Page 24 of Frozen Obsession

I flinch under his gaze, the familiar hunger clawing at me, but he’s made his stance clear. No more pills. No more anything. Just him.

I shake my head, tears welling up. "I can’t… please, Roman."

His expression hardens, and before I can react, he presses the button on the remote. The collar zaps me, sending a jolt of electricity through my body. I scream, the pain overwhelming, but he doesn’t stop. He watches me writhe, his gaze cold and unfeeling.

"You’re mine, Xena," he says, his voice low and dangerous. "You don’t get to say no to me."

Tears stream down my face, my body trembling as the raw ache inside me subsides, only to be replaced by another kind of desperation. Roman moves closer, his presence dominating the space between us. His hand shoots out, gripping my chin with an unyielding force, tilting my face upward to meet hisgaze. His eyes burn into mine, dark and unrelenting.

"You want a fix?" he growls, his voice low, dangerous. He leans in closer, his breath hot against my skin. "Here, then. Suck."

I nod weakly, too broken to resist. Roman guides my head back down, and I take him into my mouth again, my movements sluggish, uncoordinated. He doesn’t care. This is my punishment. Roman just keeps pushing deeper, until I’m choking on him.

"That's it, baby… my cock is all you need. No pills, just a shot of 'penis-cillin,"' he taunts, as I begin to move.

My head bobs up and down, my cheeks hollow as I suck and twirl my tongue like his cock is a lollipop. I shut out everything else—my cravings, the way my body aches, the nausea creeping in. None of it matters because all I can focus on is pleasing him. Owning him. Needing him.

I moan around his length, and his hand curls tighter into my scalp. "Fuck, I’ve missed you."

And so have I. The thought flashes through my mind, but I don’t say it out loud. Because still—fuck him and his wicked rehab. He picks up his hips, fucking my mouth, thrusting deeper until his cock floods my throat with his cum. And I love it. I hate that I love it, but I do.

When he finally pulls out, I collapse onto the bed, my body drained, tears mingling with the saliva and cum smeared across my face.

He doesn’t say a word, just pulls me into his arms, wrapping around me like a vice. I hate him. I hate him so much, but there’s nothing I can do.

"Sleep, little snake," he whispers.

And with that, I close my eyes, sinking into the exhaustion.

Chapter Fourteen

Xena

The days blur into a torturous cycle of pain and torment, an unrelenting loop where Roman never lets up. Mr. Captain Save-a-Hoe is hell-bent on "helping" me through my addiction, his own twisted form of rehab. Every touch is calculated, every moment designed to break me down further. He edges me constantly, bringing me to the brink of release only to snatch it away, leaving me throbbing, desperate, and aching. His mouth is relentless, devouring me like a man starved, his tongue driving me insane—but he never lets me finish. It’s a cruel game, and I’m the pawn, trapped in this endless purgatory where pleasure is just another form of torment.

The withdrawals are the worst, though. Each day is a fresh layer of hell. My body betrays me at every turn—violent tremors wrack my limbs, and my skin burns with fever, slick with sweat one moment, freezing cold the next. The nausea comes in relentless waves, so violent I can barely keep water down, let alone food. I’m constantly vomiting, my stomach cramping until there’s nothing left, but it never stops. Every nerve in my body feels like it’s on fire, raw and exposed, amplifying every sensation to an unbearable degree.

I’m clean now, Roman tells me, but I’ve never felt more wretched. Every inch of me screams for relief, but the numbness I once craved is gone. I feeleverything—and it's excruciating. Roman holds the reins to my sanity, keeping me teetering on the edge. He’s merciless, controlling every inch of me, deciding when I can breathe and when I suffer. He insists I’m at the peak ofwithdrawal, that this will pass, but I don’t believe him. Not when my body is burning up like this.

The fever makes me delirious. I can’t eat. I can’t sleep. My hands shake violently as I clutch at the scratchy sheets beneath me; the once-soft fabric now feels like sandpaper against my skin. Every touch, every sound, every breath is unbearable. My muscles cramp, locking up so tight it feels like my bones might shatter under the pressure. My teeth grind together uncontrollably, and my skin crawls as if a thousand needles are pricking me all at once. My head spins, the room a swirling, suffocating mess of heat and misery.

I'm fucking dying.

Or at least it feels like I am, with every nerve ending screaming for relief that never comes. Roman watches, his eyes dark and unreadable, holding me in this agonizing limbo, knowing he’s the only one who can save me—or push me further into the abyss.

And then there’s the collar, a constant threat. It’s itchy, digging into my skin like a cruel reminder of his control. Whenever I refuse to comply, he zaps me, sending waves of agony tearing through my body. The pain is sharp, relentless. I’m too weak to fight him, too lost in the throes of withdrawal to do anything but obey. My body’s a mess—sweating, shaking, vomiting. My muscles twitch uncontrollably, and every nerve screams in pain. I’m sick, so fucking sick, and he’s the only thing keeping me tethered to this world, the only one who can stop the suffering.

He feeds me. Fucks me. Breaks me.

But today is different. The fever isn’t going down; my body is burning up, skin slick with sweat as each breath feels like I’m inhaling flames. And what the fuck is Roman doing? Tying me the fuck up with Christmas lights. His movements are slow, deliberate, as if this is all part of some sick, calculated plan. The lights dig into my wrists, their plastic edges biting into my fevered skin, the cords wrapped so tightly it’s as if he’s trying to make sure I can’t escape—not that I could in this state. My arms are bound behind my back, each pull of the lights sending a jolt of discomfort through me, my muscles straining under the pressure.

My hair is neatly braided, each strand tucked in place with the kind of care that only Roman can manage, the precision he obsesses over. It’s a twisted mockery of control—like I’m some doll he’s dressing up for display. The weight of the lights tugs at me, making it harder to breathe, the fever making everything blurry. The absurdity of being trussed up with Christmas lights while I’m burning alive doesn’t escape me, but I’m too weak, too far gone to fight back.

He scoops me up effortlessly into his arms, my fevered skin scorching against the coolness of his chest. I can feel the steady beat of his heart, infuriatingly calm, as if none of this is abnormal. He carries me outside with the ease of someone carrying a rag doll, stepping into the snow like we’re just going for a casual stroll, not dragging me into the freezing hell outside. The cold hits me instantly, like knives slicing through my fevered body—sharp, brutal, unforgiving. My lungs seize, struggling against the icy air, while my skin prickles painfully under the assault of frost.

But not him.

The cold doesn’t touch Roman. He’s only in sweats and boots, his body completely unaffected, as if he’s immune to the world around him. While I’m shivering, my teeth chattering so hard I can barely hold them together, the frost sinking its claws deep into my skin, seizing my bones with a merciless grip. He doesn’t care.

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