Page 55 of No Asylum Here

Just as he was about to push me over the edge, he pulled the scalpel from me and tossed it on the floor with a loud clank. "Tell me who you killed."

Dazed, I struggled to speak. The drug rendered me helpless. It was as if my tongue had been cast in quick-set cement.

“W–wh…?”

"In the first dream we shared, you said you killed someone.”

Had I said that? I didn’t remember. Everything was fuzzy. “I…”

He pinched my clit, and my eyes crossed at the sensation splitting my core in two. With an evil smirk, he stroked the sensitive nub, the pleasure chasing away the pain. “So who was it, Little Nightmare? Who did you kill?”

"I d–didn't." The lie was like bitter ash in my mouth. Images of Lauren flashed through my mind, and I shoved them away. “Not on purpose.”

Mal’s dark brows furled with disapproval. “You’re a shit liar. If you’re going to survive my father, you’ll need to lie better.”

Bitter tears pricked my eyes, from indignation or overstimulation. I didn’t care. All I wanted was to come. Maybe the pleasure of it would wash away the guilt of what I’d done.

“Confess your sin, and I’ll let you come."

I could barely breathe. My thoughts were spiraling. I could barely make sense of what was happening as the dream grew fuzzy around the edges.

But I knew my sin.

Even in the most convoluted of dreams, I'd never forget Lauren Hawkins and what I'd done.

"I failed her,” I finally managed to choke out.

Mal’s brows perked. “Failed who?”

“Lauren Haw—kins. My patient. I— I prescribed her the wrong meds. Overdosed.”

Lauren Hawkins killed herself because I failed her. I got off, scot-free. I almost wish I’d gone to prison. I should have, at the very least, lost my license.

Just like that, something inside me broke. But the pain was quickly replaced with relief, as if the confession had relieved much of the pressure growing inside me since Lauren’s suicide.

Tears rolled freely down my cheeks, and my moan-laced sobs had the man's grip on me softening. As Mal's touch eased, his gaze hardened.

Still, he kept his promise.

His fingers sank inside me, curling to hit that secret spot deep within that had me seeing stars. Within seconds, intense bliss split me apart. An unholy sound clawed up my throat as my orgasm ripped through me, setting my nerves on fire.

“That’s my good fucking girl,” Mal cooed, his smoky baritone fanning my entrance as he knelt between the cradle of my thighs. “Your insides are all a flutter, squeezing me like you never want to leave.”

I’m not sure I did. He felt entirely too good inside me for this to stop. The pain, the pleasure, whatever he wanted me to feel, I craved it. Just his presence, let alone what he could do with his fingers, took the edge away more than the pills ever had.

His fingers left me—leaving me as empty as I had feared—and held them up for me to see. A string of arousal stretched between the two gloved digits as they spread. “Holy shit, Doc. Look at your juices just dripping off of me.”

Without warning, he spanked my clit. My pussy was so wet, fluid peppered the mirror, providing me a view of his assault.

My body jerked, and I sucked in a gasp. The oxygen mask still covering my mouth fogged over.

He let out an evil chuckle, reminding me that this doctor, despite his often lucid cadence, was a madman.

“Such a succulent little cunt you have.”

A sudden pain lashed across my thighs like a braided flogger. My eyes widened at the reflection of his hands in the wet mirror. Deadly claws extended from his fingers, slicing shallow red ribbons into my skin.

The veins in his neck bulged, green light dancing through them, covering the operating room in an ominous viridescence. He crouched, and as he lunged forward, I caught the flash of his teeth in the mirror.