Page 51 of Driving My Obsession

She nods and takes another sip of hers. “Thanks for drinking with me,” she says with a smile.

* * *

Oaklyn

Ambrose releases another yawn,this one much heartier than the last. His lids close over his brown eyes in a slow blink, and he shakes his head. I can’t help but wonder if he knows he’s been drugged. Can he feel the heavy blanket of dysphoria covering his mind like I did when he did the same to me?

I tap my fingers on the mug and hope he doesn’t go into the kitchen. I took a big risk by putting his flask of sleepy-time juice in my bag before we left the cabin, and I don’t want my plan blown now. My heart had nearly beaten out of my chest while he was making my drink. I’d tucked the flask into a side pocket in my bag, but I wouldn’t put it past him to snoop. Thankfully, he only went for the bottles on top.

Another yawn. And another.

It seems to be working pretty quickly. Remembering how a small sip had affected me, I only put a dash into his drink. Unlike Ambrose, I don’t have murder on my mind.

“I don’t know why I’m so tired,” he says, his voice low and groggy. He tries to stand up, but he stumbles backward.

I fight back a smile as he falls onto the couch.

“Shit,” he groans. “What did you do, tragedy?” His words meld together. He lifts his hands, but they flop back to the couch before his head follows. Wordless whispers leave his mouth. His eyes close, and the whispers stop.

I peer down at Ambrose as he sleeps. A ribbed sleeveless t-shirt hugs his muscles. Jeans ride low on his hips. I trace my fingers over the scars on his face, then move to the soft pink lines lacing his chest. So much damage to one body. No wonder he’s so angry at the world.

He’s not the only one dealing with a lot of emotions, though. I’m angry. I’m frustrated. I feel trapped. The unlocked door calls to me, but running isn’t the answer. Even if I run to another country, he’ll find me.

You’re making excuses. Stop lying to yourself.

And it is a lie. I can’t run, but it’s not only because I know he’ll follow. It’s because for some insane reason, I have come to care about this man. He’s more than his gruff exterior and unhinged decisions. I’m drawn tohim. I see past the scars, both literal and figurative. If he could just get over this stupid idea that he has to kill me, I could show him what it means to be cared for. We’re two untethered ships, attached to nothing and no one as we sail through a storm. If we could only find a way to sail side by side, we could put all of our hurt behind us and weather the waves together.

But that’s just another pipe dream to add to the list.

I pull the knife from his hip and put the tip of the blade against his neck. For once, I have all the power, and I want to know what it feels like to hold a life in my shaking hands. I freeze in place before I can pierce his skin, as if an invisible barrier stands between me and the unthinkable. It’s probably my moral compass—an internal guidance system Ambrose clearly lacks.

“Fuck!” I scream, and even the piercing frustration in my voice doesn’t wake him.

Harnessing that anger, I try to push it through the blade. I don’t want to kill him. I just want to leave a mark he’ll never forget. The wires in my brain are still firmly connected to my conscience, and I can’t take the life of this man, even though he plans to take mine.

And he will take my life when he wakes up. I’m pretty sure about that. I just need to think of some way to get my own vengeance before he does. Something that will show him he’s not the only one with a score to settle.

My gaze falls to his lap, and I get an idea.

I drop the knife to the coffee table and step out of my shorts. I unfasten his jeans, nearly ripping off the button in my frenzy, then I snatch down the zipper. Without even bothering to warm my cold hand, I sink my fingers beneath his boxers and pull out his limp cock.

“Get hard for me, asshole,” I say through gritted teeth. I wrap my hand around him and squeeze. Even though I stroke him with the rough, callous, painful touch he deserves, his cock begins to harden. It swells and grows until he fills my hand. Wetness drips down my thighs at the thought of what I plan to do to him.

I’m going to use him like he used me.

I’m going to pull all my pleasure from his lifeless fucking body. He’s my toy, rendered down to nothing more than a doll with a dick.

I straddle his lap and grind my pussy along his length. The piercings send a satisfying shiver up my spine. The memory of the pleasure his cock gave me is not a distant one. I hate that I liked how he made me come, but I love that I’m taking it again—this time, onmyterms. He can’t judge me or my career. He can’t call me a whore or a slut. He can’t do anything but lie there while I use his cock.

I lean back and bring his head to my entrance, watching for any reaction as my warmth presses against him. He doesn’t move, and the power makes me ache. I lower myself to his pelvis, and a moan leaves my lips as I rock on his lap. With my hands on his chest, I ride him hard. Up, down, up, down, with a scoop of my hips between each motion so my sensitive clit can brush against his pelvis as I force his cock to please me. For a moment, I miss the feeling of hands touching me elsewhere, but then I remember that dolls don’t touch you. They just lie there and get fucked.

I moan as I drop back my head and keep driving my hips on his lap. An angry energy surges through me, and I put my weight into my hands again. I hate-fuck the person who ruined what little of a life I’d gotten back. The man who has wrapped an invisible chain around my heart and won’t let me go.

I draw back my hand and slap his face hard enough to make my palm sting. “Fuck you!” I scream as I drop my weight onto his lap. “Fuck you for what you’ve done to me when I’ve been asleepandawake. You evil...fucking...”

My angry words morph into moans, and my abdomen clenches. Sweat drips down the small of my back as I increase the tempo and pressure in time with my selfish desires. The hairs of his pelvis give me that last bit of friction I need.

With his cock impaling me and every muscle in my body quivering and tense, I come so fucking hard. I cry out and continue to use him until my clenching core begs me to stop. I drop down, lying on my chest with his hard cock still buried inside me. He won’t get to reach his climax. This was all about me getting mine for once.

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