Page 118 of Obsession
My Savannah is tired, barely able to hold herself upright as her eyes droop. I slide my arm behind her legs and lift her up against my chest.
One final look in Michael’s direction confirms he’s dead, surrounded by a large pool of dark blood.
Good. Savannah deserves an end to her nightmares.
49
SAVANNAH
After Robbie drove us back to my house, we fucked in the shower, and then he dried me off with a fluffy towel and laid down in bed with me, much to my surprise. We’re on our sides, gazing at each other while Robbie’s fingers dance over my arm in soothing strokes. I’ve never felt so relaxed and safe before, which is ironic, considering who’s in bed with me. “How did you feel after you killed your mom?”
Robbie considers his answer, tracing swirling patterns on my skin. “I felt a lot of things, but also nothing.”
“Nothing?”
He hums. “Relief that she couldn’t hurt me anymore. Fear, because I was now alone. But the fear was mostly aimed at myself and my own violent tendencies, or it had been until that point. The voices took hold of me after that, and I didn’t fight them.”
“The voices?”
“I’m sick, Savannah.” He brings his hand up and slides a single finger down the bridge of my nose. “The voices quietened after every kill, and I experienced peace for a while before they started back up.”
“When did the voices start?” I’m full of questions, so many questions. I could lie here all night, wrapped up in this man, and listen to him talk about himself.
“I’m not sure, exactly,” he replies, bopping my nose before tracing the curve of my lips. “I think I was around ten.”
“What did they say?”
“Is this going in your article?” His smile is playful. Mine is too.
I nip his finger. “You think I want to share this part of you with the world?” With a quick shake of my head, I grip his wrist and kiss each finger. My eyes flick up to his, and I whisper, “No, this part of you belongs to me.”
“All of you belongs to me,” he says. “There’s not a part of you I want to share with the world.”
“So lock me away.”
“Don’t tempt me.” He pushes up on his elbow and cups my cheek, his blue eyes flicking between my eyes and mouth. “How did I get so fucking lucky?” His lips brush up against mine in a soft kiss, and it’s so at odds with his hard angles. He kisses me as though he wants to commit my taste to memory. His warm tongue swipes against mine, making me melt into the mattress. When he breaks the kiss and lies back down, I’m lightheaded.
“Tell me about the voices, Robbie.”
He resumes stroking my arm soothingly. “They weren’t good.”
“What did they say?”
“That I wasn’t good enough and that everyone hated me. My mom, teachers, other kids. As I grew older, they became more vicious, demanding I act out.”
“What about now?” I ask softly, placing my palm over his heart.
“You silence them.”
Surprised, I flick my eyes up to his and hold my breath. His heart beats steadily beneath my hand. “I do?”
“Yes…” He slides his fingers down the length of my arm, entwines them with mine, and brings them to his lips. His gaze bores into mine as he tenderly kisses my knuckles. “You bring me peace.”
My heart gallops when joy, as frightening as it’s exhilarating, spreads through my chest. I snuggle closer, breathing in his masculine scent. If I had my way, I would never leave the safety of his muscular arms. My idea of heaven is to lie cocooned in his heat, with my cheek pressed to his pectoral and his legs tangled with mine.
His chest rumbles as he says in his gravelly voice, “Tell me about you, Savannah.”
“I rarely talk about my past,” I admit. “Not to anyone.”
