Twisted Obsession

by Iris Ann Hunter

  A devious shiver permeates my skin and I force my eyes to his. “Try me.”

  He says nothing, does nothing, but stare down at me, a set expression on his beautiful, tortured face. I sense a wall going up. A wall he’s putting in place either to protect himself, or to protect me. Instinct tells me it’s the latter. My heart sinks, fearing he’s going to treat me different now that he knows about my past.

  “Please,” I whisper. “Don’t treat me like I’m weak. Don’t treat me like I might break. It only makes me feel like I will. Treat me like I’m strong. Treat me like I’m brave.” Because then I might actually feel that way.

  My words reach him, forcing his lips apart. He studies me for long, tense moment. “Alright, Amelia,” he says, sliding a searing hot hand behind my neck. “Let’s see how brave you are.”

  CHAPTER TWO

  He leads me to the sofa and sets me down, then takes a seat on the wooden coffee table directly across from me. My body feels hot, tingly, unsure where he’s headed with all this. His fingers reach out, grazing over my legs, skimming along the hem of my dress. “Tell me something first,” he says, eyes piercing through me. “Have you ever been with a man?”

  A nervous lump forms in my throat, preventing my response. I wasn’t expecting something so…direct. I look away, unable to stop the embarrassment that spreads along my cheeks. I shake my head, wondering if my inexperience is really that obvious.

  His hand guides my eyes back to his. “It’s nothing to be ashamed of, Amelia.”

  I stare at him for a moment. If he knew why I was still a virgin, then he might rethink his words. “How did you know?”

  He cocks his head and runs a thumb along my lower lip. “I could see it anytime I got close to you. I could see it in the way your breath would catch, the way your hands would tremble.” He pauses. “I could see it in the way your bottom lip would quiver. Just like it does now.”

  “It’s not fear,” I say quickly, feeling a strange urge to defend myself. His gaze narrows, knowing full well he’s caught me in a little lie. “Okay. Maybe it is a little,” I admit. “But it’s more nerves than anything…and…well, you.”

  He studies me for a moment, then his hands move back onto my thighs, resting just over my knees. He moves his thumbs back and forth, stoking my pulse with every swipe. “I wish I could say I don’t want your fear, Amelia…but I do. It does things to me. Every nervous twitch of yours, every time you shy away or take a shallow breath around me, it makes me hard. If you knew all the things running through my mind right now—all the disturbing ways I want to make you come—you’d probably be terrified.”

  I heat like lava when his words coil and echo inside my ears. Perhaps this would send some women running away, but all it does is send me running towards him. They’re words that hit a spot deep inside me, sending my body into a tailspin.

  Just like his words do.

  I’m staring at my hands, taking in little gasps of air when he takes me by the wrist, and with a quick tug, I find myself on my knees, between his legs. His finger lifts my chin, bringing my eyes to his. “How brave do you feel now, Princess?”

  “I—I’m not sure. But…” I try to turn away, but his grip keeps me in place.

  “But what?” he prods.

  I lick my lips, then swallow. “But…I don’t mind being afraid…with you. I—I like it.”

  His pupils dilate before me, darkening his gaze. “Does it excite you?”

  The only response I can manage is a slight, jerky nod against his hand.

  He stares at me, then lets my chin go and takes in a deep breath, releasing it in a sigh. Something in the way he does it makes me wonder if he had hoped my answer would be different.

  “Is that wrong?” I ask, my voice sounding small.

  “No. It’s not wrong.”

  “Then what is it? Why do you seem…disappointed?”

  He blinks slowly. “I’m not disappointed, Princess. I’m concerned.”

  “Why?”

  He leans down and takes my hands into his. “I tell you I like your fear. You tell me being afraid excites you. Where do you think that will lead us, hmm?”

  I’m near breathless, feeling on the verge of some precipice that drops off into a shadow world of fantasy that for years has only existed in my mind…has only existed with someone else.

  I open my eyes and look up into his, then offer the truth. “Someplace dark, I hope.”

  The slide of his thumb along my hand freezes. He stares down at me, so intently I find myself shrinking. “Be careful what you wish for, Princess.”

  My body’s trembling, I can feel it. But then, in a way, that’s what he wants. Yet I can see genuine concern in the way he regards me, as though torn between feeding these twisted desires and wanting to protect me at the same time.

  “Tell me,” he says, “what is it you like about that little red book of yours?”

  My mouth falls open slightly and I look away, fever branding my cheeks. I shrug weakly and look down. “I don’t know. The submission I guess. Having someone take care of you, control you, pleasure you…hurt you.” My voice sounds breakable. Talking about this feels like peeling off layers of skin, but still the words come. “Feeling like you belong to someone, not just as a girlfriend, or even a lover, but something more…something deeper, more intimate.”

  There’s silence around us. I want to curl up into a ball and hide, but he pulls me back to him with a tender squeeze of my hands. When I meet his eyes, my lungs empty. He’s gazing at me with such understanding that I blink. Then blink again.

  “What if I said I wanted you to belong to me, in that exact way?” A shadow sweeps along his face as I stare at him, feeling the rush of his words fill my body. “But there’s something you should know up front, Amelia.” His lips tighten and his eyes drop, as though heavy with shame. “I’m a sadist,” he says, barely audible under his breath. He looks up at me, with an almost helpless resignation. “A true sadist. Do you know what that means?”

  All I can do is shake my head.

  He lets the silence simmer for a moment, then continues, his voice low. “It means I need to inflict pain, in one form or another, to get aroused.”

  I’m trembling, but I’m also wet. In fact, I’m dripping. Words slide along my tongue, desperate to be free, but deep down I’m scared to let them go. I try swallowing them away, but they stay, determined. So I close my eyes, and mutter, “I’m not afraid of pain.”

  I feel him lift my hand to his lips, and he kisses my scars. “I know, baby.”

  My eyes open wide. “You do?”

  “Call it…intuition.” He looks down at my wrists, then his knowing gaze returns to mine. “Do you still hurt yourself?”

  Tears well but I tuck them away. I look down and nod. Yet another secret revealed.

  “Look at me,” a deep, gentle voice whispers.

  I open my eyes, gazing up at Daniel, unable to hide all the hope, fear and yearning layered along my face.

  He frowns and cradles my head in his hands. “If I was a stronger man, I would let you go. Spare you. But I’m not. I want you, Amelia. I want you to be mine. All mine.” His eyes shade, darkening as he leans forward. “Say it. Say that you’re mine, here and now.”

  “I…” Oh God. I suddenly find myself torn. If I say I’m his, really his, it means letting go of someone else. I haven’t prepared myself for that. But I want to be Daniel’s. I want it so much. I close my eyes, unable to meet his stare. “I—I’m…yours.” My voice sound hesitant, shaky.

  When I open my eyes, he’s staring at me, his face tight, almost pained. “Why don’t I believe you?”

  I cast my eyes away, ashamed.

  “Look me in the eye and say it again,” he demands.

  His hand brings my gaze to his. I blink, trying to force back tears. “I’m yours.”

  I watch his eyes narrow, watch his dark brows slash across his face. “I still don’t believe you.”

  What do I say? How do I ex
plain this? I can’t. I don’t know how. Not without losing him.

  He closes his eyes in frustration, but when he reopens them, he appears calmer. “I see I have some work to do.” His hands leave my face to rest along his thighs. “Spread your knees apart.”

  Arousal pools between my legs as I do as he says, acutely aware his eyes follow every movement, every twitch of my body. He takes my hands and places them just under my dress. “Touch yourself.”

  I swallow hard, desperate for his touch, not mine. My hands grip his before they leave my legs, begging for them to stay, but he pulls away and instead, cradles my head once again.

  “Touch yourself,” he repeats, this time with force as he levels his eyes on me.

  And just like that, I yield to his power. My hands drift further under my dress while he caresses my cheek, watching my face. I let my fingers slide past my panties, into swollen, aching flesh and a gasp leaves my mouth as soon as I make contact.

  Instantly my eyes close, but a firm, “Look at me,” brings them back open. He holds my head, eyes locked on mine, while I begin to draw pleasure from my body. I try to kiss him, but he holds me firm, denying me, his lips just inches away. My body arches in protest, but his refusal feeds my fingers and they move faster and faster. Moans leave my mouth, while I watch him as he watches me. I watch his breath come and go from his lungs, watch his face tighten with arousal as I writhe before him.

  I feel his left hand thread firmly into my hair while his right hand drifts down and lingers at my throat. Gradually, his fingers spread out and consume my neck, all the while, his eyes never leaving mine. He watches me as his grip tightens, as my breath become more and more ragged.

  My eyes widen in slight panic and I whimper, causing his grip to loosen.

  “Do you trust me?” he asks.

  “Yes, sir.” The words come out so naturally, so effortlessly.

  His eyes blacken before me, while a spark ignites, fueling a shadowy current that begins to seep all around me. Fear and desire mingle, my body acutely aware of the potent hold he has over me, which begins to tighten once again. The more breath I am denied, the more my nerves ache and swell as I search his eyes, begging, pleading. I want more. Need more. But he only watches, silent, his power quietly restrained and so controlled, while my own fingers move furiously beneath my dress.

  I am at his mercy. Willingly. Wantonly.

  Take my breath.

  Take me.

  The hand the rested in my hair moves down and grazes along my left nipple. It hardens just as his fingertips clamp around it, crushing it in a vice-like grip. A whimper tears from my strangled throat, the fire spreading quickly, all consuming, branding me with pain, with pleasure. The fever spikes and my body screams, forcing me to cry out in blissful agony. His strong hand tightens, closing my throat, holding my eyes firmly to his as I come. Between my strangled gasps, I hear him groan while I shudder before him, delirious, my breath slowly dying down to nothing. Finally, he releases me and air floods my lungs.

  I close my eyes, feeling his hands move along my face, feeling his thumbs caress my blazing cheeks while my body slacks in the aftermath. I’m dizzy, a little light-headed. Euphoric.

  “Thomas,” I breathe.

  It’s not until I feel his hands freeze along my face that I realize what I’ve done.

  Oh God.

  I wince, then open my eyes to see him staring at me, his face pale. His hands leave me.

  “I—I’m—so sorry,” I gush. “I—I don’t know…why—why that—”

  He does nothing but stare at me. I can see the would bleeding out all over his face.

  With a rush, I stand, losing my heels in the process, and tear to the bookshelf with wobbly legs. I take the book in hand, The Dark Descent , the one he pulled out earlier, and return to the sofa. It’s odd—revealing my suicide attempt doesn’t feel as revealing as what I’m about to say. I show him the book cover and run my finger along the author’s name, Thomas Holden. “You asked me if I was a fan. Obsessed fan is more accurate. I—I should’ve been more honest with you.”

  He looks at the book, then back to me, but still says nothing.

  “He’s the one I was talking about…when I said there was someone who helped me after…after what happened.” I turn to the book, every crease, every wrinkle on the cover staring at me like a long lost moment in time. I face Daniel again, desperate to erase his pain. “This book saved me,” I start, struggling to figure out how to explain this…how to explain why I would utter this man’s name in place of his. “The things he wrote, the darkness he revealed; it was all so familiar, as though every word he put on those pages was for me. I just felt like he knew me. Understood me. At a time in my life when no one else did. I guess…I guess you could say I became infatuated with him. Even perhaps a little in love with him.”

  I look back at Daniel, who sits there, his face a blank, dark mask.

  “But it’s a fantasy,” I continue with a nervous rush of breath. “That’s all it is. That’s all it can be. I don’t know anything about him, other than what he writes, and what I write to him.”

  His eyes narrow slightly.

  Shit!

  With a hard swallow, I look away. “He’s never written me back. Not once.” I pause, the words a harsh scrape along my tongue. “I suppose I latched on to him, or the idea of him, after what happened. And then when I saw what was happening to him after his first book came out—when everyone went crazy trying to figure out who had written this best-seller under a pen name—I was afraid he wouldn’t write anymore. I don’t know why I assumed he wouldn’t want that attention. Maybe something in the way he wrote, the way he crafted his characters, made me think he wasn’t into fame and fortune. In fact, something in me suspected he feared it…feared the spotlight, you know? So that’s when I started writing to him, offering bits and pieces of my soul, of my intimate thoughts, of my darkest fantasies. He had laid his soul out on those pages and…I wanted to give him something back.” I don’t mention that I wrote to him weekly, sometimes daily, or that I still do. I don’t mention that the reason I’m still a virgin is because I’ve been saving myself for him…for a fantasy. It’s too neurotic. Too revealing. And way too depressing.

  I sigh. “So here I am, eight years later, and I guess…I guess I’m still sort of hung up on him.” I glance down, absently knotting my hands together over the book, feeling as though I’m delivering a confession to a stone-faced priest who’s trying hard not to judge. But in many ways, it feels good to unload this secret. It’s a deep, dark secret I’ve carried with me for so long. I chuckle suddenly, and sadly. “I never even cared that all his books, except the first one, had the dedication, For Her .” I shake my head. “It’s pathetic I know.” I look back to him, but the intensity of his gaze overwhelms me and so I look down at the book in my lap, feeling vulnerable…and deflated…and so damn heartbroken over what I’m about to say next. “If you want, you can leave. You don’t have to stay. I’ll understand if you don’t want to see me anymore.”

  My eyes well with tears and I move to stand, to get some distance from the man before me, but he grabs my wrist and makes me sit.

  He looks at me, studying me for a long uncomfortable moment. “This thing Amelia, that you have with him—this obsession—are you going to be able let it go?” He hesitates. “Because I can’t compete with a fantasy. I won’t. With me, it’s real life, with real challenges. Do you understand what I’m saying?”

  His voice is stern, solid, but there’s no mistaking the tenderness behind it.

  I nod, a large lump forming in my throat. A tear spills over and his gaze drifts to my cheek, watching it slide down. He reaches out and strokes it with his thumb.

  “Perhaps you should take some time and think about it,” he says in a quiet voice.

  The words sound foreboding and I stare at him blankly. “I—”

  “Amelia,” he breathes. “I’ve fallen for you in ways you can’t imagine. What I said earlier about
wanting you to be mine, I meant. I meant it with every breath in my body. But before we go any further, I need you to let him go. For me. For you. For us.”

  Tears spill freely onto my cheeks now. Perhaps the idea of letting go of a fantasy in place of the real thing would seem like a no-brainer to some, but to me, the extent of my crush on Thomas has infected every part of my life. He is so engrained into me and to who I am, that he has been the ruling force in my lonely world, for so long. And leave it to Daniel to figure this out.

  I reach for him, but he catches my hand in his and slowly brings it to his lips. He holds it there, running his lips back and forth along my skin.

  “I’m sorry,” I say again.

  He finally looks up, his gaze a bit weary. He smiles, but it’s a sad smile. “I’m going to leave now, but…before I go, I want to give you something. Something to remember me by as you fall asleep tonight.”

  “What do you mean?”

  His hands release mine, his eyes shading over with something I can’t quite make out. “Turn around and kneel over the couch.”

  I blink, trying to figure out where he’s going with this.

  “Now, Princess.” He points to the floor, gaze sharpening.

  Once more, I’m on my knees. “What are you going to do?” I ask.

  “I said turn around.”

  Slowly, I do as he says until I’m bent over and my head and chest are resting on the seat cushions.

  “Now hike up your dress and show me your bottom.”

  A little squeak escapes my mouth, but I lift up the delicate white fabric, exposing myself and the white lace underwear.

  I hear a soft groan from behind me. “Pull down your panties.”

  My body heat spikes, triggering a ripple of nerves through every part of me. Slowly, I hook my fingers into my panties and push them down so they’re resting at my knees.

  Then his hands are on me, roaming over the curves of my ass. His touch drifts low, fingers grazing along my neatly trimmed sex. I gasp and moan, his caress so intense it steals my breath.