Page 23 of Obsession

A warped euphoria surged within me, dark and addictive. I was the predator this time. For so many years, I’d been prey. Not only to Riot, but to anyone stronger than me in Raven’s Vale.

I could feel Riot watching my every move. A teacher observing his student. Blood rushed in my ears. It felt like the person I used to be was leaving me in a rush, just like the blood of the man I’d stabbed. I was Riot’s creation now, a reflection of his own monstrous heart. Each move was deliberate as I slashed and stabbed the man again and again.

His blood spattered the walls and myself, coating my hands and bathing the knife in red.

“Beautiful,” Riot murmured. I knew, with a clarity that shattered the final pieces of my old self, I had crossed into his world -- a place where love and murder were inseparable, and eternal.

I was no longer the Hollis Crane who trembled in the shadows. Now I was the creature Riot had unearthed from within the grave of my former self.

“Fucking perfect,” Riot said. His eyes were alight with a fervor that only the sight of blood could invoke. He watched as I became the very monster he’d envisioned, his masterpiece wrought in flesh and fear.

“Let it out, Hollis. Unleash all the pain from your past,” he urged.

I obeyed, my actions painting crimson strokes on the alley, my personal canvas. Each scream that tore from the man’s throat fueled my desire for more.

“God, yes!” Riot laughed, dark and sinister. There was pride in his words, a vile satisfaction in turning me into… this, whatever I was now.

“Beautiful chaos,” he murmured. He stood over us, a puppeteer, reveling in the scene he’d orchestrated with his depravity.

Life ebbed from the wretch under me, a final gurgle escaping his lips. I stood there, shaking like a leaf. Blood painted my skin, warm and slick, and it was as if I could feel it oozing into my pores and staining my very soul.

“Riot?” I sought him, needing him to anchor me. Now that it was over, and I saw the carnage, my knees felt weak, and uncertainty filled me.

He closed the distance between us, and his gaze seared into mine. Without warning, his arms caged me, pulling me tight against the hard planes of his body. His embrace was possessive, and I could feel the thrum of his pulse, as we bathed in the afterglow of violence.

“You’re a fucking natural.” His words were both a caress and a brand. Whatever I’d been before, now I was a murderer just like him. A killer who enjoyed the hunt and taking a life. I shivered, lost in the maelstrom of what I had become, of what we now were together.

I leaned into him, needing his comfort. We were two halves of a whole, bound by the screams we silenced.

“Let’s get out of here,” he said, his grip tightening for a moment before he released me, a silent command that I follow him back to our sanctuary -- a mansion as twisted as we were.

As we started to walk farther down the alley, his hand found mine, fingers entwining with an intimacy that was as terrifying as it was thrilling. Our steps echoed, a symphony of depravity that played to the night. And I knew then, with every fiber of my being, that there was no turning back from the abyss that yawned before me. Riot had shown me the darkness, and I had embraced it with open arms.

I clung to Riot, my nails digging into the taut muscles of his back. Tremors racked my body. His dark aura enveloped me, the heat from his skin igniting something feral inside. A line had been crossed, one I’d never be able to take back. I felt it like a jagged tear in my soul. Could I ever claw my way back to the person I was before? Did I even want to?

The cold brick of the alley wall scraped against my back as Riot pressed me to it, but I didn’t care. His hands were on me, urgent, rough. His desire was raw, like an untamed beast sating its urges. He yanked my pants down around my knees, then turned me to face the brick. My cheek pressed against it, the blood of the dead man squishing under my skin.

With one deep thrust, Riot entered me, making me cry out in surprise and a flash of pain. He fucked me like a man possessed, not caring who might pass by, or the fact we were standing in blood. He was intense and savage as he took what he wanted.

“Riot!” His grip on me tightened.

“Mine! Only mine.” His movements were relentless, each stroke deeper, claiming me in ways I never imagined could stir such dark delight within me.

“Yours,” I breathed out, surrendering to the rhythm of his possession. It wasn’t just my body he conquered but something deeper, a part of my soul I’d laid bare for him to ravage.

I wanted to reach down and touch my clit, but I didn’t dare. I only got to come when he allowed it, and right now, he was all about dominating me. And I loved it.

“Harder,” I urged, craving the punishing thrusts of his cock.

Riot complied, his pace unyielding, fervent as if each moment was both an end and a beginning. His breaths came out in harsh pants, echoing off the walls.

“Look at what you’ve become.” His voice was laced with pride and something darker, more dangerous.

“Your masterpiece?” I asked between moans, the words cutting through the haze of pleasure-pain.

His laughter was a low rumble against my neck, sending shivers down my spine.

“Yes. My perfect little killer. My whore who craves my touch, even when I give her pain,” he said.

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