The Cure He Craves

Chapter 5

I told myself it was just curiosity. That was the only explanation that made sense.

By the time my shift ended that evening, the steady rhythm of the hospital had begun to wear thin instead of grounding me. My focus slipped in small, irritating ways—pausing too long over simple charts, rereading notes I didn’t need to reread, catching my mind drifting when it shouldn’t have. It wasn’t enough for anyone else to notice.

But I noticed.

And I hated it.

Because every time it happened—

It traced back to him.

To the way he had responded.

To the way, he had followed instructions without hesitation.

To the way the air had shifted the moment I had taken control.

It didn’t make sense. It shouldn’t have affected me the way it did. And yet—

It did.

“Dr. Voss?”

I blinked, pulling myself back to the present. Claire stood beside the desk again, her expression curious in a way she was trying—and failing—to hide.

“Are you okay?” she asked.

“I’m fine.”

She didn’t look convinced. “You’ve been… distracted today.”

“I’ve been busy,” I corrected.

That earned me a small, knowing look.

“Right,” she said. “Busy.”

I didn’t respond. Because explaining it would have required admitting something I didn’t fully understand myself. And I wasn’t ready to do that.

The drive home felt longer than usual.

The city moved around me in streaks of light and shadow, headlights reflecting off glass buildings, neon signs flickering in the distance. My hands stayed steady on the wheel, my posture straight, controlled—like always.

But my mind—

My mind refused to stay quiet. By the time I stepped into the penthouse, Marcus wasn’t there. The silence hit me immediately. No tension. No heavy presence. No sharp edge waiting just beneath the surface. Just… quiet.

I exhaled slowly, setting my bag down on the table. My body loosened slightly without my permission, the tension easing from my shoulders in a way that felt almost foreign. This was what peace was supposed to feel like. And yet—

It didn’t settle the way it should have. Because my thoughts were still elsewhere. I moved toward the couch, sinking into it without turning on the lights. The city outside cast enough glow through the windows to fill the room with a dim, shifting haze.

My phone sat in my bag. For a moment, I just stared at it. Then—

I reached for it. This was ridiculous. I knew it was. But that didn’t stop me. My fingers moved before I could overthink it, unlocking the screen, pulling up the search bar. I hesitated for half a second—just long enough to recognize what I was about to do.

Then I typed anyway.

**Dominance and submission psychology**

The words looked strange on the screen. Out of place. I almost closed it.

Instead, I tapped the first result. Articles. Forums. Clinical breakdowns. My eyes scanned quickly, instinctively filtering through the noise for something structured. Something grounded in explanation instead of assumption.

Control dynamics.

Power exchange.

Psychological trust.

I frowned slightly as I read. It wasn’t what I expected. It wasn’t about force. It wasn’t about manipulation. It was about consent.

Choice.

Structure.

Trust.

My grip tightened slightly around the phone. That didn’t align with what I had assumed. Didn’t align with the way Marcus used control—sharp, demanding, absolute.

This—

This was different.

My thumb scrolled further.

Submission is described as intentional surrender.

Dominance was described as responsibility.

I sat back slightly, my brows pulling together. Responsibility. That word lingered. Because it shifted everything. If control was given—not taken—

Then it wasn’t weakness. It was… trust. The thought unsettled me. Because it re-framed him.

Re-framed the way he had looked at me.

The way he had responded.

The way he had chosen to follow.

Not because he had to. Because he wanted to. I locked my phone abruptly, setting it down beside me. This was getting too far. Too personal. Too… involved. I shouldn’t be researching a patient outside clinical necessity. Shouldn’t be thinking about him outside scheduled sessions. Shouldn’t be—

My phone buzzed softly beside me. I froze. My eyes flicked toward the screen, my pulse jumping slightly before I could stop it. Unknown number.

A message.

My stomach tightened as I picked it up slowly.

Unknown:

You’re thinking about it.

My breath stilled. A cold, sharp awareness slid down my spine. That wasn’t possible. There was no way—

I stared at the message, my mind moving quickly, rationally, searching for explanation. Coincidence. It had to be.

It had to be.

Another message came through.

Unknown:

Curiosity isn’t something you hide well, Doctor.

My grip tightened on the phone. No.

No, this wasn’t a coincidence. This was deliberate. My heart began to beat harder, faster—not fear exactly, but something close to it. Something sharper. I typed before I could stop myself.

Who is this?

The response came almost immediately.

Unknown:

You already know.

My breath caught. A part of me wanted to put the phone down. Ignore it. Shut it off. Pretend none of this was happening. But another part—

The part I didn’t want to acknowledge—

Needed to know.

You shouldn’t have my number.

There was a pause this time. Longer. Deliberate. Then—

Unknown:

There are a lot of things I shouldn’t have.

My pulse spiked. This was crossing a line. A clear one. And yet— I didn’t feel the anger I should have. I felt… aware. Focused.

“You don’t contact me outside of sessions,” I said out loud, even as my fingers typed the same words into the screen.

The reply came slower this time.

Unknown:

Then tell me to stop.

The words sat there. Simple. Direct. A test.

My thumb hovered over the screen. This was where it ended. This was where I reestablished control. Where I shut it down. Where I reminded him—and myself—that this stayed within boundaries. I knew exactly what to say. I have said it a hundred times before in different situations, different contexts.

Firm. Clear. Final. And yet—

My fingers didn’t move. Because I could still hear his voice.

Then give me your rules.

My chest tightened slightly. This wasn’t the same. This wasn’t a hospital room. This wasn’t controlled. This—

This was something else. My breath slowed. Deliberate. Measured. Then finally—

I typed.

Stop.

The message sent. The silence that followed stretched longer than I expected. For a moment, I thought that was it. That it was over. That I had drawn the line and he had respected it. Then—

My phone buzzed again.

Unknown:

No.

My breath caught. Not defiant. Not aggressive. Certain. Like refusal wasn’t an option—

It was a decision. Something in my chest tightened, sharp and immediate. This was wrong. It crossed every boundary. Every rule. Every line I had spent years building. And yet—

My pulse didn’t slow. Because beneath the tension—

Beneath the awareness—

Something else stirred. Not fear. Not unease. Something sharper. Something that refused to settle.

Curiosity.