Page 56 of Unholy Obsession

Because what if he doesn’t?

But worse—what if hedoes?

We’re not strangers anymore. But we’re not just lovers either. We’re something tangled and raw and dangerous.

Every night he crosses town to be with me, defying his own goddamn boundaries. At first, I thought this was temporary. Some fleeting indulgence on his part. But he keeps coming back, night after night, like a tide pulled by a moon neither of us is willing to acknowledge.

The more he stays, the deeper I sink.

And the more terrifying it becomes to imagine the night hedoesn’tcome back. When I wake up to cold sheets and nothing but a ghost where his warmth used to be.

Why did I let him in so deep in the first place?

There was probably a reason I never had relationships before. Yeah, I’m a fucking chaotic disaster. But also, this shit isterrifying.

I push into the shelter’s bathroom with my mop bucket and lean against the closed door. My palm presses flat against my chest, feeling the frantic drum of my heart.

Iwanthim.

Iwantthis.

But wanting is so goddamn dangerous.

Wanting means I have something to lose.

It’s just so fucking sweet right now. No, sweet isn’t the right word.

This thing between us is sharper, like dark chocolate with sea salt.

And just as fucking addictive.

Just before I left to volunteer, Bane didn’t say a word. He just guided me to sit on the edge of the bed, his palms warm against my thighs as he parted them and his gaze dark and unreadable as ever.

Then he kneeled between them like I was something sacred, something he needed to worship, and proceeded to devour me. His mouth was slow. Relentless. Devastating.

Half an hour.

That’s how long he kept me there, trembling and unraveling, his mouth merciless while my fingers clutched and pulled desperately at his hair.

His hands gripped my ass, strong and possessive, dragging me closer and anchoring me at the same time while wave after wave of pleasure fractured me into pieces. Only for him to gather them up again with his tongue for the next devastating rush.

Even now, heading toward the mess in stall three, my jelly legs still carry the ghost of that quaking, muscles weak like they’ve forgotten how to hold me upright.

I was nearly late for my shift because my body refused to cooperate, stubbornly lingering in the aftershocks of pleasure.

Bane fed me yogurt in bed afterward, casual as you please, his fingers occasionally drifting south, brushing over my overly sensitive clit with the lightest touch—just to watch me twitch.

Bastard. Sadistic, gorgeous bastard. He loves to torture me, but not without purpose. There’s an art to it with him, everyflick of his fingers, every command—a calculated masterpiece of control.

But he’s also maddeningly disciplined. Once he decided I’d recovered enough, he was all business. He made sure I got dressed, packed my bag, and ushered me out the door with military precision, ensuring I left at the exact minute I needed to be on time.

Good thing, too.

I got here on time, so despite Marci’s bad mood, there wasn’t anything she could do but scowl at me and give me the keys.

Really, if I don’t let my fucking doom spirals ruin shit, my life is currently going quite fucking spectacularly.

I grin the entire time I scrub down stall three, earbuds blasting Sabrina Carpenter as if the music alone can match the pulse thrumming in my veins.

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