Page 6 of His Obsession

“What is your aunt’s name?”

“Jennifer Hart,” I say. “My biological mother was her sister.”

“Okay. What is your birthday?”

“Halloween of 1999,” I say. “I’ll be twenty-five next month.”

“Okay, dear. I’ll do some searching for you. You are welcome to search the census records down in the basement. They’re labeled by year and go back about one hundred years,” she says.

“Thank you so much,” I say sweetly before taking the door beside her that leads down into the basement.

It is a dimly lit room with rows of dust-covered books. There is a massive red oak table in the center, surrounded by chairs. I set my bag and phone on the other side of the table, so I am facing the stairs, before starting with the far-left row.

I spent my entire childhood wondering where I came from. I have always wanted to know why my parents didn’t want me. Was it the way I cried or how I looked? Did they just not want children, or maybe she just wasn’t cut out to be a mother? I’ve blamed myself, but logically I know there is nothing I could have done as a newborn to cause it, so it is just my mere existence that triggered something.

I find yearbooks for a local high school, so I start with the year that Aunt Jennifer graduated. Right away I find her picture and I can’t help but smile. She was a beautiful woman, and I look a lot like her. We have the same hair, and both are short. I’d be willing to bet I look a lot like my mother then as well. I know she was younger, but I don’t know by how much. Aunt Jennifer was twenty-six when I was born, so my mom could be any age. The hard part is, I don’t know who her parents were. I know Aunt Jennifer said once that they moved around a lot.

She didn’t live in the gated community until a year or so before she died, likely around the time she found me. I don’t know why she never told me anything, but I also never asked. I was so excited to finally have a family, nothing else seemed to matter. Maybe she never said anything because it was too painful, or she thought I didn’t want to know. Most of her stuff is packed away upstairs in the attic and down in the basement, so I could go through it.

I am standing at a table in the back of the room, and I am completely lost in the stack of books I have. When I lean over the table to grab a book, I feel a large hand slide up my inner thigh. I yelp and go to turn, but I am promptly pushed flat so that I am bent over the table and my legs are dangling.

“At least you’re consistent with how annoying you are,” I say flatly.

“Researching?” Lucian asks.

“No, I just like the pretty pictures,” I deadpan.

Lucian slowly slides my panties down and I find myself shifting to allow him to take them off easier. I don’t know why I’m letting him do this. I don’t know what he wants from me or why, but it’s fucking intoxicating the way he takes exactly what he wants without overstepping boundaries.

“Tell me. Maybe I can help,” he says as he dips two fingers into my pussy.

“Do I have to?” I ask.

“Do you want to come?” he counters. Fuck. He’s got me there.

“Just trying to find out more about my family,” I choke out. He rewards me with deeper thrusts, and I moan softly.

“Shh. We are in a library, Elise,” he says. “Tell me more.”

“I want to find my mom,” I pant.

“Why?” he asks, thrusting his fingers inside of me. The more I talk, the closer I get.

“I… oh fuck… I want to know why…” I whimper and my body trembles as he fucks me with his hand. He adds another finger, and it makes my pussy ache as he stretches me.

“Why what?”

“Why she didn’t want me,” I moan.

I slap my hand over my mouth when he rapidly increases his speed. He pushes deeper and deeper, but his voice is soft. “Be careful how deep you dig, sweet Elise,” he warns. “You might find something worth hiding from.”

“Fuck,” I moan.

“It’s not time yet,” he says.

“W-What?” I ask. When he abruptly stops, I bang my head on the table and whine. Before he can say anything, I quickly jump up and push him. He growls and grabs me by the throat and pushes me back against the bookshelf, knocking a few of the books to the floor.

“It’s not time yet,” he repeats.

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