Page 37 of Unholy Obsession

Don’t I?

My thighs twitch, and I would rub them together for some semblance of relief, but a couple of hours ago, Bane tied my ankles apart, too. Because heknows me.

How the fuck does he know me so well when he’s only just met me?

Uh, probably because you’re so fuckingobvious?I never was one of those polished, mysterious girls. I was half-feral as a kid. Only Domhnall could keep me in check. The nuns tried. I bet they wanted to tie me down, too.

Bane is the only one I’ve ever let do it, though.

I hate bondage. It makes my skin crawl, makes my brain itch, makes me want to scream and run and never stop moving.

Being so still, there’s nothing to do but sit here and notice little details like the way Bane’s shoulders shift when he leans forward. Or the way the light catches on the muscles in his forearm when he moves. It’s stupid. All of this is stupid.

I’m going to go literally fucking crazy if he ties me up like this every day.

And yet, there’s also… this knot in my chest that won’t loosen. Like I’m on the edge of something, something big. I feel like my whole world is tilting, and all I can do is hold my breath and hope I don’t fall.

But also, I terriblywantto fall.

It’s unbearable.

“You’re squirming,” Bane says without looking up, his voice low and steady. He says it like it’s just a fact. Like it doesn’t mean anything. But I know better.

“I’m not squirming,” I snap, even though we both know I am. The silk rubs against my skin again as I shift, the friction sending a little thrill of frustration and something I don’t want to name shooting through me.

“You’re restless,” he says, his pen pausing mid-stroke. His eyes lift to meet mine, and there’s that calm, piercing gaze of histhat makes me feel like he sees right through me. “Do you want to talk about it?”

“No,” I say, a little too forcefully. “I don’t want to talk about anything.”

His lips twitch like he’s holding back a smile. The knot in my chest tightens. I’m a simmering tea kettle about to combust from the pressure. How long has it been since I’ve gone a whole day without masturbating? Of course, I’m about to burst!

“Suit yourself,” he says, going back to his writing like I’m just another piece of the furniture. Like he hasn’t tied me to this bed and left me to stew in my own thoughts.

I glare at him, wishing I could set him on fire with my mind. He’s too calm, too in control, and it pisses me off.

I shift again, trying to find some position that doesn’t make me feel like I’m coming apart at the seams. My legs ache from lying still for so long, my wrists are starting to tingle, and the damn chastity belt is driving me mad. Every little movement sends a reminder of how close I am to relief. And how impossible it is to reach it.

It’s torture. Delicious, infuriating torture.

“Stop wriggling,” Bane says without looking up.

“I’m not wriggling,” I bite back. But I am. I can’t help it. My body is restless, desperate for release in more ways than one.

I hate this! I hate how he gets under my skin, how he makes me feel things I don’t want to feel.

And most of all, I hate that deep down, beneath all the frustration and anger, there’s a part of me that doesn’t want him to stop.

I pull against the silk again, testing its strength, even though I know it’s futile. The bindings hold firm, and I feel a sharp pang of something like defeat that I immediately try to smother.

I don’t lose. I don’t give up. Not like this. Not to him.

“You’re quiet,” Bane says, his pen stilling again. He leans back in his chair, watching me with that same infuriating calm. “What’s going on in that head of yours?”

“Nothing,” I say quickly. Too quickly.

“Liar,” he says softly, and the word sends a shiver down my spine.

I look away, focusing on the patterns in the rug instead of the way his voice makes my stomach twist. I hate this vulnerability, this feeling like he can see right through me.

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