“We should probably clean up,” I mumbled, attempting to regain some semblance of professionalism, but the truth was undeniable.
I was already planning for our next encounter, the thrill of danger and lust making me crave more than just the brief moments we had shared here and now. Hunter chuckled softly, the sound a low rumble that sent another shiver coursing through me.
"You mean to tell me the good doctor can be shaken up like this and still thinks of 'cleaning up'?" His voice held a teasing lilt as he leaned back against the edge of the desk, his eyes roving over the chaotic remnants of what had just happened.
I bit my lip, a guilty smile spreading across my face as I stood up, my legs shaky yet exhilarated. “Well, I can’t just leave my office looking like a fucking tornado hit it,” I replied, trying to sound authoritative, but failing miserably.
It was hard to maintain any kind of decorum with Hunter hovering so close, the scent of him—warm and intoxicating—still lingering in the air between us. And knowing what had been going on between us in the past few months, it made my days go by much easier. We had a bond, and one not many people would ever have.
With a reluctant sigh, I crouched down to begin picking up the scattered files, my skirt falling back into place but still revealing more than I was comfortable with. My scars were on display, though most of my body was covered in tattoos. I felt his eyes on me, a mix of admiration and amusement swirling in those deep blue pools.
"You don't have to do that right now," he said, his tone shifting to something softer, more genuine. "You can take a minute to breathe, to enjoy the aftershocks."
I glanced up at him, catching his gaze, and felt a rush of warmth spread through my chest. Was that concern I heard in his voice, or was it something else entirely?
“And let you laugh at my messy office?” I quipped back, but the playful banter felt tinged with something deeper now.
“A mess can be cleaned up. Moments like these, though…” His voice trailed off, and I watched as he took a step closer, his hand reaching out to tuck a strand of hair behind my ear. “They’re meant to be savored.”
The soft touch sent a flutter through me, a reminder of the intimacy we’d just shared. I relinquished my grip on the papers in my hands, letting them tumble to the floor as I straightened, feeling emboldened by the fiery connection still crackling in theair. How could he be like this and then go to torturing and murdering people? It baffled me, but I fucking loved it.
"So, what now? Do we just go back to pretending none of this happened?" I gestured at the remnants of our encounter scattered across my desk—my disheveled papers and the crumpled couple of Post-it notes that had somehow survived the storm.
Hunter stepped back, giving me space while his expression shifted to something more serious. "You know that's not an option," he stated, his voice low, charge racing between us once more. "This changes everything."
I paused, the weight of his words settling over me. Did it really? My mind raced back through the consequences of our actions—my career, his freedom, and the lines that we’d just crossed. But hadn’t I felt alive in a way I hadn’t in years?
"So, what do we do?" I asked, my heart racing with a rush of adrenaline and uncertainty.
A smirk tugged at the corners of his mouth, the familiar glint of mischief flashing in his eyes. "Well, I’m not shying away from it, Doc. You shouldn’t either. I want more than just a quick fix here and there.” He stepped closer again, his fingers brushing against my arm—a gentle caress that sent a shiver down my spine. “I want to see what this could really be outside of here and our work life.”
He slowed the word "work," hinting at what we do when the rest of the world is asleep and oblivious. A sexy wink had me crossing my legs to ease the ache between them, but the pulsing in my clit only got more intense. God, I wanted to fuck him again. But this time I want him covered in blood.
"I want to see you tonight," I tell him as he takes his prison jumpsuit off, slipping into a grungy blue pair of jeans, his wife beater, and the black leather jacket he always wears.
The jumpsuit is just a fetish thing—forbidden and shit. It's more of a turn-on for the both of us. Hunter's been out of prison for months, but per his parole officer, he's still required to see me.
"Then tell me what time to pick you up," he says, pulling his long dirty blonde strands into a short ponytail, but loose strands fall in his face.
"Eight, and don't be fucking late," I warn, hands on my desk pushing my tits together, watching his eyes dip right to them, his lips parting in satisfaction. "We've got somewhere to be tonight."
"What aren't you telling me, Doc?" Hunter asks, slowly stalking towards me, his untied boots stomping against the carpet, sending a deep shiver down my spine.
Our eyes bore into each other's, both refusing to look away first. But with Hunter, I've always had the upper hand—dominance over him due to my position of authority—me being his therapist. I molded Hunter to be the way I wanted him—I wanted him like this. And I'm pretty sure he doesn't know a thing about it.
"Just be at the church at eight, Hunter," I order sternly, slowly drawing out my words while my tongue glides across my teeth before my lower lip, knowing how much it drives him crazy.
"Anything you say, Doc," he mumbled, eyes locked hard on my mouth, as he moved his inches away from mine, knowing that he's now teasing me.
As he leans in to close the gap and kiss me, my office door opens and Kellin walks in, his blue prison jumpsuit catching my eyes as I glance over Hunter’s shoulder. I smirk at Kellin, inching away from Hunter as he turns around to see who interrupted him; he hates when he's interrupted doing anything.
"I'm finishing up with Hunter. Kellin, take a seat if you'd like," I tell him, walking around from behind my desk.
I put my hand on the small of Hunter’s back and guide him to the door, scooping his backpack up off the floor and pushing it into his hands. At the door he turns around, his warm breath kissing my skin; he's so close. His eyes pierce into mine, and I see the jealousy. I see the dark side of him he warned me about.
"I'll see you at eight, Doc," he says, crashing his mouth on mine, clearly not caring who sees, which makes it even more thrilling.
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