Page 11 of Dangerous Obsession

"That's not good enough." He thrusts hard, and I can feel him digging into me, but it's not enough. I need more. I need him deeper, I need him harder. I need him to make me a fucking mess.

"Yes!" I'm almost screaming. I'm so fucking close...

"You're going to be my good girl, aren't you?" He thrusts hard, and I feel my muscles tightening.

"You're going to be my good girl, aren't you? ... Tell me you're my good girl," he says, and I can't take it any more.

"Yes! Yes! I'm your good girl." I'm screaming now, and I'm coming. My pussy is pulsing and clenching, as my whole body spasms against him. He buries his cock deep inside me and it twitches. I can feel him coming too, his hot, sticky seed filling me up. I can feel him throbbing inside me, pulsing as my ass tightens around his shaft.

And when he's done, he pulls out of me and I lie there twitching still, tiny spasms jittering over every muscle in my frame. Then I feel his hot breath on my cheek. "Stop fighting me. You're mine. I haven't invested this much into you for this entire time for you to walk away now. You'll do as I say, and you'll be safe."

Leo climbs out of bed and I hear his belt buckle jingle before he walks away.

How the hell does he get to me like this? And how do I convince my heart that he's the enemy, not the remedy?

7

LEO

Willow draped across my bed makes me a satisfied man. Her curves look good wrapped around my cock and I have to admit, I like her spunk. She’s feisty now, not like she used to be—meek, timid, impressionable. Life has really forced her to grow up and she’s become a goddess in her own right. Now if she would only just fucking listen to me so I can keep her out of danger.

“Get up,” I order as I walk back to the counter where I felt the hair dye. I trust I have convinced her to listen to me now. A workout like that has to have drained some of the fight in her. I pick up the box and the scissors and turn around to see her still lying there. “You can enjoy the afterglow next time. Get up.”

Willow rolls to her side and glares at me, but she forces her body off the mattress and crosses her arms over her perfect tits. Her shoulders curl in; she’s closed off to me, but she doesn’t get to be that way. Not if she wants to live.

“Come in here. Let’s get this over with.” I gesture to the bathroom and walk in, waiting on her. It’s a few minutes before she walks in, and I almost scream her name, but I see her face appear in the doorway and I can tell she shed a few tears before joining me.

“I don’t want black hair, Leo. It’s impossible to lift color out of your hair once you go to such a dark shade.”

I look down at her body and notice she put her panties on. It’s a shame, because I really like her naked.

“It’s temporary,” I tell her, showing her the box. She inspects it and I see her features soften.

“Fine, if you think it will keep me safe.”

Willow walks in and sits on the lid of the toilet and I get everything out and mix it up. The tiny gloves they provided in this box won’t fit my large hands, so I’ll end up with black fingers for a few days, but it’s a small price to pay. I turn to her with the squeeze bottle in hand and she rolls her eyes at me.

“The man died, Willow. The Italian is dead, and they aren’t going to let it slide. He was an underboss.” I squirt some dye down the center part on her hair and start to work it in with my fingers as I talk to her. “There is a bounty on my head; I don't know how much. I just know my family will protect me, but they won’t protect you. By now they Italians know who you are. I’m sure they’ve been to the gallery, probably ransacked your place.”

“God, my stuff? Can we go look? You know, make sure nothing was damaged…” She tries to look up at me but I turn her head back to facing forward.

“You’re moving too much.” The dye drips from my fingers as I massage it into her long hair. Maybe I should have gotten two boxes. I didn’t realize how long her hair was.

“I don’t see why they would care about me.” Her arms finally fall, no longer shielding her breasts. She’s growing more comfortable with me by the minute. That’s a good thing. Comfortable with me means one step closer to trusting me, and that’s what we need. I can’t be screaming orders all the time.

I squirt more dye onto her hair and comb my fingers through her long locks. I’ll give it a cut later, but I’m sure that will mean another disagreement.

“They probably don’t give a rat’s ass about you, but they know I do. They’ll either use you to get to me, or they will harm you to draw me out.” My fingers turn jet black as I finish getting the dye worked all the way to the tips of her wavy hair. The color stripes her back where her hair hangs too, but I don’t tell her that. I glance at my watch and note the time. “We have to let this sit for twenty minutes.”

“You actually care?” she asks, and I can hear sarcasm in her tone but I know her question is genuine. She has a right to be hurt and angry with me; she just can’t let it affect her ability to follow orders. Without my family to back me up, she’s as good as dead.

“If I didn’t fucking care, I would have let that man have you. Got that?” Admitting how I feel has never been a strength of mine and she irritates me by getting into her feelings. As I snap out the words, she jolts, frightened by my sudden raise in volume and frustration. “Just listen to what I tell you, and you’ll be fine.”

Turning my back to her, I walk to the sink and turn the water on. The blackness from my hands rinses off and swirls around the sink until it drains and the water runs clear—well, as clear as this water will ever get. Willow’s right; the water looks disgusting. I need to speak to the landlord about it.

“Thank you for caring,” she says in a tone so low I almost don’t hear it. I pretend I don’t hear it because what the hell am I supposed to say to that anyway? “So they’re really bad people?”

I look into the mirrored door of the medicine cabinet as I grab a bar of soap from the sink and lather my stained hands. “You have no idea.” I shake my head and look at her reflection where her eyes meet mine. “I once got a package from them, the finger of one of my soldiers. He stole from one of their food carts—or they say he did. He just got the wrong change back and didn’t tell the vendor. So they came after him, and eye for an eye. They cut his fingers off one by one, then his hand, mailed it to me. They left him to die in an old, abandoned building in Yonkers.”

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