Page 90 of The Dark Obsession

The arrogant bastard.

My arrogant bastard.

Begrudgingly, I start enjoying the rush of adrenaline as we race through an open patch with Tyson revving the engine until I’m laughing freely while simultaneously clinging to him with everything in me.

Finally, the ATV comes to a halt on a semi even dirt spot serving as our makeshift parking space next to what looks like a rarely used hiking trail.

I stumble off the seat, my thighs numb and shaking from the vibrations.

Hearing Tyson chuckle at my state of distress, I shove the helmet into his lap, running a hand through my tangled hair.

I want to be mad at the man, and yet I can’t resist a smile tugging at the corners of my lips.

This was a whole lot more fun than I anticipated. Not that I’d ever admit it out loud.

Out of nowhere, Tyson produces a tactical backpack that was stuffed in a trunk box at the rear of the four-wheeler, replacing it with our helmets before strapping himself into it.

It’s a rare occurrence that I see him in anything but black, but today a white t-shirt strains against his bulging muscles, flexing with every move.

The outlines of his tattoos visible through the sheer fabric, seamlessly blending into the ones peeking from under his short sleeves, running down the length his arms.

The image as ruthless as the man himself.

Saliva gathers in my mouth as my eyes track the wide planes of his pecs down to the hard ridges of his abdomen, my yearning for him gradually getting out of control.

This can’t be healthy for my heart anymore.

With a knowing look, Tyson takes my hand in his much bigger one, putting an end to my unabashed ogling as he leads me towards the stony trail.

Half an hour later I’m panting audibly behind him, going on my last reserves of energy.

Just like he promised, the hike isn’t too steep but I have literarily no stamina since most of my physical activity over the last few weeks consisted of us fucking.

Not that that isn’t a workout in itself, but Tyson usually does most of the heavy lifting.

It’s the way he handles my body with such dominance that all I can do is take it, let him control me. Trust that he’ll make it good for the both of us because somehow, this man knows exactly what my body needs.

With a choked exhale, I turn my full attention to the ground so I don’t trip and twist my ankle on a loose rock.

Why would someone want to do this if all they get to see is their own feet for hours on end until they get somewhere with a view is beyond me.

I’d love to look up, admire the different kinds of trees and ferns, but this damn path is too narrow and unkept with the occasional root sticking out, waiting to wrap itself around my foot the second I stop concentrating.

I can’t even look at Tyson’s firm butt sauntering in front of me.

What would I give to have some tracking poles for balance.

An elderly couple that passed us a while back had them and they didn’t look like they were on the verge of breaking down. Although they were going downhill so maybe it was that.

What do I know about any of this stuff?

As soon as Tyson saw people ahead, he stepped in front of me, hiding me completely from their view until the strangers passed without a second glance.

It was staggering.

The difference in his demeanor whenever we come across anyone so drastic it gives me a whiplash every time.

I’ve seen him act distant around me in the beginning of our… let’s say arrangement, yet it was nothing compared to the blank mask his face morphs into around others, void of any human emotion.

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