Page 33 of Bound By Obsession

I can’t contain my tears now, the saltiness of my sadness and the sea mixing between the soft mouth which seeks out mine. Huxley’s lips are sturdy whereas mine are wobbling. I hate crying, especially in front of people.

“Get on the kitchen island,” I groan through our kisses. No doubt Huxley would have kissed me until my toes curl and I can no longer breathe, but I can’t give into the swirling whirlpool within. I can’t learn to lean on others, I can’t lose sight of my independence after years of building it up, brick by brick. If I only exist when the Shadowed Souls acknowledge me, what will I do when I’m left alone with my own thoughts for company? The prime example is what happened this morning, driving me out into the sea without any consideration of the elements around me.

Huxley assessed me for a moment before lowering his hands from my face. “Whatever you need, Angel.” He moves across the kitchen with long, easy strides. There’s no light source in the kitchen, only daybreak looming and the occasional flash of lightning. Just before he reaches the high marble surface, I stop him with a command.

“Shorts off and lie on your back.” He obeys without hesitation. Power thrums through my veins. Shedding his shorts, the outline of Huxley’s cock is visible, half-mast and thick with need. Seemingly, our scramble for control affected both of us. His biceps flex as he pushes up onto the counter, his asspushing back across the marble. He’s the image of an Adonis, a Greek sculpture chiseled to perfection. The muscles in his back ripple, the length of his torso tenses as he lies back. Blond waves spill over the gray marble and if he’s affected by the cold surface, he doesn’t show it.

I stride towards him, my eyes locked on the steady rise and fall of his solid chest. The storm outside rages, the wind howling and the rain pounding against the windows, but in this kitchen, there's a different tempest brewing. Standing beside the island, I let my gaze roam over his body, drinking in every detail. He’s focused on controlling his inhales, his muscles taut with anticipation. My fingers trace over his smooth skin, feeling the warmth beneath and the faint shiver that follows my touch.

Leaning over, I capture his lips in a fierce kiss, my hand tangling in his hair. Huxley responds with equal fervor, his hands gripping the edge of the counter. This is nothing like the gentle reassuring kiss from moment’s ago. This is a desire to feel alive, an invisible force driving me to seek another type of comfort from Huxley. Not tender touches, but a feverish need for control. Control over him, over my emotions, my thoughts. Breaking the kiss, I move lower, trailing my mouth down his neck, over his collarbone, savoring the taste of his skin. He lies still while I explore, a meal laid out for my consumption.

I stop at his chest, my tongue flicking over a hardened nipple, drawing a low moan from him. His hips lift slightly, seeking contact, but I keep my pace slow, savoring the power I hold over him. My hand wraps around his length, feeling him harden further at my touch.

“Swan,” he groans, his voice thick with need. Ignoring his plea, I continue my exploration, my mouth and hand working in tandem to drive him higher, to make him harder. His shaft is solid in my hand, throbbing as I stroke him, keeping him tethering on the edge. The storm outside hammers on the beachhouse, pounding to be let inside. Lightning illuminates the room in brief, brilliant flashes, each flicker of light revealing the raw desire in Huxley’s eyes. His body tenses and relaxes with every touch. “Please use me.”

“I will,” I smirk. My wet hair trails his chest, leaving a wet trail across his gorgeous body. I near his plump head, pausing over it to blow gently. He jerks beneath me, watching closely. Opening my mouth, I exhale and shift my head aside, kissing his hip bone. Huxley groans.

“Fucking tease.” I smirk against his upper thigh, dragging my lips over his smooth skin. It should be illegal for a man to be this toned, this gorgeous. He shouldn’t be dominated, yet he’s given me that power over him. He doesn’t rush or guide me. My nails drag up his thigh and over his balls, which tighten on instinct. My mouth brushes over his shaft and he twitches. “You’re driving me crazy.”

To prove a point that I can, I release him and step back completely. Huxley’s whine is drowned out by a bout of thunder. A smile stretches across my face. Peeling the black straps down my arms one at a time, I strip from my bathing suit. It hits the floor heavily. Using a stool, I move to straddle his hips, positioning myself above him. His hands find my hips, gripping them tightly as I slowly lower myself onto him. The wetness between my legs and weeping at his tip create an effortless glide between us, our matching groans filling the room.

I don’t stop until I bottom out. The feeling of being completely filled and stretched is electric. At a jerk of his cock, a jolt of pleasure radiates through both of us. His eyes never leave mine, the intensity of his gaze matching the storm outside. I set a slow rhythm, each movement drawing us both closer to the brink. The marble beneath him grows slick with the water dripping from my hair, over the valley of Huxley’s abs and onto the countertop.

With Huxley’s dick pushed deep inside, I push my hips forward and roll my body. It’s torture, and I do it several times over. The world outside ceases to exist; there is only us, caught in the eye of our own private storm. Leaning forward, I slip my hand around Huxley’s throat. His breath catches, his eyes widening with lust. Bracing myself on both his throat and his chest, I lift my ass high in the air until just his tip is inside me. I wait, hovering and waiting until Huxley’s jaw grows tight.

“Do it,” he dares. “Fuck me. Use me like that pretty pink dildo you hold so close.”

“Heldso close. You took it from me and I never saw it again.” I tilt my head, the weight of my hair winning a battle with my neck. Hux raises his hips, struggling for more friction.

“I gave it to Garrett. Pretty sure he’s been using it on Axel.” I was able to lower myself but I pause and Huxley’s face falls. “You don’t need it, Angel. You’ve got me.” I smirk, thrusting down on Huxley’s dick. His groan by my ear is everything I needed to recharge my desire. Again and again, I lift and lower, riding him, strangling him. Our breaths come in ragged gasps, my pace punishing across both him and my thighs. His hands move to my waist, his hips snapping upwards to match my rhythm. Our connection deepens, a bond forged in the heat of our passion.

My climax is undeniable. Inevitable. The thunder crashes in time with my thrusts, empowered by mother nature. The heat between us is palpable despite the chill in the air. Like a wave, the orgasm that hits is powerful and all-consuming. Huxley is right behind me, unable to hold back from the torment I’ve put him through. Our cries mesh, our bodies shuddering in unison.

In the aftermath, we collapse together, hearts racing, skin flushed. The storm outside begins to wane, the rain easing to a gentle patter. In the silence that follows, I rest my head on his chest, feeling the steady beat of his heart beneath me. His arms wrap around me, holding me close, and for a moment, I allowmyself to savor the warmth and security of his embrace. He gave me this. Complete control over his body. A full release from my own mind.

“It doesn’t have to be me,” Huxley murmurs beside my ear, “but can you please take someone with you next time you want to swim in the sea during a storm before daybreak?”

“Again, it wasn’t storming when I went out there.” I roll my eyes. I feel his glare rather than see it. “Okay. Okay, I hear you. I’ll take someone with me.” Pushing up on his chest, I notice too late how Huxley’s eyes slide away to look out of the far window. My chest clenched. “No. Hux, I’ll take you with me.”

His smile is everything, the brightest thing I’ve seen all morning. Sitting upright, Huxley holds my ass to shimmy down the island and move to stand. He holds me as if I weigh nothing, bending to collect his shorts and using them to clean up the mess between us.

“Go clean up. I need to disinfect the kitchen island.”

“I don’t mind,” a voice bleeds through the darkness. I jolt at Garrett’s intrusion, spotting his outline at the dining table, eating a bowl of cereal. I didn’t even hear him pour it, nor do I know how long he’s been sitting watching us. Breakfast and a show, lucky man. Dismissing him, I kiss Huxley long and slow, savoring the taste of his mouth. Warm and sweet as ever. I leave the kitchen without a second glance at the man smirking from the shadows.

My limbs are languid, my brain otherwise occupied as I climb the stairs back to my room. Sleep clings to the bedroom walls, the lump in the bed breathing heavily. Meg is still dead to the world, oblivious to me slipping into our shared bathroom. The packaged bar of soap that set this entire morning into motion is still sitting beside the basin. When I woke in the early hours, I was suddenly plagued with the date. It’s Christmas Eve.

The first Christmas without my mom, and it’s nothing like what I envisioned. In a strange place, my life is a mess of rumors and lies. At least Meg is here, but when I was rummaging through my luggage, hunting for anything that could substitute as a gift, this shitty bar of soap is the best I came up with. I don’t know if the ribbon I’ve tied around the yellow packaging is better or worse; a humble attention or an insult to Meg’s body odor. That’s how my costume ended up in my hand and I was racing through the house, seeking an escape within the fenced boundaries.

I hadn’t intended to cause myself any harm, and least of all worry anyone more than they already are. Huxley was right. Everyone is caring for my safety and I have absolutely no concept of it. I need to be more careful, even if it’s just out of respect for those around me.

Leaving the soap present where it is, I switch the shower to scalding hot. Steam thickens the air, fogging the large oval mirror above the basin, as I push my damp hair back and step into the spray. Warmth immediately soaks into my skin, drawing the chill from every cell in my body and swirling it down the drain. Taking my time, I wash the shampoo from my hair and smooth a handful of conditioner through the long lengths. Leaving it to soak in, I shave my legs and wash my body twice before rinsing it out.

I’m stalling. I know that, yet I can’t decide why. Turning the shower off, I emerge thoroughly scrubbed, my skin reddened. At the dull ache between my legs, I chew on my bottom lip. My relationship with Huxley isn’t as easy as with the others, because he always tells me the truth, no matter how ugly it is. He doesn’t shy away from trouble, but holds my hand and helps me wade through it. There’s an intensity to our connection, despite all the times I’ve pushed back. Huxley is a good man. A solid presence in my otherwise turbulent life.

Combing through my hair in the mirror, an edge of sadness lines my pale blue eyes. A rounded window in the slanted roof shows the rain has stopped, the sun poking through the clouds to brighten the bathroom. Meg is still fast asleep when I return, the bed a mound of crumpled covers and soft snoring.

After I hunt down some tracksuit bottoms and don the orange hoodie I can’t bring myself to bury in the sand and forget about, I slump downstairs. I should be happy we’re all here together and safe. I should be so much more thankful than I currently feel. Yet my feet are heavy and when hushed whispers meet my ears, I brace myself on the railing.

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