Page 38 of Unholy Obsession

So I do what I always do when I feel cornered: I lash out.

“This is ridiculous,” I say, my voice sharp. “Tying me up, locking me in this stupid belt. You get off on this? Keeping me here like some prisoner?”

His expression doesn’t change, but I see the faintest flicker of amusement in his eyes. “Do you feel like a prisoner?”

“Yes,” I snap, even though it’s not entirely true.

“Interesting.” He leans forward, his elbows resting on the desk. “Because you could’ve said your safe word at any time. You know that, don’t you?”

The air leaves my lungs in a rush, and for a moment, I can’t think of a single thing to say. He’s right. I hate that he’s right.

Doesn’t he know I’ve been fucking thinking about that all damn day? He even reminded me of it in the middle.

But what then?

This all ends and I go back to what?

My apartment? The bed I can’t bear to get out of, morning after morning?

I’m twenty-two, and these are supposed to be the best years of my life. But instead of thriving, I have these dark moments I’ve never admitted to another living soul about having when I don’t want to bother evenbeingalive anymore.

I hide so well. I’ve got such good escape hatches so the darkness never catches me, but still.

“You’re quiet again,” Bane says, his voice softer now, almost gentle. “What are you thinking?”

I shake my head, refusing to meet his eyes. “Nothing.”

“That’s twice you’ve lied to me,” he says, standing and crossing the room in slow, deliberate steps. My heart pounds harder with every step, my chest tightening as he stops beside the bed. “White lies, but still. There will be consequences.”

“Consequences… as in, punishment?” I grin up at him wickedly. I make a lusty, groaning sound, “Oh, punish me, Sir. Please,punishme.”

He doesn’t take the bait. He just stands there, so solemn, and then his hand brushes against my cheek, and I flinch, even though it’s the softest of touches.

“You’re fighting yourself,” he says, his voice low. “Why?”

“I’m not,” I say, but my voice wavers. He tilts my chin up, forcing me to meet his gaze, and I see it in his eyes—that steady, unyielding certainty.

He knows I’m lying.

“Talk to me, Moira,” he says, his thumb brushing against my jaw. “What are you so afraid of?”

“I’m not afraid,” I whisper, but the words feel hollow. “I’m never afraid.”

My chest aches, my throat tight, and I feel like I’m on the edge again of that something I can’t name.

“Liar,” he says again, but there’s no malice in it. Just calm, steady truth.

The knot in my chest unravels just a little, and I feel tears prick at the corners of my eyes. I blink them away quickly, refusing to let them fall.

“I hate you,” I whisper because it’s easier than saying what I really feel. Fuck, I don’t even know what I really feel.

I don’t want to look. Because he’s right. I am afraid.

“No, you don’t,” he murmurs, his hand still cradling my face. “But you can keep saying it if it helps.”

I let out a shaky laugh, the sound bitter and raw. “You’re insufferable, you know that?”

“I know. And yet,” his lips curve into the faintest smile, “you’re still here.”

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