Page 41 of Whispers of Obsession

Every time I see his name, I tear the page from her journal and shred it. I don’t give a fuck if she knows I was here. I want her to know. I want her to see and understand how angry she’s made me. How dare she write about him. Fantasize about him. Still long for him when I saved her. I thought I’d done enough to show her the monster she managed to escape, but here she is, still talking about him only a few short days back.

My plans for tonight go out the window. I wanted to play with Cora, film it, so she could see how much she craves me even in slumber. Now I’m angry. She doesn’t deserve the gift of my fingers making her feel good. Doesn’t deserve to have my tongue tenderly erase the touch of that asshole.

No. Now she gets my rage.

Taking my dick from my pants, I fist it angrily and begin to jerk it hard. Fuck, Cora. You are supposed to be mine. My good girl. Why are you still hung up on that asshole? I seethe. Why aren’t I enough?

Getting to my feet, I tower over Cora’s sleeping form, reaching out with my thumb to part those beautiful pouty lips of hers. With my other hand, I’m still furiously fisting my cock, ready to paint Cora with my cum. I’m going to make sure that mine is the only name on her lips, in her journal, her fantasies… I’m going to consume her every waking thought, just like she consumes mine.

With an angry grunt, I find bliss in my release, getting an extra kick of satisfaction at defiling the pure angel sleeping below me. Ribbons of my hot cum cover her face and lips, and I rub my thumb over my sticky slit before sliding it onto her tongue. Good girl that she is wraps her lips around my thumb and sucks, letting out a satisfied little sigh.

“That’s it, little darkness. Take me. Feed on my essence like a dirty little whore. Get used to my taste, baby, soon you’ll crave it more than life itself.”

20

CORA

I’m so groggy in the morning, I wonder if I’m coming down with something. Blinking open my sleep-sticky eyes with difficulty, I reach for the glass on my bedside table but find it empty. I’m so thirsty this morning, even though I don’t remember drinking it last night. My throat hurts every time I swallow, which is always an early indicator for me that I’m getting sick.

I lick my cracked, dry lips and find them salty. Dried sweat perhaps? Was I hot last night? It would explain the thirst and the empty glass. Yawning, I stretch and sit up. My head feels fuzzy, like it does the morning after Lizzy convinced me to have a couple of drinks. It’s only happened a handful of times, but the result was always the same, and I don’t like it. I definitely didn’t drink anything last night. I didn’t evenseeLizzy. I must have just slept badly. Even if I don’t remember it.

Reaching for my phone, I startle when I don’t find it on my bedside table. I was sure I left it there last night.

Hammering on my bedroom door makes me scream.

“Come on, Cora! You’re going to be late! Are you even up yet?”

“Slater?” I squeak, rushing over to my door and wrenching it open. “What are you doing here?”

My stepbrother’s gaze drinks me in, and something indiscernible flares in his eyes before his expression morphs to one of annoyance.

“It’s just as well I am here, Cora. Otherwise, you would have slept the day away. You’re not even dressed yet?”

I shake my head. “I overslept. My alarm didn’t go off. In fact, I can’t find my phone.”

“Well, you’ll have to worry about that later. You need to get to school. I’ll give you a ride.”

It’s on the tip of my tongue to ask Slater, again, why he’s here, but I really don’t want to be late for school.

“Okay, let me just have a quick shower?—”

“No time. Get dressed. You have two minutes.”

I slam my bedroom door closed – right in his face – and rip my top off and shimmy out of my sleep shorts.

“Cora—” Slater growls menacingly.

I spin round, squeal and dive for my discarded pajamas when I see Slater has opened my door. The angry expression on his face gives way to shock at seeing me naked.

“Get out! How can I hurry when you’re staring at me like a creeper?”

He turns and walks away, yelling at me to hurry up.

Heart pounding and flustered, I grab a pair of jeans from my closet and pull them on, with a simple button-up shirt. I drag a brush through my hair, tie it back, and grab my school bag.

My shoes are downstairs, but at the last second, I grab some socks and race to the bathroom. I don’t care what Slater says, there’s no way I’m leaving this house without brushing my teeth at least.

I’m looking in the mirror while practically scrubbing the enamel from my teeth because I’m brushing so hard, when I notice something dried on my cheek. I use my fingernail to pick at it and it easily flakes away. Weird.

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