Page 46 of Driving My Obsession

My body shudders, and I slip into an orgasm that silences my brain. My eyes close, and I cry out. Before I can suck in a single breath, Ambrose’s hand wraps around my throat.

“Keep your eyes on me. Don’t you look away while I’m balls deep in your cunt.”

My eyes roll back in my head as I ride out the waves he’s caused inside me, but I keep them open. I don’t want this to stop. Apparently, I’m much more pliable after I come. Reckless. Naïve.

“That’s my good whore,” he groans. “Keep those eyes open.”

“Come, Ambrose. Fill me,” I whisper over his grip on my throat.

His thrusts grow erratic, and he throbs inside me. His eyes stay on me, never leaving mine until he’s sated and ready to pull out of me. This time Ilethim fill me with all that hatred, and I hate that I enjoy that anger dripping from me as he steps back.

“Sexy fucking whore,” he growls. His fingers stuff his escaped come back inside me, then he pulls them out, licks them, and draws me toward his face. “Open your mouth for me.”

I shake my head. No thanks.

“We’re having such a nice moment,” he says. “Don’t make me hurt you now.”

I swallow hard and spread my lips.

He grips my chin, tilts back my head, and gathers spit beneath his tongue. He leans over me. His lips pucker before releasing the warm, come-laced saliva onto my tongue. It startles me, but I keep my eyes on him as I swallow the salty mixture.

“Good fucking girl, tragedy,” he growls.

The amount of feral joy on his face from that little gesture makes me feel something I can’t explain. He looks almost...proud of me? It’s been a long time since I’ve had anyone take pride in anything I’ve done. It seems I’ve only managed to produce one disappointment after another in every other aspect of my life. But right now, he’s looking at me like I’m a racehorse that’s just won the Triple Crown. That look shifts something inside me, and it scares me.

I’m letting him get too close to me. And I don’t know how to stop.

ChapterTwenty-Seven

Ambrose

We reach the cabin just as the sun has begun to set through the trees. I want to go inside and rinse off the sticky residue of lake water and sweat, and I figure Oaklyn wants to do the same, especially after having me inside her. She surprises me when she says she wants to sit on the back porch and watch the sun go down.

“Can I trust you to stay put?” I ask. I’ll take my keys with me, and I don’t think she’ll try to make a run for it, but I need to be sure.

“I guess I’m not the only one who needs to build a little trust in someone, hmm?” She shakes her head and looks out at the water. “I won’t go anywhere, Ambrose.”

Something in the defeated way she speaks tells me she’s being honest. If I leave her sitting on the porch, that’s where I’ll find her when I return from my shower.

A thread inside me pulls tight and snaps. I’ve wanted nothing more than to break her since this entire ordeal began, but now that I’ve done it, I’m devoid of joy. A sick urge engulfs me, and I want to grab her and hold her against me until she’s whole again. For the first time in weeks, I don’t want to hurt her anymore.

I want to be the one who stops the hurt.

Before the urge can overtake me, I turn and go inside. A shower will clear my head and remind me why I’m here and what I have to do.

But it doesn’t. As I scrub and rinse my body, I imagine choking her. It only hardens my dick. I envision gripping her hair and pressing a knife to her throat, but the Oaklyn in my mind just smiles and licks her lips, enjoying it. The signals have crossed somewhere in my head. I still want to hurt her, but I want to bring her to the edge of pleasure at the same time.

I still want to hurt her, but I no longer want to break her heart.

My palm slams against the shower wall, but it isn’t enough to vent the frustration brewing inside me. I’ve fucked this up. The universe gave me the vessel for my revenge on a silver platter, and I’d rather play with it than destroy it. I have to kill her. When I leave this shower, I have to end her life before this goes any further. Before I reach a point when I can’t bear to say goodbye.

I turn off the shower, dry myself, and walk to the bedroom to dress. Tucking the knife into the sheath on my belt, I steel myself and head downstairs. As I near the back door, I freeze. Voices drift through the wood, muffled but discernible. Oaklyn is speaking to someone.

“I needed some time to think,” Oaklyn says, “and I figured you wouldn’t mind.”

“Who else is here, Oaklyn?” a female voice says.

“Mom, it’s just me. I told you.”

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