Page 4 of The Dark Obsession

Just in case, a black balaclava covers the entirety of my face to avoid any security cameras I haven’t yet disabled.

It’s just a precaution though.

If I’m doing something, I do it thoroughly.Leaving no trace behind.

Like dismantling the lock on the front door in a matter of seconds. Letting it close silently behind me, I’m engulfed in the total darkness of the house. There’s no need for night vision goggles though.

I know the layout by heart, calculated every step a hundred times over.

So, first things first, I head straight towards the master bedroom.

Her mother’s room.

After the initial part of my plan has gone over smoothly, I finally reach her door on the second floor, ever so slowly pushing down the handle.

It opens without a sound, making me internally praise whoever maintains the hinges around here as I step inside.

Straight away, I’m hit with the sweet smell of vanilla blending with an undertone of oil paints.

The room is cozy, decorated in earthy tones and filled to the brim with her plants and endless stacks of books.

In the far corner near the French doors that used to offer me the perfect view of her unsuspecting being, a giant easel is set up with painting supplies splayed all over, canvasses propped up against the wall.

However, none of it draws my attention like the cream-colored canopy bed. Fit for a princess.

And curled up in the midst of it isher.

Malory Hayes.

My obsession.

The center of my existence and the ultimate triumph card in my long-awaited revenge.

Her porcelain skin glowing under the moonlight that’s streaming in through the sheer curtains.

Fuck.

She’s so small and dainty that Ifeel like Icould crush her by merely breathing in her direction.

So delicately gorgeous and so fucking vulnerable.

She looks even more innocent asleep, with her pink, pouty lips slightly parted, waiting to be claimed by me and only me.

Instantly, I feel myself getting hard all over again at the breathtaking sight.

Her chest rising with shallow breaths that are making her tank top tighten around her perky breasts with every inhale.

She’s not wearing a bra, letting me see her little nipples peeking through the thin fabric.

Fisting my hands, I grind my teeth to the point they threaten to shatter.

I’m not someone who feels these types of urges, who feels anything at all really. Much less gives into it.

But not being able to touch her these past months has been eating me alive and no amount of jerking off to the image of her lithe body and big eyes has made the suffocating tightness in my chest relent.

I’ve been imagining this moment for a long ass time, but not one of the thousands of scenarios I constructed in my mind comes even close to the real thing.

The need to touch her, to make sure she’s truly in front of me is overwhelming.

---