Page 29 of Bound By Obsession

“I’m not dealing with it,” I snap, wiping my mouth with the back of my hand. “I’m actually going to do what it takes to not deal with any of this shit right now. Especially not trying to figure out when exactly Huxley decided we weren’t worth the risk anymore.”

Axel’s hand tenses on my shoulder. “You know that’s not what he meant.” I turn to face him, the heat in my chest spreading like wildfire.

“Then why did he say it? Why is he pushing me away? I can’t—” My voice cracks, and I hate it. I hate how vulnerable I feel, how raw I’ve become. “I can’t keep losing people like this.” For a moment, no one says anything. The room feels suffocating, the silence thick and heavy. I stare at a spot over Axel’s shoulder, my eyes unfocused and my throat tight with unshed tears. “Leave Huxley for a while,” Axel says softly, though the tightness in his voice betrays his own frustration. “He’ll come around. He always does.” I’m not so sure this time.

“Fuck this,” I mutter harshly. Crossing the room, I hand the bottle of gin to Meg. “Get drunk with me.” She doesn’t need to be told twice.

***

Fun fact, pink gin gives me the giggles. Another fun fact, I’m terrible at Monopoly at the best of times, and this is the worst I’ve ever played. Somehow, I’m three million paper dollars in debt, trading favors and dares just to see myself pass Go one more time. I should give up, but then I wouldn’t have a focus. Well, not one that isn’t my festering anger with the blond broody bastard upstairs.

The dynamic between Meg and the guys is steadily becoming easier to navigate. Alcohol helps, loosening lips. Some conversations are uncomfortable, like Garrett telling Meg how I left teeth marks all over Wyatt’s dick. I really shouldn’t have gone into detail with him about that.

Logically, I now know Wyatt is not related to me. Physically, my body can’t deny its reaction when thinking about that evening during the showcase interval. I felt something that night which has been denied to me for so long, and Wyatt didn’t willingly give it. I took it. That night, I felt like I was in control.

With those flashbacks vivid in my mind, I grab Garrett’s hand and lead him to the back porch. It’s dark out, the only light coming from the soft glow of the moon reflecting off the rolling waves. The air is cool and salty, goosebumps breaking across my arms. The sound of the sea laps against the shore, filling the quiet space between us.

I release Garrett’s hand as we step onto the wooden boards, turning to face him. His eyes, dark and intense, catch mine. For a second, we just stand there, the breeze brushing against my skin, his presence anchoring me in a way that’s comforting yet electrifying.

“You need something from me, don’t you Peach?”

I bite my lip, shame washing over me. Attempting to step away, Garrett grips my arms to hold me in place.

“Ask and it’s yours.” Garrett murmurs, his voice low and soothing as he steps closer. His floppy dark hair hides his forehead and brows. I tiptoe to brush it back, smoothing the straight lengths into a different style. One he would never wear by choice, but seems only too happy to keep for now.

“I shouldn’t,” I turn my head away. This thought, this stupid tiny thought that crept up on me, is so incredibly selfish when sober me knows Garrett’s struggles with his own insecurities. I shouldn’t ask this of him, but he’s staring at me so openly, coaxing me to speak. I let out a shaky breath, feeling the tension still coiled tight in my chest. He reaches up, cupping my cheek and causing the world to fade, leaving only the two of us and the quiet rhythm of the ocean.

“I need you to be him for a while,” I admit, my voice barely a whisper, but he hears me.

“Who exactly?” Garrett asks, his thumb brushing against my lower lip. A hint of a smirk lifts his mouth. He knows who. “Say his name out loud.” Something about his tone, so easy, so accepting, makes the last bit of my restraint snap.

“Wyatt,” I breathe, swaying slightly from the alcohol I’ve consumed. The smile on Garrett’s face deepens.

“Finally,” he breathes as if a weight has been lifted from his shoulders. As if he’s wanted to do this for the longest time. Before I can second-guess myself, I rise on my toes, pulling his mouth down to mine.

The kiss is slow at first, tentative, a testing of boundaries. Giving me a chance to back out, I reckon. But when Garrett groans softly against my lips, his hands sliding down to grip my waist, something inside me ignites. The heat flares, and suddenly, I’m pressing myself closer to him, deepening the kiss, desperate for more.

His body responds immediately, his grip tightening as he pulls me flush against him. His tongue teases mine, the kiss growing hotter, more insistent. Everything from Huxley’s declaration to my confusion disappears in the heat of the moment. There’s only him, or rather, who he’s pretending to be. My mind slips too easily, conjuring the scent of expensive cologne, reliving his warmth, the way his hands explore my body and sends shivers racing down my spine.

I gasp when his lips leave mine, trailing hot, open-mouthed kisses down the side of my neck. My hands tangle in his hair as he nips at my skin, his breath ragged against my throat. He lifts his head, his eyes dark and filled with a hunger that mirrors my own.

“Use me, Peach. That’s what I’m here for,” he whispers, his voice rough, his forehead resting against mine as he catches his breath.

“No,” I shake my head. “He wouldn’t call me that.” For some reason, it has to be right. My mind needs to believe it’s real, because this is the closest I’ll ever come. Garrett is the only one who can give this to me. Without a trace of hesitation oruncertainty, Garrett’s hand slips into my hair and he pulls back roughly.

“Strip, Little Sis. Show me how fucking beautiful that pussy is.” My heart skips a beat. With trembling hands, I lift my sweater over my head, unclasp my bra and push down my cycling shorts and panties together. A smile tugs at his lips before he kisses me again, harder this time, deeper. The lust between us is a living entity, taking on its own lifeforce. The more wrong it should be, the hotter the fire within me burns. I’m ill, sick in the head, and horny as fuck.

Walking me backwards, my thighs touch the porch swing. Using his tight grip on my hair, he lowers me down onto it, nudging my thighs apart with his knee. There’s a slow, assessing tilt of his head, which is so typically Wyatt. I bite down on my bottom lip, heart pounding in my chest. He doesn’t comment, but I can feel his stare lingering, his dark eyes roving over me in the moonlight, memorizing every inch of my body.

His fingers slide gently along the line of my jaw before trailing down to my collarbone, leaving a heated path in their wake. The intensity between us is thick, almost tangible, as he watches me with a predatory focus. Then his hands are on his waistband. My breath comes in short, uneven bursts as a hard, thick cock juts out in front of my face.

“I’m going to feed you my cock. Don’t forget how I like it.” The hand at my jaw clenches tightly, tugging my mouth wide. I don’t get a moment to prepare myself as his smooth length glides over my tongue. Desire already pools at his tip, the taste causing me to groan. Opening my throat, I permit him full access. Thrusting in deeply, a frustrated huff comes on his next withdrawal.

“Where are those teeth? Show me how much you hate me.” Oh.Oh. That’s right. This is Wyatt. The man who’s hated me for as long as he’s known me. Who stole my therapy transcripts andused them against me. Who stuck me in a bird’s cage because he thought it would trigger a panic attack, and who thought I’d come running when he decided he wanted me.

Flaring my nostrils, I grab the base of his shaft and squeeze hard. My nails dig into his flesh where his body meets his cock, my mouth tightening around his girth. Pulling back, I drag my teeth upwards until I reach the tip. “That’s better,” he hisses. I do this several times over, steadying myself on his thighs. Taking his plump head between my lips, I suck hard. Hollowing out my cheeks, I prepare to suck the soul from his body when he pushes me off with a pop.

“Bitch,” he groans, the desire thick in his voice. Shoving me to sit back in the porch swing, he sinks onto his knees and leans in, gently inhaling my pussy. “My turn.” Delving his tongue into me, I arch and stifle a groan. The kitchen window is closed but not too far away. Anyone could watch on, but this time, I don’t want an audience. This is private between me and Wyatt. A hidden fantasy that will never see the light of day.

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