Page 17 of Obsessed

"I wouldn't have climbed into the truck if your giant goons weren't chasing me down like a hunted rabbit. And just in case you thought you were leaving me in this room every afternoon aching with lust and dying for a satisfaction only you can bring—" Her luscious lips tilt up as she raises one bubble covered hand out of the water. She wiggles her fingers. "I've been doing just fine satisfying myself. In fact, I think I'm enjoying itbetter."

I lean forward and flick the lever on the plug. The water starts to drain. Bubbles slosh over the edge of the tub as she lunges forward to try and save the water. I take hold of both her arms and yank her to her feet. She is wet and sleek from soap as I lift her out of thetub.

After the spoiled, bratty tirade in the tub, I should have expected the slap, but it still catches me off guard. It only slows me for a second. A long trail of soapy water follows us across the floor to the sinkvanity.

She gasps as her naked ass lands on the cold marbletile.

"Stupid, demanding manipulative asshole." She pummels my shoulders and chest, managing to get in a few good thwacks before throwing her arms around my neck and slamming her mouth into mine. Her long legs wrap around me so tightly, I struggle to get my pantsunzipped.

"Fuuuck," I groan as I push inside of her. "It's been toolong."

"That's your fault." Her legs squeeze tighter around me trying to take in more of me. I grit my teeth to keep from coming. I slip my hand between us and stroke her clit, while pummeling her hard enough to shake the mirror on the wall behindher.

The moans rolling off her lips let me know she is close while, at the same time, make my self-control crumble. Her head drops back with a soft cry as her pussy clenches around me. She milks me instantly torelease.

Still jammed tight inside of her, I carry her out to the bed. I sit down on the edge of the bed, my cock still tight in her pussy and her legs still wrapped around me. I reach up and push the wet hair off of her face, the face I have memorized. She lowers her mouth to kiss me, gently, sweetly. I can almost convince myself that she wants to be with me. That she regrets running. Then she pulls her lips from mine and gazes down at me with big browneyes.

"I want Blake to come back," shesays.

I laugh tersely. "AndI'mthe manipulative one?" I stand up and toss her unceremoniously onto the center of thebed.

She scurries under the covers to get warm. "He's my only friend in this fuckingplace."

I stare down hard at her, hiding the fact that her words have pierced right through me. "You need nectar." I head to the bathroom to get thesyringe.

"No, I don't want your fucking poison. It's making me crazy. I'm going crazy. Either bring Blake back or let mego."

I stop halfway to the bathroom and spin back toward the door. "Fine. You win." I reach thedoor.

She sits up. "So you'll bring Blakeback?"

I open the door. "No, I'll let you go." I walk out to the hall and shut the door behindme.

17

Angie

Asmart mouthnever serves anyone. It's an admonition I heard from my dad more than once. But growing up in a house full of boys who were bigger, louder and far more the apples of my dad's eye than me, sometimes a smart mouth was the only way to be heard or noticed. But it seems my dad was right. My smart mouth certainly didn't serve me well thistime.

After skipping a dose of the fucking poison, my new nickname for the nectar, my body is starting to break down into a pain-wracked, shivering worthless pile of bones wrapped in crawling skin. Without Blake's care and his specially concocted smoothies, I am losing weight fast again. My muscles and strength are withering away. And for the cherry on top, Kane has finally decided I am no longer needed. His obsession with his 'sweet sin' is over. That realization has hit me with far greater impact than Iexpected.

Kane stomped out with no other details, only that he was letting me go. After a good half hour trying to absorb his quick and easy dismissal of me, I leap into survival mode. There are few clothes in my closet that are not made of gossamer lace and frail ribbons, but I manage to piece together a more practical outfit for my official ousting. My sense of time has been wiped away in my underground mausoleum, but I know Kane comes by before and after his work is finished. I conclude that it is close to nightfall so I pull on several layers of shirts and the one pair of jeans in the dresser. Sandals are the only hard soled shoes in the closet. They aren't great for long walks and my feet will be cold but I'll power through. Even with layers, I'm swimming in the clothes. The nectar has nearly erased my physical self, but I refuse to let it take mecompletely.

I sit at the vanity and shove away the leather cuffs and anklets. It seems I've worn them for the last time. I haven't sorted out yet how I feel about it. Not wearing them seems cold and lonely, like I'll be losing something without them. My captivity, I remind myself harshly. You will no longer be his plaything. I internalize the statement with anger but the emotion runs much deeper and wildly counter toanger.

I brush my hair, not having the strength or enthusiasm to do much more than a few quick strokes. I sit on the end of the bed waiting, unsure what will happen next. A knock practically causes me to jump to the ceiling. My heart is slamming against my chest waiting to see Kane walk through the door. Will he be angry and mean? Or will he be pleased to see me go? It dawns on me that I fear the latter more. I'm sure it mostly has to do with the drug, but I can't deny the prominent reality that I've formed a connection to the man. In fact, the mix of emotions I feel when I think of Kane seems to ping pong from hate, to lust, to devotion, never stopping on one for long. Still, even with the hurricane of confused feelings, I know everything will be better when I'm free ofhim.

The door opens and the cook brings in my dinner, solidifying my guess that it is early evening. The pile of macaroni and cheese looks almost inviting. "Thank you," I say. I already know not to ask her anything. She never provides me with any information. God, I miss Blake. I hope he's allright.

She walks out. I force myself to sit down at the table. I will need strength to face whatever comes next. I take small bites and chew quickly, not allowing that little counter appetite mechanism in my head to take control. After a few more bites, the food tastes even better than I imagined. I manage to finish half the plate without feeling sick. My stomach's capacity has shrunk so much the half portion feels like a Thanksgiving feast in mybelly.

I walk back to the bed and sit. The solitude lets me consider various scenarios of my departure. Will I be dropped back off at the corner where Rowan and the driver picked us up for the party? Will Kane take me himself and hug me good-bye and wish me luck? That scenario makes me laugh out loud. My laugh is interrupted by another knock on thedoor.

My over full stomach tightens. I feel slightly sick as I wait for Kane to enter. The door opens and Oscar walks in. He rarely shows any emotion and his posture is always stiff, but tonight, he looks slightly crumpled. His shoulders are not as tight and broad and his chin is a littlelower.

"Miss Smith," he says in a formal tone. "Are you ready togo?"

"Oh, so that's it? Just like that I'm out of here?" I glance one time around the room, my home for the past few months. I'm slightly nervous to leave the security of its walls. Once I walk out, I know I'll never see it again. Or Blake. Or Kane. It's insane to think how tightly I bonded myself to this bizarreworld.

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