Page 33 of Driving My Obsession

When I exit the bathroom, he’s standing there with his arm above his head, resting it against the door frame. That pose would be panty melting if he wasn’t such a psycho. He pulls a flask from behind his back and offers it to me.

“For your pain,” he says.

How fucking sweet.

I scoff. I’m not taking anything from him. He doesn’t have a good track record with mixing drinks.

His hand drops to the handle of his knife and I sigh. I take the flask from him and unscrew the top.

“Good girl,” he says with a smirk. “Only take a sip, though. That shit is potent.”

With a roll of my eyes, I tilt the flask and let the flavorless liquid wash over my tongue. It tastes like water, and I consider guzzling a bit more. I’m fucking thirsty. I listen to his advice and take the smallest sip I can, though. The memory of the two shots of vodka isn’t that far removed from my mind.

I hand over what I can only assume is night-night juice and allow him to lead me to my bedroom. He checks the window as I sit on the edge of the bed, and I hope he’ll allow me to sleep alone once he sees no easy way out of this room. He crushes that hope beneath his ass when he walks to the other side of the bed and sits down.

I’m not sleeping with this man. Nope.

I clamber out of bed, leaning my weight on the nightstand as the pain shoots through me again.

A strong hand reaches out, grips my arm, and drags me back to the mattress. “Where do you think you’re going, tragedy?”

“Why do you keep calling me that?” I exhale a defeated breath and lie back, scooting as far from him as I can.

He rests his head on his hand. “Because you’re going to have an unhappy ending. I knew this from the moment I met you.” He turns off the bedside lamp. “Go to sleep. Tomorrow, we begin act three.”

ChapterTwenty

Ambrose

She doesn’t relax as she lies beside me. Each rigid muscle tightens with tension because she’s in bed with the thing of her nightmares. Instead of waking up and escaping the monster in her bad dreams, she’ll wake up next to it. And I’m enjoying that way too much. I listen in the dark, and her ragged breathing eventually shifts to something soft and even. It was only a matter of time. She didn’t get the heavy dose she took from the vodka bottle, but a sip will be enough to keep her knocked out for a while.

Now that she’s asleep, I’m left with my thoughts. I had one goal in mind when I agreed to drive her out here, and that was to end things. The perfect opportunity presented itself in the woods, but it only showed me how weak I truly am. Instead of digging a deep grave to hide my unleashed vengeance, I’m lying beside her to ensure she doesn’t run off. I keep coming up with excuses to keep her alive, but I can’t continue to do this.

Even though I know how this has to end, I want her around for a few more days. I want to experience more of her. But I’m afraid of what I’ll find within her. What if I start to like everything I’ve hated? I worked too hard and nursed my hatred for too long to let that happen.

It doesn’t help that she’s trying to find similarities between us. She fails to see that her scars aren’t mine. They’re hidden in private places, not showcased for the world to see. She doesn’t have to wear a leather jacket in the summer heat to keep people from openly staring at her. She may think she understands me, but she has no idea.

The knife on my hip calls to me. I could cut her up and help her understand. Slice her face so she can feel a shred of the shame I’ve known my entire life. She’d hate who looks back at her in the mirror. Like I do.

I pull the knife from its sheath and shift onto my side. Bringing myself closer to her body, I hold the blade so that it hovers just above her pale skin. I mimic dragging it down her arm and creating a red fissure that would take time to heal. But that flesh would never be as it is now. Pure. Unblemished. A blank canvas. It would become like mine. Ugly. Destroyed. Disgusting. I brush the hair from her face and press the knife against her cheek. The soft skin sinks beneath the weight, and it would only take a little more pressure to bring a line of blood to the surface.

But I can’t.

I slide the knife into its sheath and grit my teeth. Why can’t I do this?

I reach out and rub my hand down her side, feeling her in ways she won’t allow when she’s awake. Well, she would have allowed it if she hadn’t discovered the acorns. She wanted it. Her soft moan as I kissed her stomach told me so, and that’s why I had to stop her. It proves she’s the whore I’ve made her out to be. Only a cumslut would be so willing to sleep with a scarred monster.

Thinking about the soft sound that rolled from her lips hardens me. It shouldn’t, but I can’t deny the way my body begs to use her again. I band an arm around her waist and pull her against me so that her ass presses into my pelvis. She doesn’t stir. Her heat melts into me, and the scent of soil and sweat reaches my nose. She doesn’t smell like the club now. She smells like my untamed thing. Mine.

My hand moves to the front of her neck, and heavy thoughts of squeezing her throat creep into my mind. Instead, I move lower and free her breast from her camisole. The natural curves of that soft mound call to me, begging me to touch. To taste. To enjoy. This would be easier if she had those super-fake tits. I wouldn’t be so tempted by her. It’s a temptation I shouldn’t give in to, but my cock aches for her. Once tonight wasn’t enough.

I remove her shorts and rush to release myself from my jeans because this girl has occupied every waking thought I’ve had since the night she got into my car. I put my cock against her, then slide it between her warm thighs. I’m still haunted by the memory of how it felt to slip inside her. I need to feel it again. Selfishly. Her days are numbered, which means I can only relive this moment so many times before I never feel her around me again. A countdown hangs above her head, the seconds ticking down, and Ihaveto fuck her until detonation.

I draw my hips back and spit in my hand, then coat my dick with saliva. Gripping her full hip, I push inside her. A muffled whimper sticks in her throat. She stirs against me, but I won’t stop. I can’t.

“Shh, tragedy. I’m just taking what I decided was mine the moment I set eyes on you. Go back to sleep.”

Her face settles against the pillow, but I doubt my words have relaxed her. She’s lost to the gentle hum of a dream-inducing cocktail.

---