Page 6 of My Ruthless Obsession

She whines when I grab her wrist and bring her hand to her face, her arousal coating three of her digits. “Lick them clean.”

She gasps and holds her breath.

“Are you going to comply or do I have to make you?”

White-hot anger flashes in her eyes and it makes my spent dick come to life again. Then she parts her soft lips and takes her fingers into her mouth, sucking on them the same way she just did my cock. A smirk tugs at her lips as she stares at me while I watch her. She’s goading me, but I’m the one in control here.

“Go to bed, Lyla. You’ve had enough for one night.” If looks could kill, I’d be dead right now.

“What?” she squeaks and her chest begins to rapidly rise and fall, making her tits sway. “I… You… I need?—”

“I don’t give a fuck what you need,” I growl. “This is what happens when you defy me. I warned you, and you didn’t listen. Now, go to bed.”

She jumps to her feet and her swollen, glistening pussy is almost at eye-level. I can smell her musky, sweet scent and if I was a kinder man, I’d lay her on this table and devour her cunt to put her out of her misery. But I’m an asshole, so I’ll do no such thing.

“That’s not… You can’t do that!” Lyla screams, her small hands clenched into fists at her side. I swear this brat is one second away from stomping her foot.

“Looks like I just did.” I smirk. “Would you like more punishment, or are you gonna be a good girl for the rest of the night?” I’m taunting her, and her face flames with fury.

“I hate you!” she sneers, then storms to her room, pissed off and sexually frustrated. I’d give anything to follow her upstairs and fuck her senseless, but she needs to learn the rules if she’s going to stay here.

And I have every intention of keeping her forever.

4

LYLA

This is a nightmare. Any minute now, I’m gonna wake up.

I open my eyes, glaring at the ceiling as if it’s somehow offended me and kicking at the sheets that tangle around my legs. I didn’t get a wink of sleep, the events of the last twelve hours replaying in my head like a bad horror movie. And then I remember I stomped through a stranger’s house stark naked after he forced me to give him a blow job.

Well, “forced” might not be the right word because I didn’t fight him on it. Although I probably should have—definitely should have—but what was I supposed to do with a massive cock in my face? I’ve never given a blow job before and I was curious to try. No, I’m not a virgin per se, but I don’t think a few fumbling experiences that lasted less than five minutes should count toward anything.

What surprised me, though, was how much I liked it, how turned on I got knowing that what I was doing was pleasing him. Before I knew it, I was touching myself, and so close to reaching my climax until he ruined everything and stopped me.

Damn him.

Wait… What am I even thinking right now? He abducted me! Ripped me out of my apartment and dragged me away like some caveman. You are not supposed to be attracted to your kidnapper! This is stupid.I’mbeing stupid. I don’t know anything about this man other than he’s dangerous and I should stay away. I don’t know how I’m going to do that, though, when he has me trapped here and unable to leave.

This is maddening and I might as well stop pretending I’m going to get any sleep. I glance at the small clock on the nightstand. It’s breakfast time anyway. Let’s see what fresh hell awaits me when I get downstairs.

I must admit the clothes that Marco has provided me are quite luxurious. The silk pajamas I wore to bed were decadent to say the least, and now I’m rummaging through this huge dresser for something comfortable to wear. Everything is so fancy, and that’s not me. Most of my clothes are gently used and scavenged from local thrift stores. The rare times I can afford to buy anything new, I use the money to purchase necessities like cheap bras, panties, and socks.

The door to my room swings open and I whip around to find Marco strutting in, dressed in yet another custom-made suit and looking every bit like an Italian model. This may be his house, but some privacy would be appreciated. Then I realize how ridiculous that expectation is after he made me sit naked at his dining room table.

I inwardly roll my eyes at my own naivety.

He spots me in the closet and walks toward me. “I need to leave for a few hours,” he says, and I see he’s returned to using his cold and distant tone, just like when he barged into my apartment last night. “You’re free to explore the estate while I’m gone, but don’t even think about trying to leave. Youwillbe shot.”

My stomach drops at his words and I swallow hard. I remember seeing the armed guards around the property and have no doubt that this man means what he says.

“O-okay,” I stutter, too afraid to argue with someone who could casually take my life. I’m learning it’s better to comply with what he wants than risk angering him. Or being on the receiving end of his punishment.

“I’ll be home later.”

Is it wrong that I’m disappointed he didn’t call mePrincessthis time? No one’s ever given me a pet name before, but I’d be lying if I said I didn’t like it.

He leaves without bothering to close the door behind him, and I hear him exit the house moments later. Despite the initial relief that he’s gone, a small part of me feels hollow in his absence, but why should I care? He’s just a tyrant who confuses the hell out of me.

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