She rolls her eyes, but they land on me again before sinking to the floor. “I think I have a stalker. And he broke into my house last night...” She exhales.

“What’d he do to you?” I ask, leaning forward and putting my forearms on my lap. A spark of jealousy ignites in my gut. Why the fuck am I getting jealous of myself? It was my mouth on her. My tongue that made her come. “What’d he fucking do to you?”

Her cheeks flame red at the protective bite to my tone that’s even surprising to me. “Nothing,” she whispers, refusing to look at me.

“Tell me, doc. What did that man do to you?”

She sighs. “He used his mouth on me.”

A twisted flare of arousal eats away at that jealousy and possessiveness as she tells me what I did to her.

“So you’re telling me someone came into your room and put his mouth on you? That’s not a stalker, baby, that’s a boyfriend.”

“There’s this thing called consent, Maxim.”

“Did you tell him you didn’t want it? Better yet, did you want it?”

Her lips tighten. “God, why would I expect you to understand why I’m upset? I was crying because I’m frustrated. Because I know no one will believe me! Not even a criminal like you believes me.”

Ouch, doc. “No, I believe you. I just think you’re being a little overdramatic about it.”

“This man put his fingers inside me. He put his mouth on me! It’s assault!”

I love hearing that my fingers were the reason she was upset the first time. I can’t help but wonder how much more upset she’d be if her masked stalker took her sweet little needy cunt next.

“You’re right, doc.” I stand up and step toward her. Placing my hands on the arms of the chair, I lean closer. “I’m sorry.”

She looks up into my face, and for the first time, I don’t see fear. I see defeat. So why don’t I feel good about it?

“It’s fine. I don’t expect you to give a shit about anyone else. But I’ve answered the question, so now it’s your turn. Why did you kill your foster parents?”

Sarah is wrong. I do care about her. I’m obsessed with her. I know what I do to her is wrong, but it’s the only thing right for me now. I need to touch her. Need to please her. I care about what’s happening to her, but I can’t stop. My selfish desires override my emotions, and I intend on taking it to the point of no return. And then I’ll have to disappear, because she can’t find out it was me.

“Well?” she asks, pushing the question.

“I killed my foster parents because they were abusive pricks who didn’t deserve to draw air.”

“In what ways were they abusive?”

I shake my head. “Back and forth, remember? Answer my earlier question. When that man put his mouth on you, did you want it? Did you come on his tongue?”

Anger simmers through her veins, making her cheeks flush. I’m so close that I can feel the heat rising from her skin. “Get the fuck out of my office, you sadistic asshole! You like getting a rise out of me, don’t you? You?—”

Her fire-soaked lips are so close to mine, and she’s throwing every heated syllable right at me. I’m tethered to those lips, and the string pulls taut. I lean into them and burn from the heat of her anger.

Her lips begin to move, but then she stops and pulls her head away. “Maxim, no,” she says, the sternness filling the space between those two words.

I don’t want her to realize that the man she’s crying over and the man attached to her face are the same, so I pull away.

“Sorry,” I say. “I read the room wrong.”

“What about any of this said to kiss me?” she snaps, wiping me off her lips as if I’m dirty. “Don’t ever do that again.”

Then she gazes up at me and something very unexpected happens. She leans forward and kisses me back.