Devious obsession, p.14
Devious Obsession, page 14
See, brain? You were just dreaming about Steele, when you’re really still next to Thalia.
I sigh and roll over. My arms are above my head, and they get all twisted with the movement. My eyes crack open, and I stare up at my bound wrists, although it’s so dark, it’s hard to see what’s six inches in front of my face. Another minute passes while I try to catch up to what’s happening.
Why would Thalia tie me up?
I blink and try to lick my lips, but something is in the way. Hard plastic between my teeth, keeping my jaw open.
A flash of fear storms through me like lightning, obliterating the last of the drunken haze.
Nothing will wake you up quite like adrenaline.
I swallow and attempt to sit up. Something holds me fast around my ankles.
Okay.
Okay, okay, okay.
I let out a little noise. A whimper in the back of my throat.
The room is dark, and it’s silent, and I’m definitely not in Thalia’s room, that’s for sure. I pull at my wrists, my ankles, but I’ve got no leverage. When I spread my legs, something clicks—and then I can’t shut them again.
Fuck.
I close my eyes and will myself to ignore the panic welling in my chest. Breathing deep only gets me so far before I revert right back to shallow huffs through the gag.
It takes me too long to register that I’m naked. That when the air moves, it brushes against my bare skin. That there’s nothing hiding me from whoever walks through the door.
Whatever door it happens to be.
This isn’t fun anymore.
This isn’t a game.
I squeeze my eyes shut, blocking out the burning sensation and the lump in my throat. Instead of twenty-year-old Aspen, I’m a kid again. Trapped exactly like this, with only my heartbeat keeping me company. Waiting for the door to open and my nightmares to begin.
Or continue. Because they never really stopped, not back then.
I like to be in control. I like to be out of control with an emergency stop button. I like it to be my choice—and this isn’t that. My childhood wasn’t that either.
My breathing continues to come in short bursts. I stare at the darkness above me, my mind wandering.
You’re okay, I assure myself. It’s a complete lie, though. I rip at the bindings around my arms, jerk my feet. There’s another click, the bar locking and keeping my legs in their new spread position.
Seconds pass.
Then minutes.
My panic doesn’t ease. My heart doesn’t slow.
The longer I lie here, the more I’m convinced that this is cruel and unusual punishment—and for what? For leaving a snake in his bedroom? For telling his father about him? Which, that point is bullshit. I never gave his dad anything actionable. Never told him about the worst treatment Steele has given me.
Fire, I think. That safe word that lives in the back of my head. I say it out loud, but my tongue can’t get around the gag. It comes out as a muffled plea that could mean anything.
Fire.
Because we’re taught as little girls that if you’re attacked, no one will come running if you scream for help. But they will if you yell fire. People are selfish like that. They’re drawn into action by things that may hurt them. But if it’s you on the line?
Forget it.
I pant and twist and curl my fingers around the headboard, trying to get enough leverage to rip the bindings off my ankles. Or give my back some relief, because my ass is starting to go numb. I barely get my hips off the bed.
The door opens. It’s a little crack of dim light coming through, and then it closes again. My breathing stops. It’s a noise that was there, but now the room is entirely silent. Except for the footsteps that come toward me.
The bed caves. He climbs up over me and trails his finger up the inside of my thigh. I groan through my teeth. I can’t even make out his face, or his shadow.
It could be Steele, or it could be my father. I’m waiting for the flash of a camera. For the searing sharpness to temporarily blind me further. And I’m mumbling nonsense behind the gag. A string of no, no, nos that fall on deaf ears.
Something heavy drops on my belly.
And then the bed lifts again as his weight disappears, and he retreats. The door opens, and he slips out, but there’s still something on my stomach. A second later, the overhead light comes on.
I raise my head.
A snake sits coiled on my belly, its tongue flickering out.
I groan through my gag, and a burst of adrenaline burns through me. Tears leak out of my eyes. I can’t stop them. The snake doesn’t seem interested in moving, but it watches me.
The light goes out, plunging us into darkness again.
I lower my head and close my eyes, burying my face in my arm. My breathing hiccups, my nose blocks. I’m an ugly crier—always have been, always will be. My skin gets blotchy and red, I get snot running down my nose, my face contorts.
That’s probably happening now.
Except with the gag, I can’t get a good breath.
Can’t seem to take in any breath at all.
On some level, I register the escalating panic attack for what it is. I’ve been slowly ramping up while I’ve been lying here, but this is the icing on the fucking cake. He wants to torture me—and he’s succeeding.
“Fire,” I attempt to say again. The safe word that’s supposed to be my ticket off this insane ride. But nothing happens, and I stay exactly where I am.
I blink, and I’m a kid again. Anxious, scared. My brain is playing tricks on me, making me see my old room. The purple comforter under my body, the stuffed animals that lined the bed next to the wall. I used to think they’d protect me, too.
My breathing is still ragged when the snake uncurls. It slithers lower, down over my abdomen. It drops down between my legs, and the feel of it sliding across my core is too violating. I shudder. My chest heaves, the fear dripping into my lungs icy cold. It freezes me from the inside out. My skin crawls—and my mind splinters.
I lean into the numbness, begging my brain to give up control. To not care that Steele is torturing me for his own sick pleasure, for payback. I just want to shut it off for a minute, or an hour, or a day. I just don’t want to be here anymore.
And my brain accepts.
The tears stop.
The shaking stops.
I stare at the ceiling—or where I imagine the ceiling to be, since I can’t see a thing—and wait. My body is cold, but I’m caught up in a floating sensation. Like I’m not really here, after all. I’m just watching this happen from far, far away.
When Steele finally reemerges, and the light flickers on, I don’t really notice it. My eyes ache as my pupils retract, but I don’t look away from the spot on the ceiling. It has a crack running through the paint, forking off in different directions. I can see it now, although I had already built the image in my head. I fixate on the cracks. Maybe the ceiling will split and come crashing down on us.
He leans over me, and I flinch when he touches me.
That’s what he wanted, right? To break me?
I think he succeeded.
19
STEELE
Aspen doesn’t respond to me. It’s like she can’t even hear me.
The snake is under the bed, but I ignore it. Its owner will be back to collect it later, and she can find it then.
I unfasten the cuffs around her ankles, tossing away the spreader bar and closing her legs. A shudder moves through her. I undo the gag next. Her teeth have dug into the rubber, indenting it, and she doesn’t open her mouth to release it right away. I touch her cheek and rub my finger along her jaw, coaxing her mouth open. I pull it out, and she wets her lips.
“Fire,” she whispers.
I go cold.
Fuck.
Fuck.
FUCK.
How long has she been trying to say that? How long has she been trying to bail out of this? I untie her wrists and let her cross her arms over her chest.
She’s still not here.
We’re in the extra bedroom. The empty one in the basement that Erik used to sleep in, where there are only high windows—easy enough to block with blackout curtains. It’s noon, but it feels like midnight.
I snatch the blanket from the floor and wrap it around her. I help her into a sitting position, but she’s like a rag doll. She leans against me, her cheek on my arm.
Her eyes are fucking vacant, and a chill settles into my bones.
“Come back,” I say in her ear, like that’s going to make any difference.
It doesn’t.
She blinks slowly, and she draws her legs up. Wraps her arms around her knees. She makes herself as small as possible, a little naked ball.
I pick her up like that, with her trying to curl into a fetal position, and carry her out of the basement. The blanket that covers her—barely—flutters behind me, still half caught on her body. There’s no one home today, I made sure of that. I pass by the couch in the living room, my tablet open to the night-vision-equipped video feed of the basement room.
I waited for her to snap, to struggle. I thought she would fight and scream—but instead, I think I watched her go into a panic attack. And I did nothing about it.
I grit my teeth and carry her upstairs. Her eyes are closed, her breathing shallow and quick. I set her down on the edge of my bed and grab a clean shirt and boxers. I do the shirt first, guiding it over her head and sliding her arms through the sleeves. She doesn’t fight me, or help me, or anything.
Boxers are next. Her skin is cool under my hands as I take each ankle and put them through, then drag the fabric up her legs. I help her stand and pull them the rest of the way up, and she sinks right back down onto the bed.
I guide her back and drag the covers up over her, tucking them in around her body.
And then… I don’t know what else to do. Leaving feels wrong.
Staying feels wrong, too.
But I want to understand, so I circle the bed and crawl in behind her. I drag her into my side and brush her hair out of her face, then drape my arm over her hip.
And I watch her breathing even out, and she disappears into sleep. I try to join her, but I only manage a few hours before I have to get up. I leave her curled in bed and step outside, checking my phone.
It’s blowing up. Texts from Violet, from Willow. Everyone demanding to know where Aspen is. I reply that she’s fine, that she’s with me, although my gut squirms. I’m not sure she is fine. Or that she’s here with me, at all.
I grab a few water bottles from the fridge and head back upstairs. I can hear sound coming from Knox’s room, and more from Miles’. Good to know they’re back, I guess. I turn my phone off and head back into my room, setting the water within Aspen’s reach. I keep the lamp on my side of the bed on, because if she wakes up in dark again… it just doesn’t seem like the best idea. Then I settle in behind her and doze off, waiting for her to come back to me.
Because she has to.
Right?
When she eventually wakes, she panics. She flails, and it takes me a second too long to reach for her. Her knuckles catch my cheek. The force cuts my cheek against my teeth, and the metallic taste of blood fills my mouth. I catch her wrists and force her upright.
Her chest heaves, her eyes wild.
She snarls at me.
I shove the blankets off us. They slide onto the floor, leaving both of us sitting without protection. She curls her legs under her, and I mirror her. Until we’re both kneeling on the bed, her wrists in my grip.
But then I release her.
“Show me how you feel,” I demand.
She launches at me. I guess I should’ve expected it, but she bowls into me and knocks me off-balance. We crash to the side, and she propels us off the bed. I land hard on my back, and it takes a second for air to return to my lungs. As soon as I do, though, she’s on top of me. She wraps her hands around my throat and squeezes, cutting off my air.
My heart thrashes as I look up at the gorgeous girl straddling my chest.
I rub my hand along her bare thighs.
Best not to tell her that I’m harder than a rock right now, and I wouldn’t even mind this death.
My lungs sear. I resist the urge to knock her off me. She won’t kill me—and I deserve this. She finally releases her tight grip, and I take a gasping breath. She drags her nails down my throat. Pain follows.
I can’t seem to tear my gaze off her face. She’s furious.
Rightly so.
I hold her hips and move her backward, off my chest, and my erection brushes her ass.
Her brows furrow.
“Show me how you feel,” I say again. “Everything.”
She lets out a little noise, a roar too small for the animosity she feels, and tears my shirt down the middle. I stare at it, then her. There’s blood on her fingernails. The wetness pools on my throat, and a drop of it slides down toward my neck.
I move my hands to her thighs. She inches backward and frees my cock from my sweatpants and boxers. She fists it and strokes me once, twice. She’s fucking brutal, but my balls tighten in reaction all the same. The pain and lust feel good wrapped up together.
But there’s something missing.
I grip her chin without warning, dragging her face toward mine. I sit up at the same time and force her mouth open.
I spit into her mouth.
She stares at me. Those green eyes are going to be the death of me, because her jaw works. Not swallowing, though. She rips free and leans down, letting her spit and mine drip onto my dick.
Now wet, her fist glides easier. She runs her thumb over the tip with every stroke, seeming entranced by it.
When my hips thrust, she stops.
“You know what I want?” she whispers, her voice so much deeper than usual.
I shake my head.
For now, I’m her captive. It won’t last. Our power balance will right itself again, eventually. But if this helps her…
She stands over me and pulls the boxers down her hips. I get a view up her legs to her pussy—and an even better view when she kneels again. Fuck, I want her on my mouth. So I slip between her legs and drag her down over my face.
The noise she makes is cute—and she tries to lift off me. But I’ve got her in my hold now, wrapping my hands around her thighs and urging her lower. She’s still resisting, though. Her pussy is right there. She’s wet, too. I see it, I smell it.
“Sit,” I order her, licking my lips.
“Steele—”
“I swear to God, Aspen, sit on my face right now.”
She slowly gives in, and I’m greeted with her cunt on my face. I tip my head back and lick her, groaning at the taste. She’s like candy, which is fucking weird, but I can’t explain it. I thrust my tongue into her, and she jolts. She’s tense, her hand bracing on the bed, until I get to her clit.
Then she whimpers.
I’m fucking addicted to that sound.
I do it again, and again, swirling my tongue around the sensitive nub, until she gives in and grinds against my face.
I let go of her thigh and add my hand to the party, pushing two fingers into her. She cries out and moves faster, getting herself off on my face and my fingers. My cock twitches, wanting in on the action, but I focus on the sounds she’s making above me.
All at once, she goes still. Her pussy clenches down on my fingers, pulsing, and I lick at her clit until she sags forward. She crawls off me and curls into a ball, staring at me with a mixture of hate and confusion.
I climb to my knees and fist my cock. It demands my attention, and I stroke it slowly. It’s still wet from her spit, and mine.
Her gaze lingers on my neck. The scratches she left behind are burning slightly, so I can only imagine what they look like.
“Tell me,” I order. “What do you need?”
Show me how you feel. Give me what you want.
Tell me what you need.
I’ll get to the root of her.
When she shakes her head, it isn’t good enough. It isn’t enough. I shake my head back, frowning at her. She has to know that this is our fucked-up way of making things right, of figuring out a solution. Naked. Hot. Angry.
I don’t do apologies—and neither does she.
Besides, an apology would be a lie.
“Aspen.”
Her name makes her eyes close.
“I don’t need anything from you,” she says.
I scoff. I rise, my dick still pointed straight at her. Always at her, like a fucking beacon. I knew from that first day that she was special, and hell. She is.
“Yes, you do,” I growl. I offer her my hands.
She hesitates, but she takes them.
I pull her to her feet and shed the scraps of my shirt still on my arms. I kick off my boxers that were trapped under my balls, not really hiding much of anything.
She plucks at the shirt she’s wearing, and I wonder if she’s trying to decide what it is she needs. And honestly, at this rate? I’d give her anything she asks for, do anything she said.
I’m a sucker, and the tears still on her cheeks are just making things worse.
“I need you…” She bites her lip and steps closer, her hand wrapping around my cock again. Fisting it and sliding her hand up and over my head, then pushing back toward the base.
“You need me to what, sweetheart?”
Her fingers touch my balls. Cups them with her free hand while stroking me, and I don’t know why the light suddenly in her eyes has me all twisted up.
“I need you to go fuck yourself, Steele.” She steps back and grabs my forgotten sweatpants, dragging them up over her legs. She leaves me standing naked in the middle of my room and disappears out the door.
20
ASPEN
My uncle is waiting outside Steele’s house. I climb in without comment, securing the seat belt around me and folding my arms over my chest. I feel… raw. I walked out without shoes, without my clothes. Steele’s sweatpants are baggy around my legs, even my waist. He really is bigger all the way around, and that should make me feel good about myself.
