Second session with Alison today.

I’ve got my hair neatly combed, and I can’t quit playing with it as I sit at the cold metal table waiting for her. Maybe she prefers it tousled. I’ll have to find out.

Pictures of me. Hidden on her desk.

My cock throbs.

I can’t wait to see her. I’ve been running her through my mind every second we’ve been apart. Her physical beauty is only an enhancement of her incredible mind.

She gets me. I know it. Just like I know her.

She must be starting to feel it.

I start to worry, thinking she might be late.

Why would she dawdle? What possible reason would she have for delaying?

I rushed here this morning—made the guards bring me early because I couldn’t sit in my room getting annoyed by fucking jerk-offs.

Finally, she comes walking down the hall.

I’m not chained today. I didn’t expect to be. I knew it wouldn’t take much for her to feel safe around me.

Well. Safe isn’t the point, is it?

The point is that she wants my hands free to touch her…whether it’s safe or not.

I know now, she wants me to touch her. She just doesn’t know how to go about it.

I’ve learned so much about her. I have extensive records and quite a bit of rumor and hearsay. But I still don’t know how to approach her.

That, I can only learn from watching her, absorbing her. Learning how she reacts.

She’s making a psychologist out of me.

I’ve always been an expert on human behavior. Now I’m learning a whole new game. She’s no quick study.

She sweeps into the room, clutching her stack of files against her chest. Move them, pretty woman…

Ah, the angel. She does.

Her breasts push against a crimson blouse, buttoned down the front. Loose black skirt with dark stockings. The same black heels I saw last time.

Must be her favorites.

I’ll find out the brand and size and have them sent to her in every color.

She smiles as she sits down, fiery hair flowing around her.

“Hello, Jaxon, how are you today?”

My hands twitch on the table. I want to touch her.

But no. No sudden moves. Don’t scare the lovely doe.

“Better now.”

My voice is low and deep. I don’t move from my position deep in the chair, my eyes focused on her face.

It’s time to cut the crap. I know she wants me. I need to let her know I want her, too.

She looks uncertain, but I don’t move or change my expression. With my eyes, I trail over her, her face, her hair. I let my eyes crawl slowly over her body.

With all my will, I direct my thoughts at her.

Be certain. I want you as much as you want me.

She ignores my intense stare and pulls out some papers. When she looks back at me, her eyes are bright yet detached somehow. What the fuck is going on?

“Well then, Jaxon. Since our last session was ‘bullshit’—as you so eloquently put it— I’m wondering if you’d like to take another crack at the big question. Why do you hate being called ‘Jack?’?”

My fists clench without my realizing. The whisper slips out before I can stop it.

“It’s not my name.”

“What did you say, sorry? I didn’t hear.”

I clear my throat, sitting up. “Okay. You want the real story? The real reason I hate being called Jack? Well, I’ll tell you, Ali…”

I let the pet name hang on the air. She smiles and blushes a little. I hear the ‘knock’ on the floor of her heel.

There it is, that little twitch of hers. How I love it.

“No one has ever called me Ali before.”

“Wonderful.” I smile warmly for her. “That means it can be just between us.”

She’s coming in, I can see it. Getting warmed up. Whatever reservations she had, they are fleeing now in the glamour of my physical presence.

“I would very much like it if you can be honest with me.”

“Okay,” I nod, solemnly, searching through my memories.

I did the dear old Dad bit, didn’t I?

“It wasn’t my father who was abusive. It was my mother. She used to duct tape me to the wall. When she did, she called me Jack. That was the only time. I was only three, I think, the first time she did it. She did it regularly. She would be sweet and loving, calling me Jaxon, giving me sweets and cake.

“Then she’d suddenly say she’d had enough of me. She would grab the duct tape, paste me to the wall. It’s funny because she’s so fucking rich, it’s the only time she did anything that could be called manual labor. She’d get me strapped to the wall, then she’d start taunting me. ‘Find a beanstalk, Jack ol’ boy…’”

The ‘click’ of her heel on the floor. She made a note.

“You seem to be quite caught on the fairytale association to your diminutive name.”

I’m actually startled. “What?”

“You’ve mentioned on more than one occasion the fairy tales associated with the shortened version of your name. Do you care to comment on that?”

“I…”

I’m thrown for a second. Do I have an issue with the fairy tales?

It never occurred to me. She really is fucking sharp.

She looks up, her pale eyes fixing on mine and softening. It’s like she needs to be honest about something.

Yes, baby. Spill your guts. Tell me all your truths.

“Jaxon. I’m so sorry. But you might have a new doctor soon.”

“WHAT?”

I can’t take so many shocks at once.

I feel suddenly vulnerable. I don’t like feeling like this.

When I feel this way, people get hurt.

“What are you talking about?” My eyes are stinging. “You can’t—I mean, no one has ever gotten me like you do.”

I reach out and grasp her hand, just lightly. First touch.

Tingles of pleasure all the way to my cock.

“Ali. Please.”

She shakes her head, all that red hair just shimmering like blood and flame.

She squeezes my hand. “Jaxon—”

“Don’t you want to see me anymore?” I force her eyes up to mine. “What’s wrong? You have to tell me.”

“I don’t—”

“Please. No one can fix me except you. You know that.”

My guts are churning. She’s everything I need. She can’t just disappear.

I won’t let this happen. I have to pull tight at her heartstrings, and quick.

She’s about to speak again when there’s a buzz at the door. Prof has come to put in his two cents.

Holy fuck, they aren’t going to give me to Charlie, are they? He’ll hang himself in a week.

Alison heads out the door, where she and the prof begin to whisper frantically at each other. Blessing my free hands, I slide across the room like a cat to press my ear against the wood.

“—you have two weeks to rehabilitate this patient. Do you understand, Dr. Hughes?” Prof sounds pissed.

Well, so would I be if the last blow job I got was junior high.

“Doctor, I’ve been asking you to discuss this with me for some time. Not only are the parameters you set unrealistic, but I also have my doubts that I can—”

“We have legal services waiting for our approval on this. We don’t have years. This case is so high profile; it’s the only test you need. He has to be ready for trial.”

Ha! What a joke.

I’m not going to trial. Prof might be smart, but he doesn’t understand how good my lawyers are.

“With all due respect, doctor, under these terms and others I have previously stated, I’ll have to give up—”

“Alison.” Prof changes his stance on the other side of the door. I picture him being fatherly, benevolent. “You know both I and the medical board expect great results on this. You’re not just gifted and talented; you have a drive that’s rarely seen in this field.”

“You understand what’s at stake here,” he intones. “You must continue your work here and do it faster—no one else can work with this patient!”

I lean against the door, grinning. Got that fucking right!

I know I’m responsible for this. Not only have I got prof under the thumb, little Charlie’s school report probably also stated what a changed man Jaxon Covington is.

All thanks to the very young, very talented Dr. Hughes.

Prof hurries down the hallways, and I hear Ali sigh as she leans against the door.

I lean against the door, too. Stroke it gently. Separated by an inch of wood.

I leave my fingertips lightly against the door as I listen to her breathing.

She’s so different from anyone I have ever met.

Different from anyone I have ever bent to my will. She doesn’t react with emotion. She doesn’t let it get the better of her.

She solves everything with her cold reason and never lets the world see how she really feels. God, how I adore her.