Page 23 of Endless Obsession

I feel myself throb again at that, pre-cum spilling down my shaft, and I let out a sharp hiss of breath as I wrap my hand around my shaft, my own arousal enough that I don’t need to find where they keep the lube in this room. I’ve been dripping for what feels like hours now, soaking my boxer briefs the entire time that I was going down on my mystery woman.

Mine. The thought beats incessantly inside my head, again and again, a mantra as I slide my hand up and down my aching shaft. I close my eyes, leaning my head back as I surrender to the pleasure, to the feeling of slick leather against my hard cock, breathing in the scent of her mingled with my own arousal now.

I’m going to find her. I’m going to find out who she is outside of this place. She’s been neglected in every way, treated as disposable, but I’m going to change that. And once she wants me outside of this place, I’m going to show her how she should have been treated all along.

I’m going to teach her what she deserves from a man.

My palm slides over my swollen cockhead, and I hiss again with pleasure, my back arching as I thrust up into my hand. I let my imagination take over, picturing her kneeling between my legs, her mouth, the wet tightness encircling my cock. I imagine her in my lap, that velvet dress pushed up to her hips again, taking my length over and over. Grinding against me, coming on my cock. Screaming out my name.

I no longer want anonymity, when it comes to this woman. All I want is her.

The orgasm hits me hard, fast, and messy, my cock going taut and solid in my fist as the heat explodes at the base of my spine and rockets upwards, cum bursting over my fingers as I stroke myself through it. My mouth falls open, a hoarse groan filling the air as I fuck my fist hard, cupping my other palm over my cockhead as I thrust up into it, filling my hands.

Her wetness mingled with my cum, soaking my fingers. The thought sends one more burst of pleasure through me, a last jet of my release arcing into my palm, and I shudder, moaning as the feeling recedes.

I can’t wait to come inside her. Inside every part of her. I squeeze my cock, hips thrusting once more, and then I strip off my leather gloves, tossing them into the closed receptacle that’s in the room for such things. I have a spare pair tucked into my pocket, and I tug them on, still conscious of not wanting anyone else downstairs to see my tattoos. I don’t want to be identifiable here.

I realize that makes me a hypocrite, considering what I plan to do. But I don’t even want her to know that the man she’s going to meet is the one who made her come so hard tonight with his tongue.

I want no preconceived notions from her. No knowledge of me, until she’s already fallen.

Standing up, I tuck myself back into my trousers, my mind clearer. And that’s the most obvious sign that my plan is one that I need to follow through on. Because even now, in the wake of my own orgasm, my lust satisfied for the moment, I can’t get her out of my head.

—

I wait, for the entirety of my trip home, for that feeling to fade. For me to realize that those feelings of obsession, of possessiveness, were born of intense arousal and nothing more. But she’s still in my head when I park the car, when I unlock my front door, and when I slip into the secret house that I consider my real home. Not my family’s mansion, or the apartment I keep in the city.

The space that is only my own.

It feels like I won’t even be able to sleep until I know who she is. I leave the house dark, tossing my gloves onto the kitchen bar as I stalk to the door that leads down to the basement, able to find it easily, even in the darkness. I know every inch of this place intimately. I could walk through it in utter blackness, and never run into anything.

This is my lair. My place. The only thing I have that is entirely my own.

But soon, maybe, I’ll have something else, too. Something to follow what I’ve already won tonight.

I can still taste her on my lips. The thought has me half-hard as I walk down the stairs into the neon glow of my basement, settling down into the leather chair, and I reach down to adjust my rapidly swelling cock. I shrug off my suit jacket, draping it over a stack of boxes as I shove my sleeves up to my elbows, ignoring the steady throb of desire in my groin as I log onto one of my computers.

I was the first man to ever make her come like that. The thought makes me groan as I start the process of hacking into the Masquerade’s clientele list. At this rate, I’m going to need to get myself off again in order to be able to sleep tonight.

It’s not easy, hacking into it. Whoever built their system did an excellent job of making sure that anyone like me who wanted to find out information about the people who go there would have a difficult time of it. It would take someone exceedingly skilled to get in.

Fortunately, I’m exactly that.

Once I’m in, I give a cursory glance at the photos as I scroll by. All I need is to find her. I have no intention of violating anyone else’s privacy—my curiosity doesn’t extend that far. I don’t care who else avails themselves of the anonymous pleasures that Masquerade offers. All I care about is knowing who the woman with me tonight was.

Even though she was wearing a mask when I saw her, I recognize her bare face as soon as I see it in the picture. I recognize her mouth, her delicate chin, and the waves of dark hair falling around her face. Someone else, someone less trained in perception, might not pick her out. Might wonder if they had the right woman. But I know it’s her.

Charlotte Williams.

Even her name sounds elegant. Restrained. The kind of woman taught to keep her desires under wraps, to deny herself the things she wants, to expect perfection of herself but no one else.

But I want her unrestrained. Messy. Selfish. And tonight was the first twist of the combination that will eventually unlock her to me completely.

All I need is her name. From there, it’s painfully easy to uncover everything about her that I could possibly want to know. It wouldn’t be all that difficult to find a good deal of it just from a few quick Internet searches, but with my ability to hack into records and dig deeper, I can find out as much as I want.

She’s twenty-seven. Graduated from Northwestern University with a degree in computer sciences. She has a handful of advanced coding classes under her belt—not enough for her to be anywhere near the level of skill that I have with computers, but enough that I’ll need to be careful if I want to tamper with her devices in any way, or keep an eye on her electronically. She works at a major company in their IT department—a job that she’s definitely overqualified for. She could do much better for herself, if she wanted to. If she had the confidence.

Or maybe it’s that asshole ex of hers that was convincing her that she didn’t need to do better, so that he could feel like the bigger man in the relationship. I do a little digging on him, too. Nathaniel Lake, thirty-two, an up-and-coming lawyer for a big Chicago firm. Corporate law, nothing noble or high-minded. I find an active membership at one of the other sex clubs in the city, and my jaw tightens, anger heating my blood.

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