Devious obsession, p.11
Devious Obsession, page 11
I nod carefully.
“And did he come in your mouth?”
I shift, then nod.
His mood seems to visibly darken. “Okay, well, we’re fixing that right now.”
“Steele…” My voice is a warning.
Which he ignores.
He scoots back down and nestles between my legs like it’s his favorite position. He slips his hands under my thighs, gripping them and holding them open. I rise on my elbows to watch him, forgetting about everything I’d learned about making myself smaller.
He doesn’t care if my stomach rolls when I’m curled up like this… and I’m more curious to see what he’s doing anyway.
This time, he doesn’t hesitate to put his mouth on me. My lips part when his tongue sweeps through me, and I automatically want to close my legs. Which is why he’s holding them open. His fingers tighten, and he sucks my clit into his mouth.
Stars.
Immediately.
I let my head fall back, fighting the urge to close my eyes. He flattens his tongue and swipes it against the sensitive nub again, then goes lower. His nose brushes my clit at the same time that his tongue stabs into me.
“Holy fuck,” I groan.
He grabs my hand and puts it on the back of his head. “Show me what you need.”
I dig my fingers through his hair and urge him up a little, back to my clit. He sucks it and swirls his tongue around, eliciting a whimper from my lips. And when his teeth graze it, the pain jolts through me. He continues working me higher and higher, thrusting two fingers into me and shoving me over the edge.
I twist and try to get away from him, but he doesn’t move. Or lift his head.
“You’re the sweetest fucking dessert I’ve ever had,” he tells me. Or rather, his words seem directed to my cunt. Which is only slightly mortifying. And then his mouth is back on me.
“I can’t,” I pant.
Except, I don’t really have a choice, do I? He continues to lick and suck until I come a second time. And then he’s turning me over. Straddling my thighs. He grabs one of the pillows and leans over, stuffing it under my hips.
He palms my ass cheek.
I look over my shoulder at him just as he pushes into me. He lets out a breath, then pushes the jersey farther up my back. He stays fully seated inside me for a moment, and his hand traces the curve of my bare spine. All the way up to my neck, which he wraps his hand around.
“Remember?”
I grimace. “Are you going to—”
“No, I want you to remember. Because you fight me until I please you, and then you turn into putty. Would there ever be a time when you don’t?”
“If you leave me wanting,” I whisper.
I don’t like the softness between us.
I don’t like that I can’t go home.
I shift my hips, trying to get him to move. He does a little, and the friction makes me sigh. Two orgasms, and I’m more sensitive than I’ve ever been.
“We go back to hating each other when we leave this room,” he says, pressing me deeper into the mattress. “But right now, I just want to enjoy fucking you.”
“Fine,” I bite out. “But don’t expect me to let you off without consequences. You made it so I can’t go home.”
He may have even leaked my address.
Wouldn’t that be the icing on the cake?
First, he creates the danger—then he offers me a solution. And said solution brings me closer into his orbit.
He pulls out almost all the way, until just the tip of his cock is nestled inside me. Then he slams back in, grunting with the effort. He doesn’t lighten up. He grips my ass and my neck and fucks me like he’s trying to hurt me.
But I accept that, because if I had a choice, he’d hurt, too.
And someday soon, the tables are going to turn. I’ll get him where I want him, and he’ll be powerless to stop my onslaught.
By the time he’s done with me, he’s forced me into another orgasm. And then one of his own, buried inside me. He stays there and traces a new pattern over my back.
“Let me up,” I say. I haven’t peed, and the urge is getting insistent.
“What would you do if you got pregnant?”
I freeze. What would I do?
I’d probably go to a clinic. I’m too young to have a kid, so I wouldn’t. In this state, at least, the choice is available to me. It’s why I’m proactive with my birth control. And, until he came along, I never had sex without a condom.
He hums, shifting. Eventually, his cock slips out of me. But his fingers are right there, pushing his cum back into me.
“Too early to say,” he murmurs, more to himself than me.
“Steele.” I roll onto my back. I use my heel to shove him away, and he goes.
He laughs at me, at the way I probably look like an absolute train wreck. Instead of commenting, or acknowledging that I didn’t answer his question, he tugs on pants and heads for the door.
I snag my leggings and grab a t-shirt from his closet. My bra is on the floor, too, so I add that to my pile. My phone, plugged in on his dresser, goes off. I glance at the door.
Steele is gone.
But there’s a text from his dad, and my mood plummets.
Stephen
Call me now.
Oh, great.
I hurry to the bathroom and lock the door, dumping my stuff on the counter. I sent him an email—does he need more on Steele?
Or did he find out about the website? It was taken down in record time. It’s all lies anyway. I need the weight of anxiety off my chest, which means calling him immediately, as ordered. I just have to ignore the sour taste that invokes.
My hands shake as I click on his name and press the phone to my ear. The ringing tone picks up. I wipe my other hand on my leg. Jittery nerves hit me.
“Aspen,” Steele’s father greets me.
“Good morning,” I say in an attempt to be cheery. Like there’s nothing wrong.
“Can you please explain to me why I’m getting calls from the Dean of Students about your conduct on campus?”
I go silent. Because no, I definitely can’t. Not without throwing his son under the bus… which doesn’t sound like such a bad idea. Why am I protecting him anyway?
“There was a prank that got out of hand,” I hedge.
Stephen clears his throat. “I see. And who started this prank?”
I let my non-answer fill in the blanks for him.
“My son,” he guesses.
“I suppose that would make sense,” I agree.
“Thank you, Aspen,” he says. “I’ll take care of it.”
The call ends, and I sigh. People are always taking care of things for me. Like my uncle with the website, and Steele’s dad with whatever the hell the Dean of Students is moaning about. Probably the website, and me being painted as an on-campus prostitute. Or maybe Amanda decided to complain about public sex… even though it was in a house, technically.
Does that count?
And anyway, I’ve always been curious about how these things are handled. Do they just make phone calls to the right people, who then pull some magic strings, and the issue goes away? Or do they get their hands dirty?
I can’t picture my uncle logging on to a computer and hacking into the website’s host domain to blow it to smithereens. I’d like to see that. But in reality, he probably knows someone who knows someone who owes him a favor or six.
Steele’s dad may pay off the dean. Or donate to the school… wouldn’t that be grand. I spent the summer with him. So many problems can be solved by slipping someone some cash.
It’s stupid, especially for the people who need that money, who would break the rules for some extra cash, or circumnavigate policy.
Isn’t that how the rich get richer? It’s why politicians are corrupt, and why cops take bribes, and corporations can get away with murder.
Someone knocks on the door, and I almost fall over. “I’ll be out in a few minutes,” I call. There’s a bathroom downstairs, I think. It shouldn’t be that bad.
“Let me in,” Thalia calls.
I smile and unlock it, stepping aside so she can slip in. Her hair is in a bun on top of her head, and she wears a borrowed t-shirt. From whom, I don’t know. There are a handful of guys I would guess would be eager to lend it.
I relock the door and turn on the shower. “How was your night?”
“Great. As long as I don’t think about the fact that Greyson and Violet probably fucked on the mattress I slept on, I’m good.”
She pulls another toothbrush from the drawer, shaking her head at how many there are. Not a lot, per se, but more than a normal house would have. Someone clearly went out and bought a dozen toothbrushes for their conquests.
“Who do you think handles the toothbrush inventory?” she whispers.
I shrug, but I meet her gaze in the mirror.
“Knox,” we both say at the same time.
Listen. He’s with Willow, I guess. Honestly, it’s a little hard to tell sometimes, because he’s a massive flirt. Especially when she’s not around. Thinking he’d plan ahead for his sleepovers to leave with fresh breath isn’t a stretch of anyone’s imagination.
I shed the jersey and duck behind the shower curtain. There’s a good selection of shampoos and conditioners to pick from. The water was quick to heat, too. Plus the pressure…
“Are you going to tell me what’s really going on with you and Steele?”
I crane around the shower curtain again. Thalia’s sitting on the toilet, the lid closed, with her leg drawn up under her. She raises her eyebrow at my expression.
“No,” I decide.
“I’ll tell you who I kissed last night…”
“I don’t want to know that either,” I lie.
She chuckles and flushes the toilet. My shower switches to icy cold water, and I scream. I step out of the spray until it returns to normal.
“I hate you,” I mutter. “Totally unnecessary.” She wasn’t even peeing—just being an ass.
“Do we need to move?” she asks in a quieter voice. “Maybe we should call the police…”
“We could,” I agree. “But the website was taken down, and I think the post with my address was, too. Besides some guys loitering on the street, what are the cops going to do? I say we just wait it out for a few days and try to go back. The guys might go with us to grab some supplies today.”
“So we don’t get stuck smelling like boy products,” she agrees. “Okay, fine. What are you doing today?”
“Well, I need my sheet music.” I frown. And probably the money, especially if the apartment isn’t secure. But where would I put it? “And a change of clothes. So maybe the apartment first, then I can go to the practice rooms.”
Thalia takes a deep breath. “Okay, I’ll leave you to finish and try to wrangle some guys to come with us.”
14
STEELE
I was unsuccessful breaking into Aspen’s phone. I tried in the middle of the night, when she was passed out in my bed, but it’s locked down. Not a simple passcode—she has a six-digit one. Plus face ID, but it didn’t register it with her eyes closed.
I’ll get into it eventually. I want to know exactly what she’s saying to my father. To make matters worse, they’re not even in the country. They’re on vacation. When’s the last time my workaholic father took time off?
The only trips I remember are back from when my mom was still in the picture. When we were one big happy family. But that all changed in high school. Dad buckled down and became all about work.
My stomach twists. I check my calendar. It’s mid-October. Mom’s birthday is early November, and I need to arrange a visit. I’ll have to tell Coach, too, but he might remember the situation from last year. How I usually have to dance around my father’s demands and my game schedule.
Besides that, I’m fine missing classes. And Coach will excuse me from a practice or two.
Well, he might not this time, since we’ve been on thin ice since the first game. Even winning against the Knights did nothing to stave off his ire.
It’s been three days since the game. Knox, Greyson, and Miles went over to the girls’ apartment the morning after. I didn’t go, but apparently there were some creeps hanging out that scattered when they showed up.
Good.
That’s been a mess.
However, my new course of action has presented itself: since Aspen is still under my father’s thumb, I’m going to make her an unreliable narrator. Which means warping Aspen’s perception of reality a little. Twisting her around until she doesn’t know which way is up. And then my father will have no faith in her, and it won’t matter if she blames the whole thing on me.
The first order of business: the hallucinogenic in my pocket.
She and Thalia showed up at the hockey house with their packed bags, and she’s since decided that she’d rather stay with Thalia in Greyson’s old room than bunk with me.
That girl has a habit of twisting me up, so I let it slide.
For now.
But only because the guys in my house know that she’s off-limits. If Thalia wants to fuck one of them, she can go to their room. She’s got more options than Aspen anyway. The two of them sharing a bed actually keeps Aspen safer.
I put a few drops into a water bottle that I carefully manipulated. The cap and the safety seal stayed together, so it appears like it was never opened. I find Aspen in one of the practice rooms, leaning over the piano in the corner of the room. There are music stands stacked along the wall, with a few folded chairs for other instruments, I suppose. Unnecessary for Aspen and her piano.
However, the sound that comes out, the drifting melodic tune she’s playing, is muted. The soundproofing in the room isn’t horrible, especially since I’m sure it’s loud inside it. But I can still hear her in the hallway. Figures the school wouldn’t splurge on quality for their practice rooms.
That gives me another idea for another day.
Enough waiting. I unlock the door with my ID and stroll inside. Aspen stops mid-song and cranes around. Her eyebrows hike up, and her mouth parts. I like her surprise. But it’s instantly replaced with wariness. She swivels to face me fully, opening her mouth to probably tell me off—or to get out.
I hold up the water and granola bar in my hands. “I’m playing nice,” I lie. “Thought you might want some nourishment, since you’ve been in here for hours.”
She frowns. “I’ve been in here for an hour, tops.”
I scoff. “Whatever.” I set the water and bar on the bench beside her, then unfold one of the metal chairs. I lower myself into it and cross my arms, propping my leg up. “Well?”
“Well, what?”
She reaches for the water and unscrews it. The satisfying noise of the seal breaking fills the room, and she takes a sip. Then another. Her throat moves with every swallow.
She sets it back down and wipes her mouth on the back of her forearm, then turns back to the sheet music. Some of the edges are bent, which makes me think they’re the same pages that I sent flying down the stairwell. Which means she didn’t reprint them.
Interesting.
“Are you just going to watch?”
“Listen,” I reply, closing my eyes. “Yes.”
Pause.
I resist the urge to check if she’s looking at me.
She lets out a breath and starts again from the beginning. I think it’s the beginning anyway. I really don’t have any idea about piano music. I don’t know if she’s playing classical or new age or a cover of a modern song. Maybe something from a movie.
I like it, though. It kind of has that haunting melody that sits in your chest.
Suddenly, she stops. Curses. After a second, she restarts again. The notes go all wonky, and she stops with a squeak.
I crack my eye open.
She’s leaning forward, her head tipped to the side. Her fingers are pulled away from the keys like they bit her.
“Aspen?” I focus more fully on her.
The drugs went to work fast, judging by her expression. I wonder what her sheet music is doing. If it’s talking to her or wiggling across the page.
She glances at me, and her eyes bug out. I slip my phone from my pocket and switch it to video mode, aiming it at her.
“What is it?” I ask.
She’s staring at me with a horrified expression. “Steele,” she whisper-yells. “T-there’s a monster behind you.” Her grip tightens on the bench, her feet leaving the pedals.
I glance behind me, then face her again. “Maybe we should get out of here? Get to safety.”
She nods wordlessly and rises, leaving her bag behind. She hurries out into the hallway, and I follow. She seems to be walking like someone’s hunting her, glancing over her shoulder at me with wide eyes.
I smile to myself.
Perfect.
15
ASPEN
I wake up in the music room, my mouth full of cotton. I look around, squinting in the dark room. The fluorescent light from the hallway comes in through the window in the door, slanting across the floor and giving me enough to see.
My bag is gone, as is my phone.
What happened?
I lick my lips and drag myself upright, tugging down on the hem of my shirt. As soon as I move, the motion sensor lights in the room flicker back to life. I close my eyes briefly against the searing pain of the brightness. It takes a minute for me to open my eyes again and resume taking inventory. My leggings are dirty, and there are grass stains on my knees. There’s a rip in my shirt, too, right across my stomach.
A shadow appears in the window, and I scream.
“It’s me!”
I take another look and wince. Thalia’s brows are pinched, and she tries the door handle.
Locked, of course, unless you ask the school to give your ID access to these rooms.
