Scarlett
After Kellin leaves, I settle into my desk and take a moment to check my phone calendar, mentally noting that I have four more patients scheduled for the day. But, it's Michael and Theo who truly matter—the final pieces of my intricate plan. I freshen up and take my afternoon medication, enjoying half of a turkey and cheese sandwich, as some pills can fuck with my stomach if I don’t eat.
I think about how much has changed since the beginning of everything. I was young. I was innocent. And then I was fucking destroyed inside and out. I think about the feelings I have—a thirst quenching need for blood, for payback for something I have no idea how to explain.
As I finish tidying up, there’s a gentle knock on my office door, and Michael strides in right on cue. Recently released from prison for murder, he visits me three times a week as part of his parole agreement. Tall, muscular, Latino, and covered in tattoos, with dark hair and striking green eyes, he's different from the others—but he knows how to fuck just as well.
Before meeting the men who transformed my life, I was a virgin, holding what I believed was sacred close, convinced it allowed me to control at least a part of my existence. That was then. After Blade, Nixon, Riley, and Saint made sure to ruin me, I find myself unable to turn back time. My 'encounters' with Hunter and my other patients, create a twisted sense of intimacy that links me to those men in ways I hadn’t anticipated.
These days, everything about me feels complicated. I feel broken. Lost. They promised to ruin me for anyone who might come after them, a promise they’ve upheld with spite. No one knows the depths of my struggles, but the guys taught me how to wear a mask and wear it well, and fuck, I learned from the best. It’s only fitting that I strive to make them proud as they watch over me.
“Afternoon, Hermosa,” Michael whispers, his Latino accent dripping with a seductive lilt that sends a rush through me, making me want to sweep everything off my desk again and fuck him right here.
But we put a stop to it just weeks ago. It felt like it was getting too real, and since my time with the guys, I'm too afraid to be real with anyone. My guard is up and no one's busting fucking through it.
I never imagined I'd be a prison therapist who fucked her patients, but here I am, back from the dead with a plan, and my patients are in the perfect position to help me.
“Michael, it’s always a pleasure to see you,” I reply, moving to the front of my desk and sitting on the edge with my legs crossed,letting my skirt rise just enough to entice him with a teasing glimpse of my tattoos and what lies beneath.
His eyes flicker down, greedily drinking in the sight before he meets my gaze again, a smirk dancing on his lips. "You know just how to make a guy feel special, don’t you?" He steps further into the room, the door clicking shut behind him as if sealing off the world outside.
"I aim to please," I say playfully, trying to keep the atmosphere light, but something heavy lingers between us—an unspoken understanding of what we both want and need.
Michael's visits, despite their unorthodox nature, have become a solace for me, a way to explore boundaries while still pretending to maintain control. I just couldn't get past the whole feelings thing.
“What’s on your mind today?” I ask, twirling a red and black curl around my finger while feigning the clinical tone expected of a therapist, but we both know the game we play.
He shrugs, planting his hands into the pockets of his well-worn jeans, but there’s a flicker of intensity in his gaze. “Just the usual. Thinking about the future, what it all means now that I’m out. But honestly, I find it hard to think straight when you fucking look like that,” he admits, his voice dropping to a husky whisper as he steps closer.
I swallow hard, a mixture of dread and excitement washing over me. “Focus, Michael” I remind him, although I can feel my own composure waver as he inches closer, his scent driving me crazy. “We have to talk about your progress, not—”
“Not this?” he interrupts, gesturing between us as if daring me to deny the obvious chemistry. “C’mon, I know I’m not the only one feeling like this. You may wear the mask well, but I see right fucking through it.”
His words resonate with a truth I can't deny. There’s more than just therapeutic trust that binds us; it’s a complex web ofneed and desire, a strange cocktail of emotions carved from his past and my own disillusionment.
“Michael,” I start, but he steps closer again, his expression shifting from uncertainty to determination.
“Can you feel it? This tension?” He reaches out, brushing his thumb gently against my knee, and I feel a shiver race up my spine as his touch ignites something deep within me.
For a moment, I hesitate. I’m skirting the edge of a precipice that could easily send us both tumbling into chaos. “We have rules for a reason,” I warn, though my voice lacks conviction. “You know it’s unprofessional...”
“Fuck the rules. I'm almost fucking forty, for fucks sake. I just want to fucking live,” he interrupts, his passion sparking a fire in the air between us. “You’ve helped me survive hell, and now you act as if we can’t walk through this together? Don’t act like you don’t fucking want this as much as I do.”
His words hang in the air, heavy with guilt and truth. My heart races in response—a sequence I hadn’t anticipated. Every encounter, every whispered confession in my office has led us here, but I find myself at a crossroads. We've fucked a few times and said it could never happen again, but that was my way of keeping him where I wanted him. Keeping him at a distance but wrapped around my finger at the same time.
I had a gift to manipulate to get what I wanted, and it was given to me by the masked men who took me and tried to take my life. They taught me their ways, twisted and fucking ruthless. They molded me the way they wanted me, and I fucking let them. The fighting I was doing at first didn’t last long; they manipulated me. They taught me how to do it. So that's what I do.
“What if it all goes wrong?” I breathe, struggling to maintain the facade of control as uncertainty coils within me like a snake ready to strike.
“Then we’ll figure it out,” he replies, his voice low and intense. “But right now, just let yourself breathe.”
As he leans closer, my mind races with the consequences, but my body betrays me. I can’t deny the hunger I feel, the magnetic pull that continues to draw us together. In this world of pretense and pain, perhaps surrendering to desire for just a heartbeat isn’t the worst choice. Maybe it’s just what I need to remind myself I’m alive.
“Okay,” I exhale softly, and as his lips brush against mine, every thought of professional decorum vanishes into the haze of passion.
His kiss is tentative at first, as if testing the waters of our precarious arrangement. But the moment our lips connect, it transforms into something undeniably fierce and hungry. The warmth of his body radiates towards me, drowning out the rational part of my mind that screams for me to pull back. I let my fingers tangle in his hair, feeling the strands slip through my grasp, and for a moment, everything outside this office doesn't matter.
Michael's hands find my waist, pulling me in closer, and I feel every inch of him, every scar and every muscle. My heart races as I push aside the remnants of my apprehension and melt into this moment. His mouth moves against mine with dominance. I could almost laugh at how easy it is to losbehavior—how simple it is to forget the chaos outside these walls. The world can keep its judgments and expectations; right now, it’s just him and me.
