Page 34 of Driving My Obsession

I ease out of her and glide through her warm center, my movements controlled and gentle. It’s almost as if I don’t want to wake her. Because I don’t. I just want to use her.

With every pulse of my hips, her wetness grows. She’d never get wet like this if she were awake. I’d probably be forced to listen to fake moans as she pretended to enjoy it, and I don’t want that. I want her exactly as she is right now—slippery and compliant. She’s fun when she’s feisty and full of fire, but I like this just as much. Maybe more.

My hand rises to her chest as I push inside her again, and I find the hardened tip of her nipple. I hold that perfect point between my fingers, rolling it around as my palm fills with her full breast. She stirs again and her back arches. Am I pleasing her? The whimper transforms into a soft moan, and now I’m certain she’s enjoying this. I’m also certain she’s imagining someone else inside her mind. Someone she likes. Someone who isn’t covered in scars. Someone who isn’t me.

My hand rises to her throat, and I push into her as I keep time with her pulse against my fingertips. I pull her warm body closer to mine. Everything about her teases my senses. My eyes feast on her slightly parted lips, and I imagine pushing past them with my cock. The scent of her berry shampoo cradles me as I bury my face into her hair and increase the tempo of my hips. I lick the crook of her neck, and her fear-laced sweat dances on my tongue. Each soft whimper and moan elicits a rush of euphoria in my brain. And the touch. Oh god, the touch. She’s so soft she doesn’t even feel real.

She grows silent, her mind crossing the line between semi-conscious and unconscious. I lower my hand and put it between her legs, exploring until I find her swollen clit. But she doesn’t respond.

How very disappointing.

I roll her onto her back and hover above her. A veil of red hair obscures her face, but I want to see those closed eyes. I brush the hair away and am rewarded with a sight that makes my balls ache. Her eyes are closed, her lips moving only when a puff of breath whispers past them. Fuck Sleeping Beauty. My tragedy is a sleepinggoddess.

I’m overcome with the need to be inside her again. I spread her thighs and rub my thumb against her clit. She’s so slick and warm. When I still don’t get a reaction, I move closer and push my cock into her until I can’t go any further. That brings another moan past her loose lips.

“Shhh. Let me fuck your pretty little pussy while you sleep,” I whisper. “Just let me use you. I’ll be done once I’ve given you every last drop of me.”

My hands move to her waist. I pull her against me with each forward thrust, driving into her harder and faster. She moans again and the headboard bangs against the wall, overtaking her sensual sounds.

“God, you aresucha good whore.” The last word changes on my tongue. It sheds its cocoon of disgust and undergoes a metamorphosis, shifting into something vestal and precious.

I part her thighs further and push deeper. I can’t hold out any longer. I wanted to squeeze her throat and feel her come around me, but I’ll have to wait until she’s awake. When she’s more conscious, I can force her sweet little cunt to spasm for me. Even though she hates me, I’ll make those green eyes come to life before they roll to the back of her head. And then I’ll rip that life away.

For good.

My hips stall, and a deep groan rolls from my chest as I fill her. She’ll be pissed when she wakes up and feels my come between her legs again. When she realizes I took advantage of her once more, that will only add to the anger. But how would she feel if she knew how she’d moaned when I fucked her? Too bad I didn’t record it. She’ll never believe me if I tell her.

Sated, I climb off her and ease her legs straight, then cover her with the blanket. I don’t bother putting her shorts on because it’s not like I’m trying to hide what I’ve done. On the contrary. I want her to know. When she wakes up tomorrow, I want to watch her face fall when she realizes I’ve defiled her.

I roll onto my side and close my eyes, refusing to fight with myself over my realization: When she wakes up tomorrow, I want to defile her again.

ChapterTwenty-One

Ambrose

Morning sun fills the room, and I wake to Oaklyn huffing up a storm. She tosses my arm off her with absolute disgust because I somehow turned over and held her while I was asleep. It’s a small fucking bed. I’m surprised we didn’t wake up on top of each other. Her slender fingers lift the blanket and she peers beneath it, then she reaches down and touches herself. If she didn’t realize I fucked her before, her soaked pussy would definitely clue her in now.

Her haunting green eyes meet mine, and she releases the blanket. Instead of panic, a level of brokenness masks her face. It’s a look I’ve never seen on another person...besides myself.

“Just get it over with and kill me, Ambrose. You’ve done enough to me. Stop playing this cat-and-mouse game and just take the final bite already.” Tears well in her eyes, and she tries to blink them away. “I can’t do this anymore. You act like I had some life I loved before you came and fucked it all up. You think you’re causing me so much agony, but I was in agony long before I met you.”

I shake my head. “I’m not done with you yet. You don’t get to decide when it’s time to end the show.”

She looks away, her jaw tensing as her teeth clench together, and before I can react, she’s on top of me. I don’t expect her speed or agility, and that lapse in judgment will be my undoing because she’s reaching for my knife. I expect the blade to sink into my skin, so I close my eyes and grit my teeth against the incoming assault. She’ll bury it in my flesh, just as my mother did. She’ll prove that I’ve chosen the perfect representation of the woman I hate.

But she doesn’t do any of that.

I open my eyes. She’s kneeling on the bed, the knife clasped in her shaking hand, but the blade isn’t aimed at me. It presses against her own throat.

“If you won’t do it, I will,” she says through gritted teeth. Her green eyes have taken on a feral glint. She’s a cornered animal, fully prepared to gnaw off her own limb to free herself from the hunter’s snare. I know this look because I’ve been there myself.

“Give me that,” I say, reaching for the blade.

She leans back, pressing the knife into her skin until a thin line of red appears just below the razor-sharp edge. “My life ended months ago. You can’t kill something that’s already dead.” Her nostrils flare wildly, and something tells me this is much more than an act meant to push me to release her. She’s not bluffing.

I spring forward and grip her arm, twisting her around and putting her back against my chest while keeping the knife away from her throat. An inhuman scream erupts from low in her gut. She struggles to break free, slicing my forearm as she bucks and writhes against me.

“Give me the goddamn knife.” The words bite out of me, ripping through my throat. I have control of her wrist and I’m not trying to stab her, which is comical considering I had fully intended to do exactly that. It’s my entire reason for being here.

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