Page 35 of Unholy Obsession

But Moira? Moira fights me at every turn, not because she wants to push me into playing some role but because she doesn’t know how to be anything other than herself.

She isn’t pretending.

The weight of that realization settles over me as I rise from my chair and cross the room. “Thirsty?”

Her lips part slightly, a betraying movement, but her jaw clenches before she nods. She wants to resist even this. The simplest act of care.

I retrieve the water and press the glass to her lips. She hesitates for a beat too long, then drinks, her graceful throat working as she swallows. My free hand ghosts over her jawline, my thumb grazing the heated skin just beneath her ear. She stiffens but doesn’t pull away.

She’s learning.

I set the glass aside. “More?”

She exhales, shifting slightly, the leather of the chastity belt creaking as she moves. Her flush deepens. “No.”

I tilt my head. “No, Sir.”

Her nostrils flare, her pride rebelling, but she knows what I’m asking of her. Knows, and for the first time since I bound her wrists, she doesn’t fight it. Her voice is barely above a whisper. “No, Sir.”

Progress.

I untie her wrists, watching the way she stretches and the small wince as circulation returns to her hands. I take them in mine, rubbing slow, soothing circles over the faint red marks. She doesn’t pull away.

That trust—so slight, so fragile—claws at my chest.

“Come.” I extend a hand.

She takes it.

I lead her to the bathroom, watching as the stubborn line of her spine stiffens when she realizes the chastity belt is still in place.

“Do you need help?”

She shoots me a glare so full of fire that my cock twitches in response. “No.”

I smirk but say nothing, stepping back to let her have her space.

The door clicks shut. I lean against the frame, waiting. Listening. The sound of the sink running. The rustle of fabric.

When she emerges, she looks composed but wary. That blush still lingers high on her cheekbones, and I want totasteit.

“Better?”

She huffs, brushing past me, but there’s no real bite in it. A part of her is beginning to settle into this. Into me.

She climbs onto the bed, lifting her wrists in silent acceptance as I tie them once more to the headboard. She exhales slowly and then meets my gaze.

“You’re learning,” I murmur, tightening the silk.

“Learning to hate you,” she mutters, but there’s no venom in it. Onlyheat. Onlyneed.

I chuckle, brushing a strand of hair from her face. “Like I told you earlier, hate me all you like, Moira. It won’t change the fact that you’re still here.”

She swallows hard, something flickering behind her eyes that she doesn’t yet understand. That’s fine. She’ll learn.

Her stomach growls, breaking the silence. She freezes, eyes wide, but I only smile.

“Hungry?”

---