Such is Life.

“It would be… detrimental to his progress.” You say carefully, trying to keep your voice level and your face expressionless.

“In your opinion.”

You suck in a breath, pushing your fingers against the edge of your desk to stop the shaking in your hands. They were pulling Eric off your patient list. You’d rescinded the request, but it didn’t matter. The decision had been made. “He’s given me six new names. Dates, everything. He’s opening up.”

“Alright.” Your boss leans in, and the man beside her shifts uncomfortably in his seat. “Cards on the table, doctor. We don’t really care whether Mr Draven makes progress here or not. The state pay for his room, and we’re to keep him locked up until he can be released or not, as the case may be.”

You frown, feeling your face heat. “That isn’t what I signed up for, I want to help.”

She raises an eyebrow, her glasses slipping down her nose. “Oh, I know very well how much you’ve been helping Mr Draven.”

Your stomach flips over and bottoms out, and your pulse is a thunder in your throat. “I don’t know what you-“

“Cut the bullshit.” She spits in a clipped tone. The man beside her glances over before his eyes return to the papers on his lap. “There are cameras everywhere. An orderly on your floor grew suspicious and we checked the logs. It’s over.” She sits back, taking a deep breath. “You’re a good doctor, and lord knows we’re short on those around here. I don’t want to fire you, not over misconduct with one patient. But I will if you don’t sit down, shut up and let me handle this before it becomes a PR nightmare.”

You press your lips together, nodding your head curtly. You’re not going to argue, not when they have evidence. Not when you do deserve to be fired. And not when getting fired would mean never seeing Eric again. “I understand. I… regret my actions. It won’t happen again.”

“No, it won’t.” She sighs. “You’re getting off lightly here. Really lightly. Don’t make me regret it.”

You watch as they stand, and the man’s fingers are wrapped around the doorhandle when you blurt- “who is taking his case? Just so I can, you know, pass on my notes.”

She frowns, and the man clears his throat. “Dr Ramirez. He’s good with… harder cases.”

You swallow. Dr Ramirez is good with harder cases because he’s a fucking sadist. Your boy won’t last five minutes with him. No, no, no.

You’re still arguing with yourself as you swipe into his cell. All pretence of waiting for him to fasten his cuffs is gone, and he rises to a stand the moment you step inside. “This is a surp-“

“Stop.” You say, holding up your hand. Because if he comes close, if he touches you, you’ll melt into him or you’ll take his clothes off and there isn’t time for that right now. “They’re pulling you from my patient list.”

Eric freezes, his face solidifying to stone. “I thought you took it back.”

“I did. They… they know. About me and you. About all the things I’ve… they know.”

Eric swallows. “You getting fired?” He feels his own guts roil at the thought, the thought of not seeing you anymore and the worse thought of having to start all this over again with another doctor when he’s so close to getting what he wants.

“No.” You huff a laugh. “Short on doctors, can’t afford to lose me as long as I promise never to do it again.”

“You don’t have any patients as hot as me.” Eric smirks, and you roll your eyes.

“I’m not staying. I can’t.”

A muscle in his jaw ticks as he crosses to you, pinning you back against the door. This is the only corner of the room the camera doesn’t cover, and Eric hooks his hands around your thighs and lifts you until your core is pressed to his crotch. You wrap your legs around his hips and thread your fingers into his hair. “You have to stay. You said you wouldn’t leave me.” His voice is a low murmur as he nuzzles his nose against the side of your throat, and you swallow hard.

“I’m not… that isn’t what I meant. I won’t be able to stay, with the suspicion. Not after you’re gone, considering our… relationship.”

Eric freezes, pulling away to search your face. “When I’m gone?”

“You said if I switched you to another doctor you’d never say another word, right?”

“Right.” Eric presses his cock against you, grinding soft, slow circles of his hips into your core.

“And…” you gasp at the feeling, your eyes briefly fluttering closed. “And when I left for a week you stopped eating and drinking. If I go away for good, you’ll die, won’t you?”

“I’ll kill myself,” Eric whispers into your throat, licking up the length of your neck and nipping your earlobe into his mouth. His cock is stirring to life against you, thickening right up against your most sensitive part as he ruts against you.

“And all those families… all those names will go with you. All over… what? The hospital not wanting a PR nightmare?”

“It’d be a waste,” he mumbles, a rumble of sound against your skin.

You can feel the dampness in your underwear now, and you tighten your fingers in his hair as you pull his face away from your neck. “If I break you out of here, do you swear you won’t hurt anybody else? Ever.”

Eric hums. “If that’s really what you want, then I’ll swear it. If it’s really what you want.”

You chew your bottom lip into your mouth. It would be so much easier to focus if he wasn’t grinding his cock against you like that. “Why wouldn’t it be what I want?”

He tilts his head to the side, releasing one of your legs and wiggling his fingers into the elastic waistband of your skirt. Your breath hitches at the feeling of his long digits prodding against the front of your underwear, and then he slips the fabric to the side and drags through your folds. “I killed the worst of the worst. Took out the trashed, cleaned up the streets.” His voice is liquid silk as he dips his fingers lower, circling your entrance to gather the arousal leaking out of you before dragging up to your clit and rubbing over the swelling bundle of nerves. “Child molesters. Wife beaters. Lowest of the low.”

You whimper as the rough callouses on his fingers drag against you, your nails digging hard into his hair as you cling to him. “That doesn’t make it…”

“Right?” He whispers, dropping again to your entrance and pushing two fingers into your heat. “I think it does. I think you know it does, too. You’re drawn to me because you understand me, doc.”

You feel a sob bubble up between your lips as his fingers push deep into you, curling back against the spongy sensitive flesh of your walls. “You can’t just kill people.”

“I can.” He coos, tugging almost out of you before pushing back in. He sets a slow, deep pace, pinning you to the wall with his body as he fucks you with his fingers. “I did it for a really long time. Helped a lot of people, you can’t deny that.”

You want to deny it. You really want to tell him no. Insist that he be different if he wants to be free. But he’s right. He’s fucking right that you don’t mourn a single one of his victims. That the police hadn’t been there for you when your husband had kicked you down the stairs over a text message from an old school friend, or when he’d slammed your hand in the car door for standing too close to one of his work buddies at the office Christmas party. That a vigilante cleaning up the trash was sometimes exactly the kind of justice people needed. That Eric had been terrifyingly good at it. “It’s dangerous.”

“Aww, doc.” He teases, stretching his hand so he can press his thumb against your clit as his fingers speed up. “You worrying about me already?”

“You got…” you break off around a moan as Eric hits your g-spot over and over again, your clit throbbing on the brink of release against the pressure of his thumb. “You got caught before. I’d go down with you… If you got caught again.”

“Look at me.” His tone is stern now, and you force your eyes to focus on his even as his fingers unravel you. “I would never. If I get caught, I’m on my own. I would never let you go down for my crimes. Never.”

You bite your lip as you cum, clamping down on his fingers and jerking against his thumb as your body fights for friction and your release rolls through you. Eric dips his head and presses his lips to your own, absorbing the cries and whines and moans you make as you ride his hand.

He pulls out of you carefully, extracting his hand from your skirt and licking your release off his fingers. “I hope that was okay.”

You hum, dropping your head back against the wall. “When we get out of here… I’m going to ruin you.”

Eric smirks, even as his cock leaks in his scrubs. “You won’t be my doctor out there you know. Maybe I’ll be the one tying you to the bed.”

You blush, and the colour is so pretty against your skin that Eric has to cup your cheeks and kiss you again and again until you’re both dizzy.

It had been too easy. Much, much too easy to get to this point. Eric lies on his bed looking up at the water-stained ceiling in his cell for the last time. The first night he’d been thrown in here he’d resigned himself to thinking of it as a tomb. Killing Harrison Slaney had felt necessary, and Eric didn’t regret it. When a perfect moment falls into your lap like that, you don’t just ignore it, do you? He was a self-proclaimed child molester and a murderer to boot, and it had been only logical to ram the thin edge of his metal lunch tray into the guy’s neck until he was, for all intents and purposes, decapitated.

Eric had known it would cost him; and cost him it had. His own private room in his own private wing. He hadn’t seen another patient in years. And that was okay, it was a fitting end to his mission. He hadn’t thought about anything as dumb as escape until he’d met you. Until the jolt of recognition that had bolted him to his seat as he stared into your nervous eyes and seen the way you rounded in on yourself. He knew those mannerisms, and he knew what they meant. And from there it had been too easy. Much, much too easy to lure you in, to give you just enough to make you think you were fixing him. To offer you his body and let you take what you wanted. It didn’t matter to him, anyway. And it’s not like you weren’t pretty. It’s not like he didn’t want you. It’s just that Eric wanted freedom so, so much more.

He doesn’t know exactly when the sun sets, because he doesn’t have a window. But he does know that dinner comes around that time, and the tray is pushed through his door just a couple of hours later. He takes it, sliding it onto the desk and picking at the greyish lumps of stew as he waits.

Your heart is a jackhammer threatening to burst right out of your ribcage as you tuck a clean uniform into your jacket. Your eyes dart side to side, but the corridor is deserted. It’s too early for the day staff to be leaving, and too early for the night staff to arrive. The perfect time to slip into the staff room and take these clothes. No one would question a doctor and an orderly walking the halls together. Your legs shake so badly it’s a wonder you’re even upright as you make your way towards his cell. Your keycard will be restricted soon, and you can only pray it hasn’t already been done as you press it to the door and wait for the green light. To your relief the locking mechanism clicks open, and you slip inside.

Eric rises from his bed, licking over his lips as he scans you up and down, and you feel your face heat under his scrutiny. “You okay?”

“Fine.” You whisper, not trusting your voice as you tug the clothes out from your jacket and toss them to him.

Eric raises an eyebrow, opening up the pants. “What size do you think I wear, doc?”

You roll your eyes. “There wasn’t much choice. Just hurry up, Draven.”

He smirks as he tugs his scrubs down, and you swallow hard at the sight of his bare ass before he pulls his new pants up and cinches the drawstrings as tight as they’ll go. The shirt hangs off his broad frame, and you steal glances at his inked flesh as fastens the buttons with nimble fingers. He isn’t shaking, but he notices how badly you are.

“Hey,” he says softly, stepping close to cup your cheek. “It’s gunna be alright. I’ll get us out of here.” You nod, tensing as Eric’s fingers brush against your keycard. “Are you sure you want to do this? I could take the card, tie you to the chair. You wouldn’t be blamed.”

You shake your head, wrapping your fingers around the card and unclipping it from your coat. “People know me. We’ll slip out easier if I’m with you.” And you’re right, and Eric feels a fluttering in his stomach that might be affection as much as it’s guilt. 

Eric’s hand engulfs your own completely and your stomach flips over as he pushes open the door and steps out first. He looks back, and you wonder for one terrifying second if he’s going to push you back inside and make a run for it, but he doesn’t. He smiles, a soft, sweet, genuine smile, and then he tugs you through into the corridor.

Even though you’re leading, Eric remains just a little in front of you as you make your way through the winding, nondescript halls. Eric’s private cell is buried deep in the heart of the building, and your heart feels like it might spontaneously explode as you round every corner. But there’s nobody. Fate or God or whatever must be on your side, because you don’t encounter a single other person until you’re practically at the loading door. You glance at Eric, who nods sharply, and you swipe your keycard against the last door. Nothing happens. No green light.

“What’s wrong?” He hisses.

“I… I don’t know. I guess I don’t have access here.”

“You don’t know?”

“I’ve never tried to get out this way, why would I?”

“Why would you plan our route to include a door you didn’t know whether you could open?” Eric’s voice breaks through the whisper, frustration leaking into his tone, and you flinch.

“I’m sorry. I’m-“

“No, no, no, hey.” Eric soothes, tugging his hand from yours to lay his palms on your shoulders. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to snap. It’s not your fault, you’ve done so good, doc.”

You hum, blinking against tears. You’re about to open your mouth, when you hear a lilting whistle. You know the tune, because you’ve been forced to listen to it on and off for months, every time you visited Eric. “I can fix this.” You say, eyes wide. “Orderlies have access. Hide.”

Eric doesn’t have a chance to protest before you’re darting away, and the whistling stops. “Oh, hey doc.” The orderly from Eric’s floor frowns at you. “You lost?”

“No. I mean, a little.” You force a laugh, and he blinks. “If I tell you a secret, can  you keep it between us?” You dip your voice, and the man grins.

“Well, sure.”

“I’m a bit of a smoker. Not always, but when I’m stressed. And Draven’s been stressing me out. I’m so glad I’m dumping him from my rota, though I’ll be sad not to see you around.”

The man smirks at you, letting his eyes trail over your body. “Well maybe I’ll take you for a drink off the clock some time.”

You force yourself to nod and to not recoil as he steps closer. “That the secret?”

“Well, the smoking,” you say with a chuckle. “I was trying to get out the back door so I could grab a cigarette.”

“Restricted access, authorised personnel only.” The man says with a wink. “But I could get you out there. I’m authorised.”

You widen your eyes, closing the distance to touch his forearm. “You’d do that for me? Oh, thank you so much. Really, you’re a lifesaver.”

The man’s face flushes. “You know, I always thought you and Draven… I don’t know. That there was something weird going on. You acted like you cared about him or something.”

“Did I?” You ask, eyes slipping involuntarily back towards the shadows at the side of the corridor, wondering if he can hear.

“Glad to hear you’re not into that. Spooky fucker.”

“He’s not. I mean, he’s my patient. I know him better.” Why are you arguing? Why are you defending him when this creep is about ten seconds away from handing over his keycard?

The man pauses, tilting his head. “When do you wanna get that drink?”

“I don’t know. Soon.” You say with a tight smile.

The man isn’t smiling back anymore. He steps forward, crowding you against the wall, inches from the keypad. “What are you playin’ at, doctor?”

“Nothing,” you whisper, lifting your hands to push lightly at his chest. He doesn’t budge, not an inch.

“It isn’t nice to tease. Lead a guy on cuz you wear the fancy white coat and make the fancy doctor money. Not nice at all.”

“I’m not… I wasn’t, I’m just not in a place to date at the moment. It isn’t anything to do with you.”

“I thought you were a nice girl.” He says softly, one hand slipping inside your coat to caress his fingers up your side and around the curve of your breast.

“Please don’t,” you whisper.

His hand closes roughly around your breast and squeezes, and you yelp at the sharp pressure. Then his eyes go wide as a tattooed arm wraps around his neck and drags him back, and he’s thrown to the floor.

“I knew it.” Eric seethes, shoulders squared for a challenge as he sneers down at the man. “I knew you were a piece of shit.” The man’s eyes widen, darting from Eric to you.

“You’re gunna go to fuckin jail.” He spits, voice pitchy with panic. “You can’t let him out, what are you-“

He doesn’t get any further than that. Eric brings his foot down on the man’s throat, and there’s a sickening, awful crunch as his windpipe is crushed. His eyes bulge wide as his face turns purple, a visceral gurgling sound bubbling out of his ruined throat as Eric spins to you and cups your face. “He hurt you?”

You shake your head, feeling your stomach roll with nausea. “We have to… help him… Eric, we need to call for help.”

“Shh,” he coos, dipping his head to press his lips to your forehead before pushing you against the wall. “I’ll take care of it.”

Your legs give out when Eric crouches beside the man’s head and presses his fingers against his cheeks, forcing his mouth open. “Not so cocky now, are you?” He murmurs softly. He collects a wad of saliva in his cheek and spits it, splattering against the man’s face. “Fucking pervert piece of shit.” He says, just as softly. He cracks his knuckles, the sound loud enough to carry over the orderlies awful choking, before driving his fist into the man’s face. His nose explodes in a mist of blood and cartilage, and the man makes a strangled moaning sound as he bites down on his own tongue. Blood and spit dribble from the corner of his mouth, soaking into the toe of Eric’s shoe. He rises to a stand, scraping the mess onto the man’s leg. “You’re a fucking animal.” Eric says, before he lifts his foot and brings it down to stamp on the orderlies face over and over and over again.

He crouches again to listen to the last few rattling breaths before the man’s chest goes still, and then he unclips his keycard. He’s almost forgotten you, in the midst of completing another cleansing. But when he turns he freezes, the sight of you curled in on yourself against the wall momentarily seizing around his heart. “Oh.”

“Don’t.” You whisper without lifting your head from your arms. You can’t look at him now. You can’t see what he is.

You feel the shift in the air and smell the awful metal of blood as he crouches in front of you. “We have to go, doc. There are cameras down here, someone will come.”

“I’m not going anywhere with you.”

Eric swallows hard, reaching for your arm and tugging it away from your knees. You jerk back like he’s hit you, scrambling against the wall behind you. And Eric does feel bad about it, but he has to get you out of here and to safety before he can even think about making it up to you. So he pushes to a stand and pins you against the wall with his hips, cupping your face in both hands and forcing you to look at him.

His face is a mess, a patchwork of congealing blood. “It’s me and you, doc. We leave together. He was right, you stay here and you’ll go away for helping me. Maybe even accessory.”

You swallow, tears spilling from your eyes as you look at him. “You didn’t have to kill him. You said you’d try to-“

“No, I didn’t.” Eric says softly. “I never promised you anything. Maybe you forgot that when you were cumming all over my hand, huh?”

You swallow against fresh nausea at the memory, feeling the sticky traces of blood on Eric’s fingers against your face. “I thought you were getting better. That I was helping you.”

Eric hums, dipping his head to press his bloody mouth to yours. You try to pull away, but there’s nowhere to go with him holding you still. “I’d have to be sick to get better, wouldn’t I? And I’m not sick. I’m just cleaning up. That’s what I’ve always done.” His words are a deep, poisonous murmur against your lips as his hand travels down to cup you through your skirt. He can still feel the residual heat from where he’d made you cum, and the stiff patch of your arousal against the front of your panties. “I do what I do,” he whispers, short nails grazing against your clit through the fabric, “and you want me anyway.”

You close your eyes, your body betraying you as fresh arousal rushes south to swell in your clit. Eric presses his lips to the corner of your jaw before nuzzling his nose against your throat, and you feel the smear of blood transferring to your skin, staining you with the evidence of exactly what kind of monster you were falling for.

“And you should be grateful, shouldn’t you?” He hums, hooking around the side of your underwear to press a testing finger against your clit. Your breath hitches, the slickness already soaking your pussy coating his finger. “God, so wet for me. Even after all that,” he mumbles, slipping down to circle your hole and collect the fresh slick.

“Why would I… I’m helping you.” You gasp.

“He cried when he died. On his knees. Cried like a fucking coward. Pissed his pants. Those white ones he wore to golf in. Made a real mess. Real pathetic.”

You freeze, your muscles seizing on Eric’s finger as he slowly pushes it inside you. “What are you-“

“Please, I have a family. That’s what he said.”

Your eyes roll back as Eric adds a second finger, and your head drops back against the hard wall behind you as he curls his fingers back against your sensitive walls.

“No, you don’t, I said. You got a wife you almost killed and a brother who never calls you. His face.” Eric huffs a laugh against your throat, licking the mess of blood from your skin. “You know what he offered me?”

You can do little more than whine, praying the awful, delicious torture of his fingers and his tongue and his closeness will end soon.

“He said, if I let him go, I could have his wife. That she was a bitch and a whore but she had a cunt to die for.”

You clamp down on his fingers then, muscles spasming unconsciously as Eric’s thumb stretches up to rub at your clit.

“Scumbags have offered me all sorts of things.” Eric continues, pulling away from your throat to look into your eyes. “Money, drugs, the kids they're abusing. This was the first one to offer me his wife.”

You shake your head, blinking against fresh tears. “Why are you telling me this, Eric?”

“You need a name.”

“I don’t…. we can talk about it later. I’ll come with you, I swear! We have to-“

“Transactional, doc.” He says softly. “You come with me, I’ll give you a name.”

“I don’t-“ your eyes lose focus as his fingers curl against your g-spot, perfectly timed with the rough, precise stimulation of his thumb against your clit. “I’m gunna cum.”

“Yeah, you are. Cum for me. I’ve got you. Your turn to be good for me, sweetheart.” You lose control of your muscles altogether as your orgasm hits, and Eric uses his free hand to pin your shoulder to the wall and hold you upright as you roll your hips down against his hand.

“He never deserved you.” Eric says gently, withdrawing his fingers carefully and lifting them to brush over your lips. “I wanted to make sure he’d never touch you again.”

His mouth replaces his fingers, licking against your lips and grazing your tongue with his own. “And I did.”

You feel his words ghost over your mouth and sink into your skin, the truth of them seeping into your bloodstream. Eric Draven had killed your husband. He’d known who you were the moment you stepped foot in his cell for the first time.

There is a clattering cacophony of sound approaching, heavy footfalls and raised voices. Eric pulls back, eyes searching yours. “It’s now or never, sweetheart. You coming with me?”

You swallow, wrapping your fingers around his and pulling his hands from your face as Eric swipes the keycard against the wall and drags you out into the open air.

*

“Hold still.” You grumble, sucking in your stomach to get away from the hot press of his mouth as you hover over him. You’re finally getting the hang of tying knots in the silk tight enough to actually keep him bound, but he takes… liberties with you if you can’t get him pinned down quickly enough. “Can you move?” You ask, and he flexes his wrists.

“Not really, baby.” There’s a smirk on his face, and you can’t wait to wipe it off. “I’m at your mercy.”

“Yeah,” you hum, crawling up his body and sitting over the hard bulge in his boxers. “How does it feel.”

He laughs. “Not usually the position I’m in, admittedly.”

You hum again, rocking gently against his erection as your own heat kindles in your core. “You prefer to do the tying up, don’t you?”

He moans, hands yanking at the restraints. “You got no idea. Jesus, you look good up there.”

“I’m not too old for you?” You purr.

He frowns. “Old? You’re not old, baby. Where’d you get an idea like that?”

“Would you prefer it if I cried? Begged you to stop? That what gets you off?” You’re still rocking against him, but you’re not looking at him anymore. You’re looking past him, over his head to where Eric stands in the doorway, watching.

“What are you talkin about?” The man asks, tugging at his restraints again. “I’m not into this anymore. Untie me.”

“Were any of those little girls into it?” You ask softly, reaching down to wrap your fist around his erection and squeeze. “They beg you to untie them?”

“I don’t know who the fuck you think I am but I swear to God if you don’t let me go right now you’re gunna be in for a world of hurt, I know powerful fucking people.” He spits, jerking up like he can buck you off. You pin your knees further into the mattress, and tilt your head to the side.

“You remember my name?”

“Your name?” The man scoffs. “I don’t give a shit what you call yourself, you’re a cheap fuckin whore on a power trip with-“

“You remember their names?” You cut him off squeezing his cock so hard he groans in pain.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” He cries. “Let me fucking go.”

“You wanna refresh his memory?” You ask, and the man’s head cranes around to watch as Eric steps into the room.

“Oh what the fuck is this? I don’t do guys I’m not a fuckin-“

“Marcie Richards. 9. Lucy Thomas, 9. Jessica Stone, 8.”

The man goes very still, listening to the names of his victims rattled off in Eric’s careful, quiet tone. “What is this?”

You lean forward, digging your nails into the meat of his cock through his boxers until he whines. “Your day of reckoning. I want you to meet my boyfriend. You can call him karma.”

You slip off his lap and Eric wraps his arm around your waist, pulling you in for a kiss. “You did good, sweetheart. You staying to watch?”

You hum, looking over the man. “No. But you’ll find me afterwards.”

Eric parts your lips with his, grazing his tongue against yours before releasing you with a light tap to your ass.

You watch him approach the bed, watch the thin silvery blade slip free from his palm, and close the door on the man’s first real scream.

Killing him takes longer than Eric would usually allow, but the piece of shit hadn’t admitted to a damn thing. Not for a long, long time. Not until he was more pulverized meat than man. Eric kicks aside a wet scattering of fingers and toes as he shrugs out of his soaked shirt and pushes the door open with the toe of his boot.

You’re sprawled out on the bed like an angel, still wearing nothing but the black lace teddy and matching thong you’d put on to lure the latest monster on Eric’s ever growing list. Your eyes are closed and there’s a little crease between your brows, and Eric feels guilty for leaving you lonely and waiting for so long. He thumbs his sweats and boxers down, using the fabric to wipe up the worst of the blood on his bare arms before he crawls onto the bed and pushes your legs apart.

You stir a little, but you don’t wake as Eric carefully pushes the lace of your thong to the side and inhales deeply against your hot, wet pussy. His cock is already half hard from the kill, and it throbs insistently at the heady, rich of scent of you as he breathes you in. You moan softly, and Eric looks up to check if you’re still sleeping. Your eyes are still closed, the little line between your brows still too deep. He dips his head again, sticking out his tongue to trace the little swollen nub of your clit. You’d gone to sleep aching for him, and he intended to make it better right fucking now.

Eric braces his large hands on the soft flesh of your thighs as he parts them, licking against you from your entrance up to your clit, his saliva mingling with your arousal until you’re dripping onto the mattress below.

You whimper and try to close your legs against the sensation, but he holds you firmly open as he sucks your clit into his mouth and laves his tongue against the sensitive bud. Eric moans against you, sending vibrations right to your core, and your eyes open as they roll back and your hand drops to stroke against the short black hair on his head. You thread your fingers into it and tug, and Eric looks up at you. He doesn’t release your clit from his mouth, but he closes one eye in a wink as he sucks hard against you, and your hips roll up against his face as you press him harder against your pussy. “You’re late,” you groan.

He releases your clit, kissing it over and over before he rests his head on your inner thigh. “Got carried away. Got more names though. All of them.”

You bite your bottom lip into your mouth, fisting his hair harder to push him back against you. “Good boy. Such a… fuckin…” you break off as your orgasm begins to roll through you, pleasure rippling through your core as your empty body clenches around nothing.

Eric knows you’re right on the edge, and he sinks two long fingers into you, feeling the flutter of your muscles around the digits as he curls them back against your most sensitive spot. The move is your undoing and you cum with a strangled moan of his name, spine arching off the bed as you grind up against his face and Eric coaxes every drop of your orgasm out of you.

Eric pulls away when he’s certain he’s licked every last inch of you clean, and he wipes his slick face on the back of his arm, smearing his chin with blood.

“You make a mess?”  You ask, and Eric bites his bottom lip.

“I got carried away.”

You hum, pushing up and beckoning him onto the bed. Your eyes scan the streaky gore on his arms and the deep red stain on his fingers, and you shudder at the thought of those fingers inside you. “You need me to supervise your showers, Draven?”

His eyes darken at the memory, at the reminder of where you’d both been just a few short months ago. “I got a better idea.” His tone is low and dangerous, and you press your thighs together as Eric climbs off the bed and wraps a loose hand around your throat. “You wanna clean me up, doc?”

You let him roll you onto your back, let him drape your head over the edge of the bed to stretch out the column of your throat. You relax into it as Eric pushes his cock into your mouth, closing your eyes against the sting as he wraps his fingers in your hair and pins you in place. The fat head of his cock pushes into your throat with a stretching burn, and you feel tears spring to your eyes to drip onto the carpet below as he snaps his hips against your face. You’d expected he’d do this, as he did almost any time you reminded him of his imprisonment.

“I’ve got you,” he coos, releasing your hair to rub his thumb over the bulge of his own cock in your throat. “You’re mine. This is mine.” You hum around his length, hollowing your cheeks to suction around him as you press your tongue flat, feeling the pulse of the thick vein on the underside of his cock. “Knew the first time I saw you. The first time.” He groans. “Walking out of the ER, looking around for that piece of shit. Looking so lost.”

You sob around his cock, and the hand in your hair strokes against your scalp. “But then that guy tried to touch your ass and you tore him a goddamn new one.” Eric huffs, his cock throbbing with the memory of your defiant scowl as you shoved him away. “You still had your fire. And now look at you.” His tone is almost reverent, even as you gag and choke on his cock, drool pooling on the floor beneath your head. “Saving people from all that… all that… shit,” he groans, pulling out of your mouth.

He climbs back onto the bed, slick cock bobbing against his stomach as he wraps his hands around your ankles and tugs you back underneath him. “Making the wrong things right. Cleaning up the streets.” He pushes your thighs apart and enters you in one long thrust, bottoming out with a groan as he drops over you. You cling to his back, nails leaving sharp crescents in the ink painted across his skin, and Eric moans as he fucks into you roughly.

“Love you, Eric,” you whisper, eyes rolling back as you clamp down hard on his cock. You’re not a doctor anymore. You’ve traded your title and your name and your whole life for motels and burner phones and blood. But looking up at him, your green eyed avenging angel, and feeling his cock throb inside you and his mouth whispering praise against your lips, you can’t bring yourself to regret a single minute of it.

The buzzer on the wall screeches, and you wince. You hear that awful sound three or four times a day, yet it never fails to get under your skin. But despite how much you hate the sound, you’d never, ever consider entering the room without pressing the button. The light above the door goes green, and you swipe your keycard over the lock to release the mechanism.

He’s sitting at the little wooden desk in his cell, glaring at a charcoal sketch in front of him. That glare transfers to you as his head lifts. “I was in the middle of something.”

You roll your eyes at him. Grumpy today, then. “Lunch is at the same time each day, Draven.”

He sighs, tapping his fingers against his thigh. The thick leather straps on his wrists creak as he twists to watch you make a lap of his cell. “It’s the same thing every day, too.” He mumbles, eyes tracking you as you lift his pillow and fold back his sheets.

“What would you want if you could pick something else?” You ask, dropping to your knees to check under his bed.

Eric snorts. “Like my last meal? Morbid, doc.”

“Humor me.” You mutter, half crawling under to retrieve a thin stack of papers he’d tucked under the slats of the bed.

You hear the clinking of the chains binding him to the seat, and you know he’s looking at your ass as you wriggle out and turn to him, still on your knees.

There’s heat in the way he watches you now, and his tongue swipes out unconsciously to lick over his bottom lip. “And I thought you trusted me.”

You give him an exasperated look, glancing down at the papers. “Trust goes both ways, Draven. Do we need to go through these?”

Eric hums noncommittedly, and you perch on the edge of his bed to flick through the stack of sketches. Eric isn’t allowed pencils, just blunt charcoal and waxy crayons, but his art is brutally beautiful. When you’d started working with him he hadn’t even been allowed that, but you’d watched him trace patterns in the dust on the cell of his floor and seen potential for building a rapport. It had worked, incredibly well. He’d gone from saying nothing at all in two years to drawing his victims and talking you through each one. Eight families with closure, so far.

“I haven’t seen this guy before.” You say, finger ghosting over the broken body splattered against a sidewalk in a vacant parking lot.

“Edward Howard.” Eric says, shrugging his shoulders. “He killed his first wife and beat his second so bad she had a standing reservation at the ER.”

You swallow, forcing your face into an expression of neutrality before looking up at him. “You pushed him off the top of the garage?”

Eric’s smirk is sinfully unrepentant. “He jumped.”

“Why would he do that?”

“Maybe he realized he needed to atone for being a piece of shit.”

You raise an eyebrow at him, and Eric rolls his eyes. “Or maybe I’d already cut his balls off and he chose the cowards way out.”

You feel like your throat is closing, but you can’t let him see. Eric is a master manipulator, and over the eleven months you’d spent getting to know him, he’d learned you, too.

“When was this?”

Eric’s smirk drops, and he shifts in his seat, the leather straps around his ankles creaking in protest. “July 18th, 2009.”

A full six years earlier than the current earliest victim.

Eric knows this information is landing, he can see the way your eyes widen just slightly as you do the math in your head. Yeah, sweetheart. There are so many more than you know. More than you can comprehend.

“And this happened… at the start? Was he the first?”

“Strawberries.” Eric says, and your brow furrows. “My last meal, or whatever. I’d like strawberries.”

You suck your bottom lip into your mouth, and Eric tracks the movement. He feels the stirring in his cock at the thoughtful, scrunched up look on your face, and he tries to think about something else but everything leads back around to you again. It’s not like he can cover himself, with his arms and legs bound to the chair. He glances down just once and yep, the prominent jab of his thickening cock is outlined against his thin scrubs.

“We don’t execute people in here,” you remind him with a sigh. “I’m going to have to take these you know.”

Eric shrugs. “I figured.”

“And we’ll contact Mr Howard’s widow, once we verify your account.”

“I’m sure she’ll be fucking heartbroken.” Eric deadpans.

You press your lips into a tight line, because you don’t know what to say that won’t sound like you’re agreeing with him. Encouraging him. Because you’ve thought about what it would be like to get that call, to find out that your husband isn’t just missing but dead, and you’re not sure you could bring yourself to shed a tear. Not with the ache in your ribs every time you breathe in, despite the breaks healing years ago. Not with the way you look over your shoulder every time you leave the house, just in case.

The buzzer sounds again, and you jump. You always jump, Eric notices. Not just at the loud sounds, but anything unexpected. He’s seen it before, he knows the signs of abuse. He’d made it his mission to see.

“Lunch.” You say with a tight smile, crossing to the hatch in the door as it opens and a tray is pushed through.

“He giving you trouble?” The guard on the other side asks. Eric leans as far back in his chair as he can, but he can’t see the man’s face. He sees the way your shoulders straighten, though.

“Not at all. We’re having a good day.”

The man scoffs. “Right, a good day with Hannibal Lecter is still a bad day anywhere else.” He laughs, but you don’t, and Eric feels his stomach tighten.

“It’s getting cold.”

“So let it, that piece of shit doesn’t deserve-“

“See you later.”

You turn abruptly, tray in hand, and Eric watches you return to his desk and place the tray in front of him. “Sorry.”

Eric hums, scanning the plain white rice, the plain white chicken, the greyish green peas that are the furthest thing from fresh he’s ever seen. “Don’t be.”

You look him over, chewing your bottom lip. “I’ll see you in a couple of hours.”

Eric glances at his plate and back at you. “If you stay I’ll tell you about another one.”

Your breath catches in your throat. He’s never asked this before. It’s against protocol. “You need to eat.”

Eric drops his eyes to the soft plastic fork and twists his mouth to the side. “I’m not against you feeding me.”

You scoff, because you’re definitely not supposed to do that, but the thought of him talking to you, properly and unprompted… it could be the breakthrough you’d been praying for. The one you’d been promising the board, the proof you needed that Eric Draven was far from irredeemable.

“You’ll give me a name?” You ask tightly, and Eric smiles.

“I’ll give you his social security number, if you want it.”

You perch on the edge of the desk because there’s no second chair in his room. Nobody visits him and he’s not allowed in the rec room anymore anyway. You skewer boiled chicken on the fork as best you can, but the prongs buckle against the meat. “No silverware in here.” He says. “I just use my fingers usually.”

You swallow as you pick up a chunk of meat, holding it carefully towards him. “If you bite me, I won’t come back.” Eric nods, though you both know it isn’t true. Coming back to him is your job after all. Eric’s tongue brushes against your fingertips as he takes the chicken into his mouth, and you feel a bolt of arousal jolt through you so strongly you jerk you hand back like he did bite you. He chews slowly, swallowing with a grimace.

“Martin Johnson. November 6th, 2010. Child molester, thought he was meeting a ten year old girl in the playground behind the multiplex on 2nd.”

You feel your eyes go wide as your mouth falls open. “I remember that case.”

Eric draws his bottom lip through his teeth. “Unsolved, until now. Brilliant work, doc.”

You shake your head, plucking another piece of chicken from his plate and holding it to his lips. Eric accepts it gently, tongue licking against your fingers again. “They couldn’t identify him for weeks.”

Eric hums as he chews, and you don’t miss the way his pupils dilate. Though whether that’s the taste of your fingers in his mouth or the memory of what he did to Martin Johnson, you’re not sure. “He confessed to a whole lot worse than meeting up with kids for sex, before he died.”

“They had to remove the slide. Never replaced it.” Your voice comes out as little more than a whisper.

“He had it coming. If he’d told you what he told me, you’d understand.” You say nothing, because you understand anyway. Not that you could smash a man’s face against a metal slide so hard and so repeatedly that you pulverise his skull and shatter all his teeth, but you could still agree that he’d deserved it.

“Is this a… formal confession?”

Eric smirks. “Does it matter? He’s still dead and I’m in here for the rest of my life.”

You want to tell him that it’s not necessarily true. That the criminally insane can be rehabilitated if you can prove he’s not sick anymore. But he’s too smart to know something like that and not try to manipulate you, so you say nothing.

“Is the chicken any good? I’ve always wondered.”

Eric scoffs. “Not sure it can legally be called chicken, doc.” He says. “Try it.”

You pluck a piece from his tray and eat it, the dampness from Eric’s mouth still on your fingers. You let your own tongue trace the slick of his saliva, and Eric shifts in his seat as he watches you chew.

“Oh.” You mumble. The meat in your mouth tastes like ammonia, and you desperately want to spit it out. But that isn’t what’s diverted your attention. Your eyes have dropped into his lap, to the prominent bulge of his cock straining against his scrubs.

“Bad, right?” Eric asks, his eyes tracing over the way your lip curls back in disgust so he can draw it later. But you don’t look at him, and Eric follows your sight line to his crotch. “Oh.”

“The chicken is bad.” You force the words out, even though your throat is closing and you can feel the prickling of heat on your face as you blush.

Eric shifts again, the fabric of his scrubs dragging against his sensitive tip, and he lets out a little hiss. “And this is… bad, right?” He asks, eyes darting from his own cock to your face.

“That’s… a perfectly natural bodily function,” you breathe, trying to ignore the throb of arousal in your core as your clit swells. You press your thighs together hard, desperate for stimulation, and Eric’s breath hitches.

“You don’t mind, doc?” He asks softly. “I’d cover it up or do something about it, but-“ he lifts his hands, the chains clinking against the legs of his chair as he reaches the limit of the lengths.

“You really like the shitty chicken, or-“ You break off, wriggling a little against the desk. You don’t mean to. You really, really don’t.

Eric licks his lips. “Best I ever had.”

You should leave. You should tell him he’s being inappropriate and leave him to eat his own lunch. Instead you watch, disgusted, as you pick up another piece and push it between his lips. This time you don’t withdraw right away, and Eric sucks your fingers against the hot, wet muscle of his tongue as slick arousal soaks your underwear.

*

It’s a violation of everything you’ve worked so hard for. Sitting in your office, bringing up the camera feed to his room for the tenth time that morning. Just to watch him. Eric sits at his desk like he always does, sketching with broad, harsh strokes of charcoal across the paper. He slips over the boundaries, marking the metal surface with patchy smudges of black, and you lean in to squint at the design. It’s another person, surrounded by something you can’t identify in the jumble of pixels. He shoves abruptly away from the desk and you jump even though you can’t hear the screech of the chair legs against concrete. He paces the small room, crossing from one end to the other in just a couple of seconds each time. Too big for his cage. Too restless. As if in agreement Eric shrugs his shirt off and drops to the floor, the muscles in his back flexing as he runs through sets of push-ups. You should turn the feed off. You should at least look away, check your emails or drink the coffee that’s cooling beside you. You shouldn’t reach down under your desk to rub against your clit through your panties and the thin membrane of your tights. You think about his mouth, the flick of his tongue against your fingers, and you have to sink your teeth into your bottom lip to suppress a moan as your blood rushes south and the persistent dull throb between your legs intensifies.

It’s like he knows. Like he can sense you or smell you from across the building, because Eric pushes up off the floor and sinks down onto the edge of his bed, tugging his scrubs down to his knees and wrapping a fist around his half-hard cock. You slip your fingers into your panties now, desperate for more as the grainy Eric on your screen works his shaft, twisting his wrist over the head and tilting his face back to expose the inked flesh of his neck. His eyes find the camera and fix there, and Eric pretends the little blinking light means you’re watching him. It’s easier to find his release that way, thinking you’re there. That it isn’t wasted. Because this isn’t what does it for Eric. His hormones aren’t in control of his urges, never have been. He likes scars and bruises and breaks. He likes screaming and he likes the little slides of blood he kept as trophies, one for every victim. He’d read it in a book sometime and liked the idea, and there was something real satisfying about keeping all those little traces. Something thrilling about keeping the keys to his freedom in a little box under his floorboards.

You cum with a strangled little moan, your eyes closing just for a second before you force them back open in time to watch Eric finish, cock twitching in his fist as spurts of cum paint his toned stomach and soak into the fabric of his scrubs. He rubs his hand on his sheet and huffs a sigh, tucking his cock away and rolling onto his back to take a nap before your lunchtime visit.

Buzzer, wince, wait. Green light, swipe, beep.

The mechanism in the door clicks, and you push it open. Eric’s at his desk as usual, ankles and wrists shackled to the seat. He cocks his head to the side as he scans you over. Your cheeks are flushed and there’s a glassiness to your eyes that sends a rush of blood to his cock and all he can think about is getting your fingers in his mouth so he can see if he’s right.

“Mr Draven.”

“Doc.”

“I hope you’ve had a good moanin-morning.” You stammer, feeling your cheeks heat.

Eric’s mouth curves into a smirk as your eyes drop immediately to the little stain on the waistband of his scrubs. Oh yeah, you were watching him.

“Keeping busy, you know.” He drawls, leaning back in his chair. The chains clink against the chair legs, and his hands jerk to a stop half-way to the table.

“I hear you’ve been making trouble for the orderlies.”

Eric hums. “Me? Trouble? I’m good as gold.”

You purse your lips, fighting a smile. Eric is ridiculously charming when he’s in a good mood, and you suppose relieving some… tension this morning had helped.

“You stamped on the attendants foot so hard you shattered his cuboid and three metatarsals.”

Eric scoffs. “I thought he was wearing work boots. He should have been, right?”

You don’t concede the point, though he’s right. The orderly should have been wearing facility-issued boots, thick leather with steel toecaps. He’d been in his own trainers because he’d been running late that morning. An unfortunate series of coincidences, you hoped.

“Well, they’re refusing to work with you anymore.”

Eric hums. “I’m heartbroken.”

You perch on the edge of his desk, momentarily forgetting your room checks. “That means no rec time, no showering. Nothing outside of this room, until the board can figure out how to manage the situation.”

Eric feels his stomach drop out at that. He’d expected punishment, sure. Maybe some further restrictions on his already limited freedoms. But total isolation, in this room? That was the worst case scenario.

“Why can’t you do it?”

You blink at him. “I’m a doctor.”

“Right.” Eric leans forward, his hands snapping against the restraints before he drops them to his lap again. “You’re my doctor. Getting to see the sun every now and then… and fucking hygiene are important factors in my mental health, aren’t they?”

You swallow. “Your care outside of this room isn’t-“

“Answer the question.”

Your head snaps up, eyes focusing on the tight set of Eric’s jaw. “Yes, they’re important.”

Eric’s face softens into a smile. “Right. So you could do it, couldn’t you? Escort me outside, escort me to the showers. I’d be so grateful. Grateful enough to give you more names.”

“They’d never allow it… not after the violent outburst with the orderly.”

Eric tsks his tongue. “He had it coming. The things he was saying? Vile. Really vile shit. I’d never hurt you.”

You look into his eyes, his wide, sincere, beautiful green eyes, and you believe him. “I’ll talk to the board. Plead the case.”

Eric slumps back into his seat, offering you a genuine smile. “Lifesaver, doc. You really are.”

You push off the desk and cross the room, checking under his pillow and between his sheets before dropping to your knees to check under the bed. You hear the clinking of his chains as Eric turns in his seat to watch, and you stick your ass out a little further than necessary as you crawl underneath.

There’s nothing at all stashed between the slats, and you’re only a little disappointed. But then you pause, eyes fixing on the milky smear against his bedsheet, inches from your face. Don’t do it. Don’t fucking do it, you disgusting little- Your tongue presses to the stain, soaking the fabric and tasting the salt of Eric’s cum, and you let out a tiny, strangled moan of pleasure.

Eric watches the dip of your head, and he can all but hear the wet scrape of your tongue. His cock responds immediately, thickening and pulsing to strain against his scrubs as he imagines what your tongue would feel like licking against his sensitive tip. It’s been a really long time since anyone’s touched him. A really long time since he’s even wanted anyone to. But at the way you press your thighs together, on your knees in your little black pencil skirt as you lick his cum from his sheets? Eric feels something like desire stirring in his gut.

*

Approval takes three days. You make the request, and the ward manager stares at you like you’ve grown a second head, but he pushes it through. The lead psychiatrist calls you into her office and asks you if you’re absolutely sure, and you hear Eric’s voice in your head as you parrot his words to the doctor. Detrimental to his mental health, the progress you’ve been making, the trust you’ve built. You’d signed a liability waiver, and that had been enough. The hospital were still recruiting for new orderlies, but even at a good rate of pay people just didn’t want to work with criminal lunatics. You yourself had been on the verge of quitting when you’d been assigned to Eric Draven. The first time you’d seen him, the huge, wide set of his shoulders hunched in like he could will himself to disappear and the steady stillness in his big green eyes, you’d torn up your resignation letter and locked in. You could save this one. Just this one.

Eric stands under the spray of hot water, feeling the tension leak out of his shoulders and swirl towards the drain, and he thinks about how far you had to stick your neck out to get him here. You’d shrugged it off, telling him it had been a meeting and some paperwork, but Eric knew differently. He knew what he was and what people thought he was, and the fact that you were standing on the other side of the door right now, supervising his shower like a minimum wage worker meant something. It meant he was getting somewhere.

“Doc?” He calls, and he waits until he hears the grate of the slot in the door dragging open before he turns, so you get a real good look at all of him. Your eyes meet his, and your pupils have blows wide in a way that makes Eric’s cock stir to life.

“Everything okay?”

Eric hums, stepping out from under the water to approach the door. He licks his lips, and your gaze dips to watch. “I’d usually use this time to… uh, relieve certain impulses.”

Your brows knit before your eyes go wide. “You mean… the bodily function of…”

“My cock is so fucking hard,” Eric whispers, bracing one hand against the door and letting his eyes flutter closed. “I don’t wanna make you uncomfortable.”

You swallow, a little choked sound loosing from your throat. “I’m not… it’s… perfectly natural. Healthy, even.” Eric can hear the dip in your tone, the thickening in your voice as you get wet thinking about him, and he wonders how often you’ve watched the camera in his room. He should start jerking off more often, to make sure you catch it.

“It hurts,” he moans, and you squeeze your eyes shut and your thighs together.

“Then you should… relieve the tension. I’ll give you some privacy.”

Eric shakes his head. “Could you just… I just need a little help. Just a tiny bit.”

“I can’t come in there. And it wouldn’t be appropriate for me to do-“

Your words are cut off by the press of Eric’s hand through the slot in the door. “It’d help, doc.” He murmurs.

You glance at the deserted corridor either side of you, before you step closer and brush your lips against his fingertips.

Eric exhales shakily. “Spit.” The word shocks through you as you gather saliva on your tongue and spit into his palm. Eric withdraws his hand without another word, and your knees buckle at the soft moan and the wet, slick sound of him wrapping his hand around his length as he starts to pump himself in a loose fist.

“I should close this,” you whisper.

Eric whimpers, sucking his bottom lip into his mouth. “Don’t.”

“It isn’t… I shouldn’t watch you, it’s-“

“So don’t just watch.” Eric’s breath is coming out choppy, his words little more than moans. “Touch yourself.”

Your heart stutters over the words, even as your clit throbs with an arousal that borders on pain at his words and the throaty, deep sound of them. “I can’t, that’s completely-“

“You don’t want to?”

You shake your head. “It isn’t…”

“I watched you lick my cum from my bedsheets. You watch me on the- fuck,” he hisses, forcing his fingers to release his cock. He’s too close to cumming, and he can’t until you’re doing the same. Eric releases a shaky breath through pursed lips. “You watch me on the cameras. I know you do.”

“It’s my job to observe you.” Your own voice sounds reedy and far away, like you’re lightheaded. You suppose that’s true, considering all the blood in your body seems to have pooled in your core.

“You touch yourself when you watch me. I can tell.”

Your eyes snap to his, but there’s no judgement in his stare. Just hunger. Open, carnal hunger in the enormous pools of green and black. “I shouldn’t.”

“Fuck, doc,” Eric groans, running the calloused pad of his thumb over the sensitive head of his cock. “I’m so fucking hard for you. Please.”

You groan, fingers fumbling with the front of your skirt as you push your hand into your underwear and part your soaked folds. “Shit,” you whisper.

Eric’s smirk is smug as he squeezes the base of his cock, watching your eyes flutter closed. He can hear the sound of your slickness, even over the shower and the combined panting of your breathing. “Look at me, doc.”

Your eyes open reluctantly, pupils already expanding as you succumb to the pleasure of your own fingers rubbing electric circles against your swollen clit. “This is wrong,” you whimper, though your fingers only speed up, your hips jerking unconsciously.

“I’m wrong,” Eric moans, sinking his teeth into his bottom lip as his orgasm nears. He can feel the familiar tightening in his balls, though the thrill of you watching seems to heighten his arousal. “You’re… making it better.”

You whine at that, and Eric catalogues the information away for later. You get off on being told what a good doctor you are, though by all counts it seemed like you were a pretty fucking unethical one.

“Oh god,” you whisper, eyes fixing on his. “I’m gunna cum.”

Eric groans, quickening his pace until his fist is a blur against his shaft. “Cum for me, doc.” The guttural sound of his voice and him commanding you tips you over the edge and you cum with a writhing, unbearable pleasure, fingers seizing against your clit as you ride through the waves of your orgasm.

“God, Eric,” you moan, and Eric feels the tightness unravel in one, long stroke as he cums, painting the door and the tiled floor with his own release.

You drag your fingers out of your underwear and smear them over the front of your skirt, glancing back to find Eric still watching you. You can’t see all of him, but you know he’s finished. There’s a pretty pink flush to his cheeks, and his shoulders rise and fall like he’s worked out. The post-nut clarity hits with overwhelming shame, and you take a deliberate step back. “Finish your shower. I mean, clean up. Five minutes.”

Eric frows, feeling the space between you thicken into something that wasn’t there a moment ago, and he wonders if he’s fucked it up by pushing you too soon. He scrubs the evidence of the act from his skin and shuts off the shower, wrapping a thin, rough towel around his waist before returning to the door and knocking.

You reappear, and Eric realises you never closed the hatch. Maybe you watched him finish the shower. By the blush still staining your cheeks and the way you don’t quite look him in the eye, Eric thinks maybe you did. “I’m done.”

“You’re not dressed.” Your words are clipped and cool, and Eric swallows against a lump of something he can’t name cloying in his throat.

“I don’t have clean scrubs, they keep them in the closet out there.”

Your brows scrunch up. “Oh.”

You disappear from view, and Eric feels goosebumps break out across his back in the chilly, damp air as he waits. Your eyes reappear, and you lift a bundle up to show him. “I can’t… you have to open the door.” Eric keeps his tone low and calm, even though he’s starting to feel some type of way about how you’re acting. Like you regret it. And he can’t have that. He just can’t.

“Shit.” You mumble to yourself as you reach for the door. Eric’s hand wraps around your wrist and tugs hard, and you’re dragged over the threshold and into the steamy shower room with a gasp. “You can’t touch me, you promised you’d-“

Eric cuts you off as he lifts your hand to his face, examining your fingers where they’re curled protectively against your palm. It occurs to him that this is the first time he’s ever touched you, with his own hands. Your skin is warm and soft under his, and he can feel the thrum of your blood against his fingers through the thin membrane of your wrist. He lifts coaxes your fingers apart and sucks them into his mouth, swirling his tongue against the digits. There’s the faintest taste to them, but it’s been so long since Eric has been with a woman that he can’t really remember what pussy tastes like. Your mouth drops open as you watch him, and he can tell by the way your eyes darken that he’s got the right hand, at least.

He sucks hard enough to hollow his cheeks over the sharp plains of his cheekbones, before letting you pull your hand back. “Jacob Michael Smith. Connecticut, April 24th, 2012.” He speaks softly, his words ghosting against your damp fingers, and you shiver as you commit them to memory. Another name, a reward for your participation in… whatever the hell this is.

You don’t speak at all as you escort him back to his room, and Eric doesn’t push you. He lets you rechain his hands and feet together, even though you put the cuffs on too tight at the metal cuts into his skin.

*

Eric doesn’t know what to expect the next time he sees you, and the anxiety of not knowing thrums in his blood like the drugs he no longer has access to. He hears the buzzer and reaches for the chains wrapped neatly around the legs of the chair, clicking them into place on the leather cuffs around his ankles and wrists. The light above the door goes green, and the door opens.

You pause in the entrance, eyes scanning the corridor behind you like you’re considering chickening out. “Hey.” He says very deliberately, offering you a smile. Your shoulders drop a little, and you return the greeting with a tight smile of your own.

“How are we doing today?”

Eric shrugs. “Same old, doc.”

You step into the room, and Eric watches with relief as you settle into the space, into the routine of checking under his bed and sliding your fingers over his sheets and under his pillow. “I want to try something different with you today.”

Eric swallows, trying very hard not to think about all the things he wants to try with you. “Sounds interesting.”

You suck the corner of your bottom lip into your mouth, and Eric’s cock throbs. “You respond well to a… transactional dynamic. I was doing some research, and I think we could come to an arrangement.”

Eric’s cock actually twitches at your words. Were you suggesting… “You get me off, I give you a name?”

You choke on nothing, a series of unintelligible half-protests spilling from your pretty lips. “That is… not what I meant. At all.”

Eric lets his thighs spread wide, leaning back in his seat. “What else could you offer me? You got sway in here, but you can’t get my sentence reduced. I know that much.”

You tug a paper bag out of your jacket, and Eric cocks his head to the side as you glance up at the security camera. “Nobody watches that feed but you,” Eric teases.

Your face flushes as you unwrap the bag, but the smirk drops from his face at the sight of the contents. A plastic punnet of bright red strawberries. Eric feels something dangerously close to emotion threatening to choke him. “These were a bitch to get in here.” You say softly, smiling as you pry open the lid and pluck a plump berry from the container. “You want one?”

Eric nods, licking over his lips as his mouth waters. It had been years since he’d eaten anything sweet and fresh. You hold the strawberry out, and he wraps his lips around it, biting into the tart flesh with a squelch of sticky red juice. Flavour explodes on his tongue, an overwhelming, delicious cacophony of sugar and sharpness, and Eric moans.

You ignore the sick throb in your core as you watch him, focusing instead on the actual, unbridled satisfaction on his face as he chews. “Harrison Slaney.”

You frown, because the name isn’t new to you. “That doesn’t count, we knew about that one.”

“You don’t know why.” He hums, a thin line of juice running from the corner of his mouth. His tongue licks out at it, but he can’t catch it all before it reaches his chin to drip down onto his thigh. “Fuck.”

You hum, leaning over to swipe the liquid from his jaw. “Okay, tell me why.”

“He was in here for arson, right? Burned down that house and said the devil made him do it.”

You nod.

“Yeah. Well, the little boy in that house? The littlest one? He’d been abusing him for months. Snatching him on his way home from school and dragging him out to the woods, said he’d kill his parents if he told. Guy set that fire to tie up loose ends after he was done with him.”

You wobble on the desk, feeling nausea rise in your throat. You’d evaluated that patient. Only once, only initially, but you hadn’t had even the slightest reason to suspect he was this kind of monster.

“He told you that?”

“He told another guy. I overhead. People forget I’m there, most times.”

You scan his long torso, even folded into the chair. You found it hard to believe anyone could forget he’s there, considering your eyes wander to him unconsciously every five seconds.

“Do you feel like… why do you think it’s your job to kill these people?”

Eric presses his lips into a thin line. “Because nobody else will do it. Cops are incompetent, and it’s always the people that can’t defend themselves that end up victims. I’m big. I’m strong. Why shouldn’t it be me, instead of them? It’s justice. I’m… I’m karma.”

You hate how much sense he’s making. You hate how warmth is pooling in your stomach, something more complicated and much more dangerous than lust.

“Tell me about how you were caught.”

One side of Eric’s mouth lifts into a smirk. “Transactional, doc.”

You roll your eyes but can’t suppress a smile of your own as you press another strawberry to his lips. Eric lets you press it there for a moment, eyes meeting yours in a challenge. “Open, Draven. Be a good boy.”

His pupils expand rapidly as he parts his lips and bites into the plush flesh. He hums, eyes closing for a moment, and you take the chance to really look at his face. It’s easier to take in the other details when he’s not looking at you. The very fine lines around his eyes, the sharp point of his nose. The perfect, swollen rosebuds of his lips. The little tattoos, the delicate ones on his face and the thicker lines snaking into the collar of his scrubs. Pretty, pretty boy.

“Eric.” He mumbles, and you snap out of your daze to raise an eyebrow at him. “Draven.”

“Now that really doesn’t count.”

“I know. I just… I want you to call me Eric. “Nobody else. Just you.”

You nod your head gently, though you can feel the tingle of blood rushing to your cheeks. Somehow that’s more intimate than anything else he’s ever said to you. “I still need a name, Eric.”

Eric swallows hard. He knew hearing his name on your lips would make him feel a type of way, but he wasn’t prepared for just how much it impacted him. His stomach flips over, giddy, like he’s a teenager with a crush and not a criminal with a plan. It’s so fucking stupid, and he reaches out to kick the leg of the table hard enough to make you jump. You do, the unexpected shock of the sound sending you toppling off the edge and sprawling into his lap with a little yelp.

Eric’s hands lift to catch you, bracketing around your hips and pinning you to his lap. You’re about to thank him, when you realise he shouldn’t have been able to catch you. It’s like it happens in slow motion, looking down to see the leather straps around his wrists, and the chains curled uselessly on the floor.

“Charles Billingham.” Eric breathes, his thumbs rubbing circles against your hipbones. “January 1st, 2013. Philadelphia.”

You blink at him, and he digs his thumbs against you harder. “Breathe, doc.”

You drag in a shaking breath, exhaling harshly. Eric’s lips part like he’s tasting the air from your lungs, and you feel the telltale twitch of his cock beneath you. “You’re not in the… how did you…”

“Paul Marshall. October 12th, 2011. Jersey.”

“You shouldn’t be able to… how did you…”

Eric lifts his hands to your waist, dragging his long fingers up your ribs and grazing over the curves of your breasts. “Sam Worthington. December 25th, upstate New York.”

“Why are you… I haven’t even given you the strawberries.” You whisper, and Eric huffs a laugh.

“You’re giving me more right now by not pushing the panic button.”

You freeze. Patients aren’t supposed to know that staff even have those, little discreet switches on the sides of their keycards that will trigger a silent alarm. But Eric’s right, you hadn’t pushed yours. You hadn’t even considered it.

“How long have you been able to get out of those?”

Eric sighs. “Since the first day they installed them. Shitty installation. Shitty mechanisms.”

You can barely hear your own voice as your mind tries to make sense of this information. “So you’ve… never been restrained? The whole time I’ve been coming here?”

Eric shrugs. “You were never in any danger. You’re not… nobody good is ever in any danger with me.”

Good? You want to scream at him. You don’t know anything about me!

“I have to tell- you can’t be allowed to-“

Eric’s hands cup the sides of your neck, tilting your head down to his as he drags you closer and presses his lips to your own.

The chaos of panic in your head fizzles into hot, white static at the feeling of his lips on yours. He tastes like strawberries, and you rock forward against the hard bulge in his scrubs as his fingers lace into your hair and tug with enough force to make you whine into his mouth.

Eric moans, the sound vibrating through your lips and shooting straight down to your core, and you feel the slick of arousal as you soak your panties, rocking against his cock as he thrusts upwards to meet you.

Eric pulls your head back enough to disconnect your mouths, his tongue licking over your bottom lip. “You feel so fucking good,” he mumbles, dropping one hand to your hip to help you drag back and forth against his cock. It’s the closest he’s been to anyone touching him in longer than he can remember and precum beads on his tip and soaks into his scrubs as he ruts up against the soft heat of you.

“God,” you whisper, hips snapping frantically against him as you chase the edge of your orgasm. “I’m gunna… God,” you groan as your release washes through you, the drag of your slick cotton panties against your clit and the rough feeling of Eric’s fingers on your skin tumbling you over the edge as you jerk and whimper and wriggle on his lap.

Eric feels his own orgasm hit moments later, watching you fall apart and feeling the hot pulsing of your pussy against him. Your release soaks through to his scrubs, and the scent of you and the damp warmth against his cock has him shooting his load into his scrubs, coating his own crotch in sticky cum as he pins you against his lap and grinds up against you.

You’re gasping, fingers balled tightly in the fabric of his collar, chest rising and falling erratically. You look so small and so vulnerable like that. Eric releases his hold on your hip, resting his palm against your back instead. He leans forward to brush his lips against yours, relishing in the soft, hot silk of your mouth. “You’re safe, doc,” he whispers against your lips, and the words break through the complete haze of lust to settle in your gut. Doc. You’re his doctor. He’s a patient. This is unethical. This is dangerous. This is wrong.

You rip your mouth away from his, shoving against his chest as you tumble from his lap and stagger towards the door. Eric frowns, big green eyes bewildered as he watches you fumble for your keycard, but he doesn’t get up. He could! Your brain screams to you. “This isn’t- this can’t happen. You can’t- I’ll… shit,” you stammer as your card finally swipes the keypad and the door clicks. You push against it, your eyes never leaving him. The last thing you see before you slip into the corridor is his face, cheeks flushed and eyes wounded, and it’s the only thing you see every time you close your own eyes for a week.

*

Eric thinks he might be in hell. Being what he is, he’s used to pain. Used to expecting nothing but pain and shit and blood. Used to seeing the worst in people, up close and personal. Getting caught was almost a relief, an excuse to hold up his hands and say sorry, world, Eric Draven’s outta commission. He’d been ready to fade into nothing, been ready to welcome it, when you’d walked into his cell with your tense smile and your pretty eyes and spoken to him like he were a person and not a shadow. He hadn’t eaten a single strawberry after you’d left, and they sit rotting under his bed like a physical manifestation of how badly he’s killed his one little spark of hope. Because it had been days, and you hadn’t come back. One of the duty doctors had visited to administer meds and conduct room checks, and that had been all. No rec time, no showers. No orderlies willing to do anything more than shove his food through the slot in the door and slam it closed. Usually before he managed to get to it, so he was forced to pick through scraps on the floor after the tray toppled through the hatch. He didn’t have the energy to work out, and the smudgy charcoal sketches of you that he kept under his pillow made his stomach clench in a way he wasn’t even remotely interested in exploring.

By day six, Eric decides he’s done. Done with all of it, actually. His food comes three times a day, and he watches the trays clatter to the ground, one on top of another. It takes two more days for somebody to notice and come to clear it up, and Eric puts on the cuffs and connects the chains like it means anything.

The orderly that enters doesn’t look scared, and Eric wonders with a little jolt whether you hadn’t told on him.

“Expecting the good doctor?” The orderly asks with a sneer.

Eric says nothing. He knows better than to run his mouth when he’s so weak he can barely lift his head.

“You not talking to me?” The orderly coos, stepping closer. His boot squelches in a rancid puddle of decaying meat and he gags. “You’re a fucking animal, Draven.” He steps closer, lifting his boot to drag the smear of rotten food against Eric’s shin. “I’m surprised it took her this long to throw in the towel with you. Irredeemable. We all told her as much.”

Eric glares at the scratched surface of his desk, and still he says nothing.

“Not so cocky when you’re all tied up, are you?” The orderly leans down, big greasy face far too fucking close, and Eric flinches. “Fucking pervert piece of shit,” he spits, the saliva misting over Eric’s face moments before the meaty fist connects with his mouth.

Eric’s head is rocked back by the force, the sheer surprise of it. He just manages to keep his hands by his sides, and the orderly steps back, hocking a foaming wad of spit onto Eric’s thigh. “They don’t pay us enough to deal with you psychos.”

Eric’s fingers itch to wipe the remnants of the man’s spittle from his face, but he holds himself perfectly still as the orderly scoops up the worst of the mess on the floor and stacks his trays. “Better start eating, Draven. Or they’ll put you in the hospital wing and hook you up to a feeding tube. Nasty business.”

Eric doesn’t know whether your office is in the hospital wing, but the thought that it might be, that him ending up in a bed there would bring you out of hiding is somewhat cheering even as his vision goes spotty and his stomach aches like its eating itself.

*

Eric hears the buzzer, and he rolls his head to the side to watch the red light blink. He’s too weak to move, couldn’t haul himself into the chair to fix his sham restraints in place even if he wanted to. He frowns when the light turns green anyway, expecting orderlies to pour in and drag him to the hospital wing for force feeding.

“This isn’t how you get my attention, Eric.” Your voice is low and melodic, and Eric feels every word vibrate through him as you step into the room. At the sight of him your brows pinch, concern written in every line of your face. “Oh, God. When did you stop eating?”

Eric thinks he shrugs, but he isn’t completely sure. He opens his mouth, but his tongue is a wedge of sandpaper against his teeth and his throat is raw.

You cross the room, dropping to your knees beside his bed and pressing your cool hand to his forehead. “Shit, Eric. What the hell did you do?”

Eric wants to snap, but the words that rattle out of him are weak. “What did you do?”

“I took a vacation.” You whisper. “I needed… some clarity. Away from here.”

If he had the strength, Eric thinks he might throttle you. So he’s glad he’s too weak to move, actually. “You left me.”

You purse your lips. “I didn’t leave you. This is… my job. Other doctors would have covered my patients.”

Eric chokes out a laugh. “I’m more. This is more than that.”

You swallow around a lump. This is exactly what you were trying to get away from. The unhealthy, intense dynamic that had grown between you and Eric Draven. The bond that threatened everything you’d worked so hard to build.

“So you just stopped eating, huh?”

Eric thinks he shrugs, but he’s too weak to know for sure.

“What’s that…” you disappear from beside him, and Eric’s fingers grasp uselessly at nothing as you dip under the bed and retrieve the moulded punnet of strawberries. “Eric.” You sigh.

“I owe you more names.”

“You don’t owe me anything. I shouldn’t have made it into a game. It wasn’t professional. I… I’ve been doing some thinking, and-“

“I wanna play another game.” Eric whispers through chapped lips.

“No.”

“You tell me things about yourself. Not big things, just… like… trivia. And I’ll eat. Drink, whatever.”

You purse your lips as you look at the glassiness in his eyes and the severe way his flesh is drawn over his bones. “Just for today, Draven.”

Eric winces as you help him sit up, and you press the buzzer on the wall, waiting for the hatch to open. “Hey, doc. You enjoy your vacay?” Eric grits his teeth at the sound of the voice, the familiarity with which he speaks to you.

“It was good to get outside of this place. I need a couple of bottles of water and some food. Something basic, like… toast? Can we do toast? Or crackers?”

Eric’s stomach gurgles at even the suggestion of food.

“Assume you’ll clear the budget for it.”

“You know I will, wouldn’t wanna get you in trouble.” Eric hates the teasing edge to your words, but when you turn back to look at him you roll your eyes and the churning in his guts stops. You’re playing the game, that’s all.

You jump when the hatch reopens, and the orderlies meaty paw shoves three water bottles through. “Asshole finally gunna stop being suicidal?”

“Working on it.” You say tightly, taking the bottles under your arm and reaching for the tray of toast. You look at the dry, burnt slices and grimace. “No butter? Jelly? I think… I mean I’m not sure he’ll be able to swallow this, is all.”

The orderly dips his head to look at you, and you offer him what you hope is a friendly smile. “I’ll see what we got. For you.”

The orderly does manage to procure a handful of sachets of strawberry jelly, and you squeeze them onto the toast, smoothing it out with your finger. Eric watches with a knot in his stomach at the care, the consideration for him. It really had been hell, being away from you.

“You have… any pets growing up?”

You crack the lid on a water bottle and hand it to him. Eric’s hands shake badly as he brings it to his lips and takes a few gulps. His throat protests as he swallows, but he pushes through the pain because you’re watching him.

“One cat, one dog. Toast.”

Eric takes a slice and licks tentatively at the jelly before taking a small bite. The toast is like ash in his mouth, but the jelly helps. He takes another sip of water unprompted, and you smile.

“First CD you ever bought.”

“Uhh… I don’t know, actually. I could only afford singles, I don’t think the memory of which came first stuck.”

Eric hums, taking another bite of the toast. With the water soothing his throat it’s becoming easier to swallow, and his stomach screams at him to devour every single fucking thing he can get his hands on.

“Siblings?”

“This is… not trivia.” You warn, and Eric takes a sip of water to mask the sting he feels at you reasserting the boundary.

“Favourite movie.”

You smile softly. “Am I basic if I say Titanic?”

Eric smirks. “Yes.”

He’s finishing the last mouthful of toast, two empty bottles already crumpled on the floor and the third almost finished when you detonate the bomb. “I’m switching you to another doctor.”

Eric’s vision tunnels as you ramble on, spounting nonsense about healthy boundaries and professional treatment.

“No.”

You sigh. “Eric, please. It’s for the best.”

“No. You can’t. You can’t.”

“I can.” Your mouth sets into a hard line. “It’s my decision. I’m in charge.”

Eric feels panic welling up, and he switches tactic. He reaches for your hand, bringing it to his face and pressing his nose against your palm. “Please. Please don’t leave me.”

Your lips wobble, and Eric presses his lips to your wrist, tongue gliding out to trace the pulse of the vein beneath your skin. “I’ll be good. I swear. I’ll give you names. I’ll take the meds. I’ll do anything, I’ll do every fucking thing.”

“Eric,” you whisper, feeling your stomach knot and unknot.

“I’ll be good.” He trails kisses up your palm and over your fingers, curling your hand into a fist and kissing your knuckles. “I’ll be your good boy.”

“I’m not healthy for you. I can’t be… you deserve a doctor who can respect the professional-“

“If you leave I’ll never speak again. I’ll never say another word. I swear it.”

His face hardens, and you realise with a sinking sense of inevitability that he isn’t bluffing. A man like Eric doesn’t bluff.

“You can’t… blackmail me into treating you.” You whisper.

Eric make a frustrated sound in the back of his throat. “It’s not blackmail. I’m just fucking telling you. I won’t work with another doctor. You’re it for me.”

“We don’t… We’d built a rapport, a sense of trust. You were lying the whole time, Eric. You have me second-guessing everything you’ve ever told me.”

“I didn’t lie.”

“You let me feed you. You could have used your hands the whole time.”

“I could have hurt you. Could have stolen your keycard and escaped but I didn’t, did I? I wouldn’t do anything to hurt you. Ever.”

You believe him, deep in your bones. But the balance of power has shifted, and you don’t know how to make it shift back.

“Anything.” Eric breathes. “I’d do anything to earn your trust back.” The soft, pleading edge to his voice sends a bolt of arousal through you.

“If I told you I can’t feel safe with you unrestrained?”

“Call the orderlies. Have them cuff me or tie me to the chair or whatever. I don’t care, I’ll do it.” There is wide sincerity in his eyes, a desperate eagerness to fix things, and you suck your bottom lip into your mouth.

In the time since you’d started these games, Eric had given up more names than he had in the months prior. Even if it was unethical, if playing with him closed cases and brought closure to more families, it was justified, wasn’t it?

You’re not sure you care, as you rake your eyes over his face and down his toned stomach, rippling under the thin material of his scrubs. “If I… tied you up myself. You’d be okay with that?”

Eric’s mouth goes dry, his cock twitching at the thought. “I trust you.”

Your legs shake as you push off the edge of his bed and collect the leather bands from beside his chair. The chains aren’t even connected to the goddamn floor, just looped around the chairlegs. If you’d looked at them just a little closer, you’d have seen that they were practically useless.

Eric’s watching you from the bed, his cock already tenting in the loose fabric of his scrubs. You notice, your eyes darkening as you turn the cuffs over in your hands. “How do these work, then?”

Eric hums, reaching for you. You hand him a cuff, and he leans down to wrap it around his ankle. “The release for the chain is here, on the top. Took me less than an hour to realise I could just…” he flicks his long finger against the mechanism and it pops open.

“That’s the worst design I’ve ever seen in my life.”

“I guess the board were on a budget.” Eric says with a smirk. “But if you put them on me the other way round, I can’t reach the release.”

You twist the cuff around, bracketing his wrist. “You can’t?”

Eric strains his fingers, but there’s no way to reach around to the release catch. “I’m stuck.”

You nod, fixing the other cuff to his wrist and then his ankles. “So now if I secure these to your bed…” you mumble to yourself as you pry open the end of the chain-links and tighten them over the railing at the bottom of the bed. You secure the other end to the cuff, and straighten. “You can’t get out?”

Eric tugs his leg, flexing his ankle this way and that. “Nope. Tight.” His voice drops an octave on the word, his breath hitching in his throat as his cock twitches.

“Good,” you mutter as you round the bed, securing his other ankle and then moving on to his wrists. “To the sides, or above your head?” You whisper.

“However you want,” he says quietly. You close your eyes briefly as a wave of arousal throbs through you, before lifting his wrist above his head and securing him to the headboard. His muscles bulge and strain at this angle, tattoos standing out against the hard flesh, and his pupils have blown wide as he wriggles against the restraints. “Okay. Shit, I really can’t move.”

You swallow, eyes raking over his bound form and committing every sinful inch of him to memory. “You like it?”

Eric groans, hips lifting off the bed as his cock throbs and leaks against the front of his scrubs. “Shit. Yeah, I like it. I’m… fucking hard.”

You hum, perching on the edge of the bed and ghosting your fingers over his erection. “I like you like this. I feel… in control.”

Eric whimpers at the way you touch him, bucking hopefully against your hand. “You’re in control. I’m… yours. I’m at your mercy. Whatever you want, doc.”

“Whatever I want,” you whisper, wrapping your hand around the outline of his shaft through his scrubs. “Loaded offer, Draven.”

Eric groans, eyes rolling back at the pressure of your fingers wrapped around him. “Please. I’ll give you names, I’ll give you whatever you- shit,” he hisses as you dip your hand beneath his waistband and rub over his slit, massaging his precum into the sensitive head of his cock.

“Whatever I want, right.” You coo, tugging his cock out of his scrubs and wrapping your fist around his length to pump him slowly. “Because you want to be good for me, right? My best patient? My best boy?”

Eric whines, hips bucking into your hand to fuck himself in the loose circle of your fist as you fumble with the waistband of your own pants. “Shit,” he whimpers, eyes fixed to your hand as you shove your soaked panties aside and circle your own clit with two fingers. “That’s… you’re so hot.”

You sigh, chasing the delicious friction of your fingers against yourself as you jerk your hand up and down his length. You pull your fingers out of your underwear and lean over, pressing them to Eric’s lips. “What was it you asked me, before? Hmm?”

Eric can only stare at you. He can’t think about anything other than the blinding pleasure of your hand on his cock and the tight, crushing feeling of the restraints pinning him to the bed.

“Spit, Eric.” You coo. He does, letting a thin stream of saliva slick over your fingers. You smile, holding his gaze as you shove your hand back into your underwear and use his spit to glide against your clit.

“That,” he gasps, eyes losing focus as you rub your thumb over his frenulum, massaging the sensitive spot. “Please.”

“You want to cum for me?” You murmur, squeezing his length harder as you pick up the pace.

“If it’s what you want.” He whispers, eyes wide and shining with tears as his hips buck.

“I do want.” You twist your wrist as you roll over the head of his cock, and Eric actually does cry out then. He’s had nothing but his own goddamn hand in years, and that had suited him just fine. But your hand, you looking at him as you brought him to the edge? It was too much. Eric whines as his release builds, cock throbbing and twitching as-

You remove your hand from him completely, and Eric’s eyes open in shock as his brows furrow and his bottom lip juts out in a pout. “Why did you stop?”

You hum, your other hand still working in your underwear, and Eric’s eyes drop to that point, mouth falling open. “Oh.”

“Me first,” you whisper.

“I wish I could… fuck,” Eric groans, straining against his restraints. “Wish I could touch you.”

“Yeah? Tell me.” You grit out, fingers circling your clit erratically as your orgasm nears.

“Wanna touch you. Wanna use my fingers. My tongue. Bet you taste so good. Fuckin strawberries,” he groans, cock twitching with the aching need to cum.

“Shit. Yeah. If you weren’t all… tied up for me,” you moan. “Fuck, Eric. I’m gunna cum. I’m gunna-“ you break off with a cry as your orgasm washes over you, grinding desperately into your own palm as you twitch through the waves of pleasure.

“That was… fuck. Please,” he whines, and you sigh as you withdraw your soaked fingers and lean over to press them against his lips.

“Suck.”

Eric draws your fingers into his mouth, laving his tongue between the slick digits to swallow down every last trace of your release. He moans at the taste, at the hot, sweet and bitter taste of you, and his eyes roll back as his cock twitches for a final time before shooting thick ropes of cum over his stomach.

Eric drops boneless to the bed, tongue running desperately over his lips to collect the last traces of your arousal where you dragged your fingers out of his mouth. You dip your head to peck his lips, tasting yourself on his tongue.

“Get some rest,” you sigh, pressing a kiss to his sweaty forehead. “I have notes to write up, forms to fill out. Some difficult phone calls to make. I’d already promised you to another doctor whose practically foaming at the mouth to get time with you. He’s gunna be pissed.” 

Eric can’t bring himself to feel sorry for you, not with the taste of your release in his mouth and your admission that you’d tried to trade him away like a fucking Pokémon card.

*

You’re sitting at your desk writing up notes and trying very hard to not bring up the camera feed to Eric’s room when there’s a light tap at your door.

“Come in!” You call.

You straighten at the sight of the lead psychiatrist, and you feel your heart drop into your stomach at the sight of the very official, suit-clad man standing next to her. “Do you have a minute? We need to discuss a patient of yours.”

You don’t need her to clarify. There’s only one patient she could be talking about, so you gesture for them to enter the room. She sits opposite you with a sigh. “We need to talk about your relationship with Eric Draven.”

“I don’t gather flowers.” Roman grumbles, and his mother pets his hair affectionately.

“Of course not, darling. It’s just for the story.”

Roman huffs, wriggling on his mother’s lap. A boy of eleven and a little short for his age, Roman would rather die than admit that he still crawls into his mother’s bed most nights, when the wind howls against the window panes and the candles have burned too low to see anything past the shadows.

“One morning, the prince happened upon a caravan of travelers in a colorful wagon. He stopped, enthralled by the flurry of tinny music and loud, strange singing. An old woman beckoned him forward, and what do you think the prince did?"

“He got into the wagon,” Roman whispers, feeling dread pool low in his stomach.

“He forgot his mother and his father and his castle on the hill, and he climbed into the wagon. The travelers set upon him at once, ripping the gleaming gold from his fingers and tearing the fine fabric of his coat. The young prince was thrown this way and that, battered and bruised by these wolves masquerading as peasants.”

“But he escapes, doesn’t he mama?” Roman asks in a small, shaking voice.

Olivia Godfrey clicks her tongue, pressing her lips to the top of his head as she pinches a fat chunk of his thigh between her thumb and forefinger until the boy squeals. “With his life, only just. The prince returns to his castle in rags, and the games keeper sets the hounds upon him, thinking the boy a beggar.”

Roman swallows, blinking through the tears as his mother’s nails dig purple crescents into his flesh. “Until he is saved by the queen.”

Olivia releases his skin, eyeing the purpling bruise with satisfaction. “The queen sees through his rags and the terrible injuries inflicted upon him, for she is his truest love in all the world. She orders the dogs away and nurses the prince back to health.”

Roman hums, wrapping his arms tighter around his mother’s throat. She is not an overly affectionate woman, save for these midnight embraces when she’ll whisper fairytales into his ear.

“What do we learn from the story, darling?” Olivia murmurs against Roman’s soft, chestnut locks.

“That a gypsy is a gypsy is a gypsy.” Roman says.

“They will steal the rings from your fingers and the love right out of your heart,” Olivia whispers, clinking the cool circles of metal on her fingers against the warm nape of Roman’s neck until he shivers. “And what’s the other lesson?”

Roman swallows hard. “That the queen is his truest love in all the world.”

Olivia kisses his hair again, her arms encircling his waist as she draws him closer against the cage of her ribs. “That’s right, my darling. You and I.”

You look up at the mansion, counting the flickering panes of glass in the white stone façade. Thirteen across, to Roman’s bedroom window. You pray he’ll look out, just once, just long enough to raise his hand and give you a tiny fraction of the farewell that’s been stolen from you. You cannot know that Roman is on the other side of the mansion, locked behind the iron door of his mother’s chambers. You cannot know that he will find your room empty tomorrow and search every inch of Leordeni for you.

Your eyes burn with tears as the governess pushes you into the waiting carriage and climbs in after, and you blink against the salt as the driver cracks his whip against the horses and the carriage takes off down the hill, swaying under the weight of your trunks in the back.

“There’s no use crying about it now,” the governess says with tight lips. “The young boyar wishes for you to be sent away, so away you must go.”

“He wouldn’t.” You whisper

The woman looks down at the folds of your skirt against the velvet upholstery, and you press your thighs together. “This is no place for a woman.” She says evenly. “You’ll come to see this as a blessing, in time.”