Page 91 of Obsession
This way, I can’t hurt her.
I gaze up at her sleeping face from between her spread thighs and swipe my tongue through her soaking slit, tasting her tangy arousal mixed with my salty cum. Her lips part with a loud moan that sends shivers racing down my spine, and I soak up theerotic sound. I taste her again, licking her from her anus to her clit before sucking on the swollen pearl. She tastes like fucking heaven, coated in sugar and honey. My very own elixir.
I swirl my tongue over her clit in firm circles, my fingers leaving faint bruises on her thighs. A sense of possessiveness overwhelms me, and I grip her tighter, fucking her tight hole with my tongue. I’m drunk on her and the way she squirms beneath my ministrations. Her walls ripple around me, tightening rhythmically.
“Fuck,” I growl out, nipping at her throbbing clit with my teeth before sucking it hard and groaning. Satisfaction warms me when she comes on my face like a good little plaything. I shove my fingers inside her and curl them just right while her pulsing walls squeeze me tighter.
“That’s it, baby.” My lips curve into a smile against her pussy. “Make a mess of my fingers and face. Such a greedy little thing.”
I pump her cunt until her breaths deepen and her loud whimpers die down. When a soft snore slips from her mouth, I slide my fingers out from inside her and climb off the bed. After sucking them clean, I tuck my dick away.
Satisfied for now, my monster retreats back into the shadows.
Running a hand through my mussed-up hair and over my face, I watch her sleep.
She looks peaceful. Perhaps I should dress her, but the possessive side of me wants her to wake up used and dirty, with my dried cum on her skin.
Unable to resist the urge, I stroke her hair away from her brow. “I’ll see you soon, Savannah.”
As I enterthe kitchen to help myself to a bite to eat before slipping back into the silent night, I slow to a halt.
Something is different.
Frowning, I flick on the overhead light to find a wrapped parcel sitting on the counter, which wasn’t there when I entered the house earlier.
I peer at the drawn curtains, remembering the cops outside. Inching closer to the box, I fist my hands rhythmically at my sides.
Every muscle in my body stiffens. I cock my head, listening for sounds, but aside from the grandad clock, there’s nothing. It’s eerily silent. Still, predators are territorial by nature, and this box smells like a fucking lamppost covered in piss. Some other animal is sniffing around my territory.
Savannah ismine.
Ripping open the box, I remove a cola bottle and set it aside before reaching inside for the other item. My eyebrows knit together as I stare down at it. The cogs turn in my head, trying to fit the missing puzzle pieces. Whatever this is—as innocent as it may seem—it’s far from it. I grip it in my hand, then peer over my shoulder, through the door to where the leather couch now sits, a tartan blanket folded over the armrest.
Anger radiates through my bones, and I leave the kitchen, the floorboards creaking beneath my heavy steps.
When I enter the living room, the TV comes into view. I stop in the doorway, staring at reruns of the latest race.
It was switched off when I snuck upstairs to watch Savannah sleep. Someone is stalking and preying on my woman, and that pisses me off. No one gets to stalk her but me. No one gets toclaimher but me. As if that’s not bad enough, this dead man walking is trying to scare her.
Anger ripples through my muscles, and I grind my teeth as I scan the empty room. Looks like I have another kill to add to my growing list. No one messes with what’s mine and lives to see another day.
39
SAVANNAH
With my elbows on the desk, I massage my temples while staring at the screen, trying to make sense of the words in front of me. I don’t know when they started to blur, but it’s becoming clear that I can’t focus on anything besides the delicious sting between my legs every time I shift. Faint bruises litter my thighs. My shorts were on the floor when I woke up, and my tank top was pushed up above my tits.
Someonevisited me last night, and now it’s all I can think about.
Robbie refused to let me close the other day, claiming he was scared to hurt me, but then he touched me in my sleep.
It’s probably unhealthy how excited that makes me, and it’s not normal to crave a dangerous man like him. Normal women don’t squeeze their bruised thighs together beneath the desk when they think of a specific serial killer touching them in their sleep. Yet that’s what I do.
Not only that. I also bite my lip, and the sting adds to the already delicious stimulus. I’m such a mess.
I should focus on this article about The Bridge Killer. Not sit here and wonder exactly what Robbie did to me while I wasasleep. Judging by the dried cum on my stomach, I can hazard a guess. And just thinking about him jerking off and covering me in cum awakens something truly primal within me.
I wonder what went through his head as he looked down at his cum on my bare skin.
