Unethical

Chapter 20

Chapter Twenty

Sarah

I sit on my bed and try to process what just happened. I ache between my legs from yet another assault. No, I’m not allowed to call it that. I let him fuck me, and now I have to deal with the emotional aftermath.

The encounter weighs heavily on me now, grinding me into dust from the pressure. A cyclone of emotions twists inside me. My love and hate hold my hands and spin with me in this confusing storm. I enjoyed the pleasure and desire, but I hate him for what he did to me before. In the woods.

The fear isn’t a distant memory. It’s still so fresh in my mind. Even though he makes me come, he’s not a good person. Good people don’t break into homes, no matter if their intent is to give pleasure or hurt someone. He’s a terrible, dangerous man.

And I let him inside me.

Oh god, what did I do? What did I allow to happen? I knew he was coming tonight, or maybe it was just wishful thinking, but some nervous, excited feeling coursed through me as each minute ticked by and he hadn’t broken into my house again to please me.

It’s been so long since I’ve been intimate with anyone that it made me deranged, I guess. He’s made me crave a man who can’t even show his face to me. A man who left as soon as he was done using me, not once, but three times now.

What am I doing?

And why would I do it again?

Desperation is a horny bitch, it seems.

I cleaned off my face, but his orgasm lingers on my skin long after he finished spilling it on my cheeks. It burns me like a brand, as does the phantom touches where he grazed my stomach, my thighs. The places he touched feel like they don’t belong to me anymore. I’m no longer my own person. He snatches parts of me with each encounter, claiming them as his. If this keeps happening, I’ll lose myself completely.

I throw my face into the pillow and scream. I’m so mad at myself for reveling in the touch of a psychopath. I’m also angry with myself for being so stupid because a man with a big dick decided to stalk and harass me. This is so unlike me. Before Maxim, I never would have?—

Maxim.

What if it’s him? What if he’s the masked man who stalks and assaults me?

I shake my head. I would know if he’d been the man making me come. He’d probably call me doc if it were him.

Even though he isn’t the masked stranger, he’s still a problem. He planted a seed of darkness in my brain, and now it’s tainting my morality while I let the masked man take advantage of me. That psycho reaps the benefits of the darkness sown by Maxim.

Is this who I’ve become? Or is this who I’ve always been but fought so hard to not become? Have I helped so many unhinged people because I’m actually pretty unhinged myself?

They say it takes one to know one. Maybe I’m not the pure soul I try so hard to portray myself as. A morally righteous person wouldn’t fuck a masked stranger like I have, though. They definitely wouldn’t have come from it.

And there’s no fucking way they’d hope for more.

The desire to feel wanted and needed is both intoxicating and dangerous. I’m playing jump rope with a saw blade at this point. The adrenaline sends me on a high with each pass of the whirring circle of sharp teeth, but it will eventually chop me off at the knees.

I walk to the living room and flop onto the couch. My eyes close, and I begin to analyze myself. This need to feel desired springs from somewhere. I search through my childhood for some repressed memory, but I find nothing. My mind wanders through my dating history, but nothing jumps out at me.

I can only come up with one plausible answer. I chose this line of work not because I have a desire to fix my clients’ messed up heads but because maybe, just maybe, they can fix mine.