January 17th, 1996. 

​

“No camera today,” Ethan commented.

He was not asking, but she could hear the question in his voice. She cleared her throat. “When I conduct a psychoanalytical examination, I prefer not to record it. I find that when practicing free association, patients respond better when they’re not being monitored as closely.”

Ethan watched her intently, his gaze tracking her movements. He was waiting for her reaction to his exposed arms. She didn’t give him enough of a response before, when she was too engrossed in her own emotional pull. 

 

She could wait for him to open up the discussion, to discover his reasoning as to why he chose today to reveal his scars to her, or she could start the session right in the middle of the deep end.

 

She was drowning.

 

“Why the sudden shift in method?” he asked, forcing her to meet his cool gaze. “Was I not cooperating, Doctor?”

 

She wet her lips. Taking a steadying breath. “Free association is just another tool we can use to uncover any repressed emotions or memories. Its purpose isn’t meant to treat, but rather to learn.”

 

His head tilted. “What’s left to learn? Unless this learning technique works both ways. There’s so much I’d love to learn about you, Marlena. I want to learn how you feel beneath me. I want to learn how your hair feels tangled in my hand—”

 

“Stop.”

 

He did. 

He pressed his shoulders against the chair, his arms on full display. She was wrong—and she was rarely wrong—to think he hid his scars in shame. Ethan’s intelligence has always been her biggest obstacle. She was vain to believe she could simply outwit him. He was offering her nothing of his past or himself.

 

He’d been the one gathering and collecting intel.

On her.

 

That ended now.

 

“You’re going to learn about me during this session, also,” she said. “This method works both ways, between patient and psychiatrist.”

He sat forward. “We don’t need these evasive methods. Anything you want to know, just ask. I’ll tell you.”

 

“Alright.” 

She pushed off the desk and pulled her seat up. “This takes trust, Ethan. Trust between patient and doctor, and I’m trusting you not to harm me with your actions or your words, and you can trust me not to do the same.”

 

He went still, not a muscle twitch or facial tic to indicate that her proximity provoked him. But it was in his stillness that she read his anxiety. Then there was the slightest curl of his hand into a fist as he rested it on the chair.

 

“I can smell your body lotion,” he said. His eyes close as he inhaled. “Lilacs.” A grin tipped the corner of his mouth up. “I had one of my fans send me some fresh blooms to put in my cell.”

 

Ignoring the baiting comment, she remained calm. “You seem defensive today.”

 

His smile dropped. “That’s not a question.”

 

“We’re practicing free association. I’m able to voice my thoughts just as you are, without having to guard them.”

He glanced at the camera again. “Are you worried about what you might reveal?”

 

She looked down at her crossed legs. “Actually, I am.” When she glanced up, his demeanor was different. 

More intense. 

More serious. 

As if he didn’t feel the need to perform.

 

“We can start with a simple word association,” she began. “I’ll say a word, and you’ll say the first thing that comes to mind. The point is not to take too long or to think about your response. Can I trust that you’ll do that?”

“You can trust that I’ll do anything you ask of me.”

Marlena swallowed forcefully, keeping her gaze fixed on him. Unaffected. “Let’s start simple. Animal.”

“Wolf.”

“Office.”

He peeked at the black device. “Camera.”

“Flowers.”

“Lilacs.”

“Finger.”

“Wet.”

“Past.”

“Hurt.”

She paused. “You’re associating every word with me.”

He craned an eyebrow. “Am I doing it wrong?”

“No. Not if it’s your natural response. Our goal is for you to transfer your emotions and desires onto me. It’s called transference. Unless you’re purposely selecting words to which you think make me uncomfortable…”

 

“You asked for honesty. Don’t doubt that I’m giving you anything less.”

She pressed her lips together. “Okay. Money.”

“Career.”

“Hunger.”

“Ravenous.”

She crossed her legs, noting the way his gaze followed her action. “Wrong.”

“Right.”

“Death.”

“Penalty.”

“Love.”

“Sickness.”

“Woman.”

He paused here. “You.”

“Sex.”

His nostrils flared. “Fuck.”

“Sin.”

“Salvation.”

“Happiness.”

 

He lunged forward. She didn’t have time to react. She was paralyzed, awaiting what happens next. He didn’t touch her, but he was close—close enough for her to smell his aftershave. “There’s no such thing,” he said. “Stop asking the questions of a psychiatrist and get your answers.”

She held her place, not backing down. She was trembling, but it was not out of fear. Every molecule in her body was fighting to get closer.

 

Touch him.

 

She released the breath she’d been holding, and Ethan’s sharp intake, as if he was stealing it for himself, sparked a primal thrill within her.

 

“An answer for an answer,” she finally said. This pulled a smile from him. 

“Okay.” He settled back into his chair without having touched her. She was not sure if she was relieved or disappointed. Both reactions were concerting.

 

She folded her hands together, gathering her bearings. “Where are you from?”

He didn’t hesitate. “Huston.”

She arched an eyebrow.

His dimple made an appearance. “Originally, UK.”

“What brought you to the States?”

He shook his head. “My turn. Where are you from?”

Her shoulders deflate. He asked this like he already knew the answer. “Colorado.”

“No way. You little miss-.”

 

She dug her elbows into her thighs, grounding herself. “Tell me about the scars, Ethan.”

Her question did what she wanted. His focus shifted from her past to his. “Which ones?”

On reflex, she glanced at his arms.

 

His fingers trailed over his inked forearm. He watched her, the way she followed his movement. “Some were a gift, and some were a punishment. My stepdad had a particular way of distinguishing both.”

This was the first time he’d made her aware of a stepparent. “Your stepfather was abusive, then.”

 An amused smile lights his face. “You don’t like following your own rules.”

 

 “Fair enough. Ask away.”

 

He bit down on his bottom lip as he thought. Her breathing became measured, too loud, too revealing. “The Marks on your wrists. Tell me what happened.”

 

She flicked her hair from her forehead with a sharp head shake. Then she presented the practiced answer she crafted. “It was an accident. I was working in the garden and a wire cut me.”

 

Disappointment creased his eyes. “That’s not it.”

“That’s all, Ethan. That’s all there is.”

 

“Why do you cover them up with makeup? Tell me about it. Who did it to you in the first—?”

“You’re out of line,” She interrupted. “My turn.”

 

“No. You didn’t give me an honest answer before. I want to know this.”

She sucked in a quick breath. Her agitation grew. “I was very ill—”

“A few months ago?”

 

She hesitated. “Yes. And like any good doctor, I conceal it now out of professionalism.”

 

 “Why not just wear them openly, then?”

 

Her heartbeat erratically, the pulse at her temples firing a sharp web of pain through her head. She rubbed the back of her neck. “I don’t know why,” she said, having no other answer to offer him.

This seemed to sate his curiosity for now. He didn’t press.

 

“Are all your scars from your stepfather?” She asked. “What about your mother?”

 

“No. Not all of them.”

When she tapped her fingers on the armrest, he sighed. It was only fair that he divulged more if he expected more from her in return.

“My mother liked to watch. But we’re not talking about that. You’re not ready.”

“The very definition of my job is being prepared to talk you through this exact thing, Ethan.”

“But not today.” He touched an extensive scar along his forearm, a hard expression masking his face. “There is a number I’ve carved myself,” he confessed. “The pain I inflict on myself serves as punishment for when I become aroused while watching their suffering.”

Their suffering. 

His victims. 

If there was ever any doubt as to whether or not her patient was a sadist, Ethan has just eliminated all uncertainty.

 

“You look…surprised.”

 

Marlena opened her mouth, but couldn’t summon the words to convey what she was feeling. 

Revulsion. 

Fury. 

Sickened. 

These are acceptable responses, and yet she didn’t feel any of them. 

Alarmed. 

Curious. 

Enthralled—the dark corner of her mind beckoned her closer. She could feel the draw.

She touched her forehead, giving herself a moment to bury her head and disconnect from him. “Not surprised, just processing. I rarely encounter this level of candidness.” She looked up at him. “And with no shame.”

 

The atmosphere thickened with his intense stare. “What am I supposed to feel ashamed of? I could be weak. Instead, I’ve learned how to control my impulses and direct them toward the wicked. I’ve even learned how to manage my desires, choosing to self-mutilate rather than losing myself in the liberation of taking from others.”

 

She felt the force of his words, the lure reeling her in—and she was powerless against it. She wanted more. She wanted to shut the blinds and block out the judgmental world and only exist where shame didn’t live.

 

When encountering the gravity of a black hole, a force so powerful not even light can escape its vortex, you don’t stand a chance against the darkness. Whatever light she has been able to muster in this dark world, he will surely devour if she continued on this collision course.

 

“So now, tell me,” he said, stretching his arms along the armrests, “how did you get your name? Marlena is very unusual.”

 

“I’m told my mother named me after…” She trailed off. 

Smile. 

“She named me after her favorite soap opera star.”

His brow creased. “You’re told,” he repeated, stressing her blunder.

He didn’t miss anything. Paying attention to every slip of the tongue and inflection. Her turn to deflect. She glanced at the clock.

“So we’re agreed,” he said, gaining her attention. “No discussion of mothers today, Marlena.”

 

She straightened her back. “That can be a topic for another day.” One that she won’t compound on. “Most of my patients spend years on that subject. We don’t have that much time.”

The mention of his dwindling time carved his features in hard angles. “What do we have time for, then?”

“Not much more today, I’m afraid.”

 

As she started to stand, he sat forward. “We’re a lot alike,” he said. It was time to end the session—it was smart to stop it right now—but curiosity forced her to recline and stay. “How so?”

He glanced at the camera. “We both like to record our sessions. I use it for reflection.”

 

She shook her head. “I wouldn’t compare the two, Ethan. It’s not the same.”

“But isn’t it? I’m curious. What do you use all those recordings for? Titillation?”

“We’re done.”

“Do you touch yourself while you watch them?”

 

She stood.

 

“Did you watch my videos?”

 

Marlena pushed the chair backward. “Yes.”

“All of them?”

 

Shame squirmed into their sacred space. Professionally speaking, one or two or even three recordings of Ethan’s torture sessions would’ve sufficed for research into his diagnosis. But just like now, despite the warnings, the draw to experience…to feel this forbidden connection… It was too great.

 

“Yes,” She answered honestly. She was a professional. And as a professional, she has every right to conduct extensive research into her patients.

But the dare in his eyes glinted, a challenge to unmask those dark desires lurking beneath her surface. “Which one is your favorite?”

 

The rules of psychoanalysis were simple: there were no rules. In this safe haven, she could confess her excitement, her arousal at watching the woman be bound.. But she won’t admit that aloud. She refused to give in to him.

 

“That’s our session for today,” she announced. Marlena straightened her skirt as she started toward the hallway, forgetting her proximity to the inmate in her office.

 

Ethan hasn’t forgotten.

 

Her march toward the other side of the room was thwarted as he grabbed hold of her skirt. Every muscle in her body tensed, the hairs on her skin stood, all senses captured by him and his clutch on her skirt.

 

In an instant, she realized he purposely riled her for this exact outcome. The rattling of chains heightened her anxiety, then She was yanked backward. Forced to stand before him, She stared down at where he gripped the hem of her skirt, bunching the fabric in a tight fist.

 

“Release me,” she demanded, somehow controlling the tremor in her voice.

His gaze roved deliberately up her body to meet her eyes. “You want to touch my scars.”

The heat of his skin touched her bare thigh, his rough knuckles an abrasive and enticing friction. She swallowed. “That would be inappropriate.”

 

“But you still want to.” He released the fabric one finger at a time, until she was free of him. But she was not. The dare in his eyes still held her captive. “I want you to.”

 

They should be like two similar poles of a magnet; they should repel each other. But their magnetic fields attract, snapping together forcefully. As if he feared she was a creature to be spooked, he gently rested his hands on her hips, and a shiver rocked her. “But if you do, I get to touch you, and your wrists,” he challenged.

 

This was more than prohibited. It was dangerous.

 

She breathed in deeply, inhaling his masculine scent, torturing herself for what she was about to do. In spite of her heart pounding in clear warning, she placed her hand atop his. She let her palm travel over his rough fingers to his wrist, and on to his arm. Where the beveled scars wrapped his flesh. Like wiry bands inserted beneath his skin, the scar tissue was smooth and cruel. Some more recent than others, and the thought of him inflicting the wounds while enraptured in erotic deviancy…

 

Marlena’s breath caught as his fingers made contact with her sore wrists and then her inner thigh. She shut her eyes against the onslaught of emotions—the illicit and erotic way he made her feel as his coarse palm grazed up her thigh, her skirt bunching against his wrist.

 

“Look at me.”

The demand raced through her blood, scorching her veins. She opened her eyes on impulse. Ethan’s electric green gaze held her imprisoned while his hand branded her skin. He inched upward, the abrasive pads of his fingers exploring, mapping her, as he gauged her response.

A whimper escaped, and she had to bite her lip to hold back another. A muscle jumped along his jaw, then he roved higher, torturously slow. She trembled under his intimate touch. The stronger his touch became, the more she craved to dig her nails into his flesh. Her fingers form claws on his arms.

As if he knew what she was thinking, he licked his lips and said, “Do it.”

 

The dare slithered over her body, the pulsing heat between her thighs inviting him to touch her, and as she surrendered, his fingers skimmed the seam of her panties. A shock of awareness snatched her breath and she stepped back, breaking the connection.

 

She didn’t stop walking until she was safely behind her desk. Ethan’s heated stare tracked her, his chest moving up and down with his uneven breaths. His features strained as if he was feeling the same suffocating pain that burnt her lungs. The room pulsated with each of his breaths, in harmony with the pounding of her heart.

She was losing her mind.

 

His mouth pressed into a firm line. Giving nothing away. She decided that was acceptance enough, and end the session by crossing the room and opening the door to prompt the officer.

Flustered, she turned her back to him and ran her hands over her skirt as she rushed to the hall. Within minutes, the officers had Ethan shackled and transported. He didn’t speak, didn’t say a word. Giving no hint to the storm brewing between them.

 

She hovered by the hallway as Ethan was unshackled from the floor restraint and secured to be transferred back to the officer. It was a tedious and loud process that grated her nerves every time the chains clattered and locks clicked.

 

When he was ready, the corrections officer escorted him forward to meet the other armed officers in the waiting room. As Ethan passed, his hand grazed hers. Just a light brush that could be perceived as an accident, but the directness of the touch, the point of contact, heated her skin. The stroke of his finger along the side of her palm was powerful enough to seize all her senses.

 

It was no accident.

 

She shut the door and cupped her hand over the spot he touched.

 

She stood in the center of her office, feeling the weight of what transpired heavy and pressing. The wood floor shifted beneath her feet. Gravity only needed one slight push to send her spiraling down.

 

January 17th, 1996. Later that day.

 

Memories were deceptive.

The way the mind works when recalling the past distorts our reality. Our minds shape and mold a memory every time we look at it, changing subtle details, altering facts. No two people remember past events the same, whether they were both present at the moment or not.

 

Most people didn’t know this, and it can be a frightening realization when they discover the truth. Their memories were skewed to perceive the world around them in a way that structured and defined who they were and what they believed.

 

There was no difference between how they recall their past and their actual past—that the outcome, either way, created a monster.

This was the truth. It was difficult to separate any fact from fiction. So why bother debating theories and nitpicking the particulars?

 

And in order to move forward, it was imperative that she’d stop recalling her own memories of the past year. How many times had she gone over the details? How many times had her mind warped those events? Were her memories even real anymore, or just fragments of the truth tangled with her nightmares? And what she was told? Like an old cassette tape being recorded over and over, her memories now played back a garbled, distorted song.

 

Marlena stuffed her hands into her white coat pockets and followed the winding trail through the park. The birds sang along to the tune in her head, their high-pitched shrieks punctuating the peaks of her anxiety.

She hoped the stroll through one of her favorite places would calm her worries. She huffed a soundless laugh at her paranoia. The birds didn’t care about her or what she’d done when she was possessed. She was losing her mind.

 

A chill touched her skin, and she released her hair, letting it drop and giving her tresses a shake to cover her neck. She’d recalled the memory of her last session with Ethan too many times now, analyzed it, dissected it, recollected the details. The sensations and emotions he evoked. The yearning…yearning she felt only for John...but as it appeared, he was out of the picture. Kristen ruled his nights now. But she couldn’t forget the details. She was scared that every time she remembered, she altered what actually occurred.

 

Our minds are so powerful, constructing connections and feelings to a single occurrence, turning something considerably insignificant into a meaningful moment. Full of passion and elation. When in truth, any colleague looking in would simply derive that countertransference is inhibiting her ability to assert her role as a doctor over her patient.

 

She gave in to Ethan’s wants, and you can never give your patient everything they want—regardless if those desires reflect your own. 

No, scratch that. 

Especially when their desires reflect your own.

It was more than dangerous; it was unethical.

 

But the feel of his rough hands on her skin… she shut her eyes, just for a second, allowing the memory to claim her once more before she buried it. Marlena inhaled a deep breath full of the cleansing power of the park, and the evening sky darkened, thunder clouds loomed.

 

The sound of birds has vanished. The sudden stillness of the trees consumed her senses, and she noticed that she was not alone.

“Doc?”

She turned around. “John, what are you doing here?”

 

Wearing a black trench coat over an expensive suit, he came closer. “I was just enjoying the scenery. Figured we could talk once we were alone.”

Marlena vaguely recalled Synthiya mentioning he was looking for her early that day. She wrapped her arms around her middle and glanced behind him. It will get dark soon. She started toward the exit. “Oh, is everything alright?”

“I’ve tried looking for you today. You're a difficult woman to get in touch with these days.” She could hear the smile in his voice. 

As she strolled beside him, he thrust a manila folder toward her. “You need to see this, Doc.”

Regardless of her understanding of the mind’s tricks, curiosity was still a powerful tool. John knew it. She took the folder.

“You’re treating a very dangerous man. You’re not the first shrink he’s abused.”

 

She squinted at his word choice, then flipped the folder open. When she looked down, her breath caught at the base of her throat. She schooled her features as she assessed the image, not allowing the disgust to register on her face.

Marlena flipped to the next page and scanned the victim’s profile.

“Doctor Jane Scott.”

She continued reading over the pages.

 

Why did that name sound familiar?

 

“A neurologist. She was accused of unethical practices on her patients,” he continued, filling in the blanks. “But never prosecuted.”

 

Her stomach pitched. Unethical practices were blanket terminology that didn’t convey the accused cruelties levied against her. The images of the deceased Dr. Scott captured the gruesomeness of the procedure. Puncture wounds dotting above her eyelids denote that she was a victim of her own morbid methods. Her dead eyes stared into the camera, blank and vacant. Then a thought occurred. “Where did the images come from? Were they taken at the scene?”

 

John’s brow furrowed. “I show you pictures of a tortured and murdered doctor and that’s what you want to know?”

She closed the folder. “John, I assume you’ve come a long way to find these, so you’ve been anticipating my reaction. I’m sorry to disappoint you.” There were no lobotomy victims found in connection to Ethan. “I can take care of myself. Don’t worry about me.” She handed him back the folder. “You’re here to convince me not to keep my sessions with him, which I’m not even sure how you know it happening.”

 

He squared his shoulders. “Abe called, he said he saw an inmate leaving your office. I know we haven’t talked much since you moved back into the penthouse, but I want you to know I still care. I care so much for you. But to answer your question—” he changed the subject and dug his hands into his coat pockets “—Cox didn’t always dispose of the bodies. This one was discovered at the scene. He’s perfecting his methods.”

 

She angled her head away as he got closer. “I would say that he stopped perfecting his methods a year ago. That is, if the perpetrator was indeed caught.” She glanced at the folder in his hand. “Do they have evidence tying him to the murder?”

Ethan has admitted the killings to her. She won’t go on trial declaring his innocence.

“You’re welcome to any and all evidence, Doc. I’ll ask Abe to forward it to you.”

“Thank you…you know, it’s getting late, I want to get home, see the children.” She started to leave, feeling this was a proper place to end the discussion, but he snagged the arm of her coat to halt her.

“Doc, I hope that once you’ve reviewed the evidence, you’ll know the right thing to do.”

 

She pulled away from him and crossed her arms. “The right thing to do, John, is my job.”

“Running away from your past is a part of your job description?”

“Excuse me?” she started.

“I know you feel guilty for what you did, but none of it, was your fault!” his tone was louder than before, but he had no intention of making a scene.

“John, I did….” she glanced at her wrists, remembering how sore they were when she came too at St. Luke’s. How red and itchy they felt. “I did horrible things to people…Ethan, he gets me-”

“Stop comparing your sins to his. You had no choice. You were a victim!”

“He was a victim too!”

He held up his hands in defense. “No one’s judging you, Doc. We’re all on the same side, aren’t we? The side that wants justice?” He got closer and she could feel his fingers closing around her forearms.

 

She huffed an empty laugh. “Wanting justice for the victims doesn’t give us a license to kill, John.” she stepped back, releasing his warm hands from her body. “Now please, trust my judgment, and stay out of it.” She left then. He waited until she made it around the bend in the trail to call out. “He drove an icepick through her skull. But she didn’t die from that.”

 

Her steps slowed, but she didn’t stop.

“She bled to death,” he shouted. “Come on, Doc! Don’t tell me you believe in his Innocence!”

The exit was in sight. But she stopped and turned, “I thought you, of all people, wouldn’t judge a person without having all the facts.” she lashed, her vision becoming foggy with fresh tears.

“Okay, I’ll play along. Has he or has he not committed those terrible crimes?”

Silence.

“Doc-”

“I cannot discuss my patients with you, you know that, but I do believe in his ability to reform, he’s not evil-”

“So are you! You’re feeling so guilty for what you did, but it wasn’t you! The Marlena that I know would have never committed these crimes.” he got closer again. His closeness unnerved her. She didn’t deserve it. 

His phone buzzed, and he brought it to his palm, mumbling something about Kristen, but he didn’t answer it.

That black piece of her soul rattled her very being.

“So maybe you don’t know me the way you think you do. Now call Kristen back, I bet she worries.”

Turning around she reached for the exit once more. She pushed through the latticed door and hit the sidewalk, where she found a private alcove between buildings. She pressed her back to the brick and dragged in a breath. An ache lodged in her head, pain radiating from the back of her neck.

She was not easily shaken.

She was caught off guard, she told herself. Moments before he showed up, she was feeling vulnerable.

 

January 22nd, 1996. 

 

 “The freedom to do and say what one wants has always disturbed others,” She admitted, immediately following up. “It may be nonsensical to you, but it’s why society chooses to shield their innermost thoughts. An empathetic person doesn’t want to hurt anyone or make those around him uncomfortable. In order to…blend, for lack of a better word, we must…” she trailed off, unable to complete her thought.

 

“We, doctor?” Ethan sat forward. “Tell me what we must do.”

She tossed her blond hair from her eyes and adjusted her seat. “Master our urges.”

His stare was invasive, that disarming gaze hardening as if he was dissecting her. “Is that how you’ve done it?”

A splash of fear iced her body. “What?”

“Blended again, after the demon had left your soul. Yeah, they have newspapers in jail. Have you mastered your urges or are you just delusional?”

She slapped the folder closed. “This session has officially gotten off track, and so it’s over.” She rose from her seat.

“But we only have one left after this.”

 

The hurt in his voice sounded so genuine it stopped her. She turned toward him. “I have your evaluation completed already. You don’t require another session.” Marlena yanked the paperwork from the folder and flinched. 

“Damn. Paper cut.”

Red beads at the tip of her finger. In the second it took her to assess the wound, Ethan moved. He captured her hand and hauled her forward. His vise grip serveed two purposes: preventing her from fleeing, and forcing blood to her hand.

He took her finger into his mouth. A roar filled her ears, her heart thundering at the feel of him sucking the blood away. She felt it in the back of her knees, an electric current racing through her body and knocking her legs weak.

 

“Stop.” The word was barely audible, but it was enough.

Ethan pulled back and released her hand. He drew the chain off the floor, sliding it over his palm, then rubbed a pattern over the lock. “I’m afraid that when it comes to you, Marlena, I’ll never master that kind of control.”

She stepped backward, separating them. “It doesn’t matter. This is over.”

 

Anger ignited his pale eyes. “Your lies won't work on me. You feel everything I do. You know how it feels like, when the beast takes over, Marlena. I know you do. There’s no point in denying it any longer.”

 

She shook her head and took another step away. “I don’t. And you can’t feel. You’re not capable.” Beneath the adrenaline spiking her bloodstream, she sensed a distinct mock of hypocrisy. Her desk with the panic button was just feet behind her. The moment he stood, she’d sprint for it. She heard the clatter of chains and knew she was—that he couldn’t reach her—only to be thrown against the edge of the desk as he grabbed her from behind.

 

Her back crushed to his chest, he sealed a hand over her mouth. She reached for the button, but his other hand was there first. His grip wrenched her wrist back and then planted her palm on the wood, pinning her to the desk. Her breaths seared her chest.

“We’re not leaving here until you admit the truth one fucking time.” His warm breath touched her neck. His mouth rested against her ear.

 

She blinked hard as he laid a thin piece of metal on the desk. She recognized it as a silver catch from a belt buckle. She mentally cursed herself. She was so enraptured in that moment he held her captive. His hand slid up her thigh…his other hand anchored to her waist. He fucking used her. 

She was blind. 

Naive.

“You’d have never been so careless unless you wanted these chains off.” He tightened his hold, letting her feel the chain still cuffed to his wrists. The cool metal of the links rubbed along her back. “Now tell the truth.”

Then his hand was gone. She gasped in a breath, her nails clawed at the desk. “I’ll scream,” She threatened.

He hauled the chain over her head and secured it around her neck, forcing her back harder against his chest. “And I’ll crush your windpipe.”

 

The links pinched her skin as he made his point. But then just as suddenly, he loosened the chain, allowing her to take in an unobstructed breath. Only as the fear of being strangled vanished, a new one gripped her. 

Ethan shoved her skirt up her legs.

“All your talk of control and morality…” He kicked her feet apart as his fingers splayed along her thigh. “You were a monster, Marlena. I know where you live—that dark corner where you hide.”

She whimpered and shook her head against him. “You’re wrong, Ethan. You’ve built this up in your mind—”

“Stop.” He dug his hand into her hair and yanked. Her hair came loose, and he pressed closer to inhale her. “I want you to prove how well you’ve mastered your urges.” His other hand inched higher. Her belly trembled at the feel. “If you’re not turned on, I’ll cuff myself to the floor and never touch you again. But if you are…then you’re going to confess all those dirty sins to me.”

 

He tugged her leg over, spreading her wider, as he roamed up her thigh. His body caged her in, the edge of the desk digging into her stomach, but the pain only served to heighten the sensual sensation of every place he was touching. An ache bloomed deep in her core, the throbbed sending heat between her legs…and she knew he could sense it. She clamp her eyes closed.

 

As he reached the joint of her leg, she flinched. His finger traced along the seam of her underwear, a tantalizing threat, before he grasped her fully. Marlena bucked at the force, then he dragged his fingers over her, the pressure erotic, evoking.

A low groan vibrated from deep within him. “I can feel you through the flimsy layer of cloth, Marlena. You’re wet.”

 

His words ricocheted through her, every point of impact detonating like a blast. Every stroke ignited her skin like a strike of a match, and she no longer had the power. Control slipped through her fingers as easily as her hands splayed over the desk, releasing her will.

“You’re aroused,” he said. “Just like when you watched my videos.” He gripped her throat forcefully. “Admit it.”

 

A shaky breath slipped free. “No.”

 

“Such a liar. You couldn’t take your eyes off the screen, could you? Tell me how turned on you got when you witnessed Lisa’s torture. Her limbs bound…until she confessed her sins.”

He’s never called his victims by name before. It felt too intimate, and that intimacy stirred a needy desire within her, awakening a hunger.

“Admit it,” he breathed into her ear. He tightened his hold around her throat, forcing her head against his shoulder. “Admit the truth, Marlena.”

 

She struggled to hold on to her last bit of control, refusing to admit she was anything like him, until he pushed his hand beneath her panties—touching her with no barrier. The chain dragged across her breasts, stimulating every peak of her body.

“I can’t,” she forced out.

“Your body tells the truth, even if you won’t.”

 

He slipped inside her then, his fingers sinking expertly, as if he was spent the past month memorizing her. She gasped and pushed back against him, unable to stop her body from responding. He reached the ache deep within her, and all she could do was grasp for his neck and cling to him. Save herself from falling.

 

“I’m inside you now…” His teeth grazed her shoulder. “Under your skin. I want to break you, so I can piece you back together.” His hand tightened, and the lack of oxygen made her head swim, yet she was hyperaware of every erogenous zone on her body—and she wanted him to master them all.

 

She didn’t have to voice the truth; in her mind, he was right. Her body betrayed her with each moan and undulation as she sought release. And when he tore her blouse apart, she didn’t stop him. She arched against his chest and pressed closer as he pushed her bra down to touch her—skin to skin.

 

They were an entanglement of limbs and flesh, all searching to connect. He glimpsed the scars on her wrists, and this time, this close, he traced the design. A thrill raced through her, sending a shiver racing over her skin.

 

“I was tied to the bed, for two weeks,” she whispered.

 

He released a growl. His fingers sought deeper, working her harder, his restraint unleashed. He pushed her down on the desk, her chest flattened against the cool wooden surface. And as his fingers plunged deeper still, the stimulation to her nipples sent her over the edge.

 

She heard the tear of material, felt the pressure snap at her hip, as he shredded her panties. Then his hands grasped her at her waist. He rolled her over, where there was no way to deny this was happening between them.

 

Their eyes met.

He lowered himself over her. Brushed her hair from her eyes. The action so gentle it stole her breath. “You’re my match.”

 

She trembled at his words.

“Does that terrify you?” he asked.

“Yes.”

A cruel smile slanted his mouth. “But you still want this.”

She swallowed. “Yes.”

 

All the permission he needed, he hauled her leg over his shoulder and took her into his mouth. She arched off the desk, desire burning away all inhibitions. She craved to be just as free as him—and all else that didn’t matter fall away.

 

Ethan’s touch…him tasting her, so wild and uninhibited…it was intoxicating. It was bliss. And it was hell. She was damned long before Ethan found her, and it was that dark note of her soul that called to him.

 

She was burning.

 

She’d set her whole world aflame to indulge this moment, and as he devoured her, taking her within himself, consuming her willpower, she’d burn it all down for him—again and again.

He sensed the second she let go and lifted up. 

 

“Look at me,” he demanded. He moved above her, his hand finding her neck and forcing her eyes on him. His fingers thrust inside her, his thumb pressed hard to her clit. “Say it. Say who you are. Admit your truth.”

His fingers never stopped stroking, caressing the ache heating her flesh, as his other hand closed around her throat. The erotic sensations swallowed her. The pending orgasm pulled her under. She wanted to taste the freedom just once.

 

“Evil.”

 

Once the truth was bared, unadulterated pleasure swept through her. The fire seared her muscles and singled her bones, consuming her like a wildfire. She heard Ethan’s dark groan, then his mouth was on the juncture between her neck and shoulder. His teeth sank into her skin as he ground against his hand, riding the last euphoric wave.

 

As she returned, their breathing was heavy and loud in the quiet room. Her senses came back to her. Where they were, what they’ve done. It stroke hard and fast, like a collision as she crashed back to reality.

Ethan stroked her neck, inspecting the marks he’d surely left behind. “I see you. There’s nothing to be ashamed of.” He kissed her, his lips soft and claiming, in complete contrast to the rawness they just experienced.

Raw. 

Her skin and mind felt over-sensitized. 

 

She allowed their tongues to tangle, her palm pressed to his chest, counting his thunderous heartbeats. He tasted hypnotic. Like a drug. Like freedom. She felt his erection as he thrust his hardness between her legs, igniting her arousal all over again… And she turned away, breaking the kiss.

She shoved him back. Pushing her skirt down her legs, she said, “You have to go.”

 

Marlena slid to the edge of the desk, but his hands pinned either side of her thighs. “I know how scared you are,” he said. “That moment when you first say it out loud…there’s no going back, Marlena. You’ve already kept it buried too long. Once it’s unleashed, you can’t lock the monster back up.”

Despite John’s having warned of this very frightening inevitability, she stared into his eyes, defiant. “Watch me.”

 

She pushed him aside and hurry to the bathroom, grabbing her tattered underwear on the way. She splashed cool water on her face, avoiding the mirror. If she looked, then she’ll see those haunted memories, and she was still too weak, too vulnerable in this state to face them.

 

When she was composed, she fixed her blouse and wandered into the therapy room, where Ethan was shackled to the floor manacle once again. Everything felt so…undisturbed. As if the past half hour only existed in fantasy.

She left the room to summon the officer.