Page 68 of Obsession

Before I could ask him how I was going to get inside the house with my top like that, he took off his T-shirt and handed it to me. It was impossible not to freeze. There was not a woman in the world who would have remained stoic at the sight, maybe a lesbian, and I wasn’t so sure about the latter either.

“If you keep looking at me like that, you devil, I’ll drag you back here and you’ll miss school today,” he pointed to his lap, where his erection still hadn’t subsided.

Feeling like he’d emptied a bucket of ice into my panties, I shook my head and snatched the t-shirt out of his hand.

I wanted to torture him, fuck, how much I wanted to torture him and make him pay for those lines. I had gotten into this dangerous game with him, and I didn’t want to back out anymore, didn’t want to let him win, even if it meant I would end up even deeper entangled.

The top was already shredded and there was nothing more he could see, so I tore off the rest and took it off.

I heard another moan of perversity escape him and I threw the piece of fabric in his face, making him laugh.

“You’re a perverted asshole who I’m starting to get sick of.”

“And you’re a sexy liar who I’m starting to want more of.”

Oh, motherfucker.

I stared at him like an idiot and could not help myself. The muscles were obvious through his T-shirt but seeing them naked hit me differently. His stomach was covered in tattoos, a huge hawk on his chest, snakes around his ribcage – a fascinating entanglement that I didn’t allow myself to analyze. His eyes watched my every move as I got dressed.

His T-shirt was too big for me, and I didn’t want to know what he was smiling about.

I expelled a breath and didn’t even stop to say anything as I got out of the car. The cold air helped clear my head a little. Thankfully, my dad wasn’t home anymore.

I took off his shirt as soon as I got in because I didn’t want to go crazy from the smell of him or the warmth I felt while wearing it. I ran upstairs to my room and changed as quickly as I could, reminding myself that I had a fucking life outside of Harris’s games. As I looked at myself in the mirror, a whimper escaped my lips.

Besides the visible blush on my cheeks and the beads of sweat on my neck, my breasts were littered with bites. The marks his teeth had made were still visible, still burning.

I should have been angry, but I started to laugh.

Yes, what I was doing was so damn wrong. I was getting too caught up in his web when I knew all too well what he was after. But it had been a while since I had felt so alive, so… feminine. I realized that nothing else existed when I was with him, not the pain that had brought me there, not the darkness that had drowned me in the last few months, not even the hunger for drugs. This was his effect on me.

I pulled on a funnel-neck tank top so the bite marks wouldn’t show, then walked back to the car, trying to look relaxed. He had a lit cigarette between his fingers and took a few long drags before throwing it out the window.

I held his T-shirt out to him, but he didn’t take it. He just grinned and sped off.

I shook my head and turned it toward the window, because if I kept staring at his abs, I would have been completely doomed.

Harris must’ve realized I was no longer in the mood for conversation, so he turned on the music. The same music I’d heard before I saw him on Monday morning. The strong vibrations reached through my skin to my heart. “Maximumvolume” had a whole different meaning for him, and I couldn’t complain because that was exactly the way I liked to listen to music.

He proved he was a 2Scratch fan, I was sure of that now, but the song he chose sent shivers down my spine.

He couldn’t possibly have played ‘She Wolf’ by mistake, and he didn’t look at me as he drove. He seemed relaxed; his left arm propped on the door as he rubbed his chin.

His lips moved to the music, repeating certain erotic lyrics.

I read the words on his lips and my whole body burned with anger and other much worse sensations, but he’d forgotten who he was dealing with. I relaxed in my seat and started to sing the words, because I knew them very well, even if my voice could barely be heard.

“Any bite can make you all her own.”

When I got to that line, I looked at him. His eyes darted at me as soon as I opened my mouth. He put the song on repeat just to test my limits, but once again he forgot who he was playing with.

He drove like a maniac, skillful or not, definitely a maniac. The scariest thing was that he was looking more at me than at the road. Despite all this, I wasn’t scared. Maybe because I was too absorbed in the looks of this maniac, in the feelings that this damn song evoked, in his gaze.

Last night’s dream came to mind: Harris and the strange way he had revealed himself to me when I was a little girl. He had told me that he would take care of me, that I was his…Jesus, stupid subconscious. What was that supposed to mean? What trauma did my brain inflict on itself without my permission?

By the time he pulled into the parking lot, first period was over. That’s how much we had lost our heads. Everyone outsideturned their heads toward the car, and Harris turned down the volume.

“How are you feeling?” he finally spoke.

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