Page 92 of Obsession
He’s an elusive and enigmatic man who is too intrigued to stay away but too scared to get close. No wonder he sought me out, shrouded in shadows and mystique. He felt safe. Robbie likes control, and he’ll let it slip if he allows himself to feel. So he guards it closely.
How do I coax him out? How do I make him trust himself not to hurt me? How do I make him realize that I want all of him? The good and the bad. Especially the bad. My thighs clench again. The ache between my legs pulsates in time with my heartbeat, and I rock forward in my seat to get some friction. I do it again, grinding my swollen clit against the leather. Sparks of bliss settle low in my core. I slide my fingers into my hair, then bite back a moan as I pull until pain prickles across my scalp. I need more.
Rocking forward again, harder this time, I curl my fingers around my throat and apply pressure to my esophagus. A zap of pleasure trickles down my spine to my pussy. When I dig my fingers in, my eyes roll back in my head. My heart thuds heavily in my ears, and I bite my lip hard enough to draw blood. Fuck, it feels so good. I roll my hips, chasing release. The sensation builds, intensifying until I’m dizzy, and my pussy tightens around nothing as my lungs protest. If anything, the burn adds to the delicious heat swirling low in my core.
Robbie was in my room, fucking his hand and touching me.
Rocking faster and harder, with my lip trapped between my teeth, I slip my hand inside my pants and press down on my sensitive clit.
I’m so close.
Anyone could walk in or peer over the wall of my cubicle, but I’m too pent up to care. Too lost to the vision of Robbie touching himself on his knees over my sleeping body. He sought me out again, unable to stay away. I’m as much of a drug to him as he is to me.
I press two fingers into my soaking pussy and grind my clit against my palm. My lungs scream for air, heightening the wave of euphoria crashing into me with the next roll of my hips.
Every muscle in my body locks tight, and I come, biting back a moan. I squeeze my eyes shut, my pussy pulsing around my fingers. When my hand slips from my throat, air rushes back inside my oxygen-starved lungs. I’m lightheaded, throbbing all over.
“Fuck,” I whisper under my breath when it slowly dawns on me that I made myself come at work. A raw chuckle claws its way up my throat, and I drag my hands down my face, feeling stupid. My fingers are slick with cum which is now on my cheek too.
“What’s so funny?”
Shrieking, I just about jolt out of my seat before spinning around in my chair and leveling Elliot with a glare. He holds his hands up placatingly while chuckling low and deep, as though my burning cheeks are an excellent source of amusement.
“Stop doing that!” I all but shout as my heart tries to pound its way out of my chest. “What the hell, Elliot?”
“Sorry,” he says, shaking his head with a wide smile.
“You don’t look it,” I mutter, rubbing my face again before remembering that my fingers smell of my pussy. I quickly lower them to my lap, raise my brows expectantly, then gesture to the laptop behind me. “I’m kind of busy. What do you want?”
Stepping deeper into my cubicle, he tips his chin to the screen. “What have you got so far?” He ambles closer, and when I shift in my seat, he leans over me with one hand on the backrest and the other on the desk. It’s difficult to focus withthe side of his face this close to mine and the scent of fabric freshener drifting from his button-up shirt.
Fidgeting, I clear my throat.
His eyebrows pull down low as he reads the article, his face the picture of concentration.
I’m too aware that I rubbed cum over my cheek when I scrubbed my face, and now I worry he can smell it. Sweat beads on my neck, and I swallow past the sudden lump in my throat. My fingers twitch in my lap, but I stay silent.
Elliot scrolls down on the screen, and then he exhales, his minty breath dancing across the skin of my neck.
I shiver.
“This is good.”
Surprise has me sitting straighter. “You think so?”
“I think you’re holding back on the details, but yes, this is a good article. James will sing your praises.”
I turn my head, scanning his day-old stubble and the subtle clench of his jaw when his eyes lock onto mine. “Why are you here, Elliot? You have Robbie’s story now. It’s yours.”
“You already know why I’m here.” His darkening eyes flick down to my mouth. The backrest shifts backward slightly as he lets go of the desk to brush my hair away from my brow. My heart thuds uncomfortably at the intensity of his gaze, but I don’t stop him, frozen to the spot despite the blaring alarms inside my head. “Why did you leave out your theories in the story, Savannah?”
“What theories?” I rasp, clearing my throat.
“You said the other day that the killer’s control is slipping. That he finds himself aroused by the act.” He tucks my hair behind my ear. “Why did you leave it out of the article?”
“I want to stick to facts and not speculate.” When his fingers brush my ear, I weakly add, “It could hinder the investigation.”
“Or it could point the detectives in the right direction. It’s a good observation. You should write about your theories.”
