A Lovely Obsession: The Complete Debt of Passion Duet

by Coralee June

  “Where are you taking me?” I asked in a soft voice.

  “To my cabin. Rosemary was the last of the people wanting to kill me, but I want to make sure she doesn’t have any lingering loyalists knocking on your door.”

  “Why do you need to keep me safe, though? Why do they want to hurt you—hurt me?”

  Hunter continued down the drive, his face downcast as he gripped the steering wheel. I could see the thoughts circulating in his mind. How I'd started to understand his mannerisms in such a short amount of time, I didn't know. But he was mulling over his answer with a vengeance. He was weighing the pros and cons of revealing his truth. I hadn't necessarily earned his trust, but I craved it all the same. I didn't want to be his best friend, I just wanted to understand him.

  He drove down the long drive, where extended, barren branches scratched the exterior of his Jeep. I bounced my leg on the floorboards, anxious about what had just happened and terrified to be back at his cabin. Would he force me to stay in that closet again? Would he lock me away as punishment for what I'd done?

  I didn't want to be alone. I felt disconnected from my mind, focusing on the problems that were easier to swallow so I didn't get swept away in the trauma of what had happened. I swayed in my seat, biting the inside of my cheek to force my fears at bay.

  Hunter pulled the car up to his drive and turned it off. The cabin looked different in the dark. The sight of Hunter’s secluded home in the woods made me shiver. It felt like death and secrets. It felt like Hunter.

  The wraparound porch was covered in dead leaves. Gravel covered the walkway, and when I got out of the car, a brisk chill coated my bones. It was colder up here in the mountains. The air felt icy, and the wind blew with a brutal intensity I couldn't shake.

  I wordlessly followed him to the front door in defeat, knowing that there would be consequences for what I’d done. He opened it with ease like he hadn't even bothered to lock it when he left. Once he turned the kitchen light on, I took a moment to observe his appearance. The shirt he wore looked wrinkled like he'd grabbed it off the floor and threw it on in a hurry. His hair was a wild mess, and his eyes looked whiskey bloodshot.

  “Were you asleep when…” my question trailed off. I couldn’t vocalize the second half of it. When I was almost kidnapped and killed.

  “No. I was watching you. Good thing, too,” he growled before going to the cupboard and grabbing a bottle of bourbon. I watched as he methodically took a swig directly from the bottle. “Didn’t take long to find you, but I wish I would have shown up earlier.”

  “Why did they try to take me?” I asked.

  He let out a huff. “I'm an assassin, Roe.”

  Hunter dropped that bombshell of a revelation in my lap. He'd said it the same way you'd say normal things such as:

  We're out of milk, so I'll pick some up from the grocery store.

  I need to get my oil changed.

  I paid my taxes last year.

  I’m an assassin.

  Three simple words with destructive meaning. In some ways, I knew that Hunter wasn't normal. There was a danger about him that had always felt like clenching your teeth; I just didn't know how deadly he truly was.

  “So you kill people for a living,” I murmured.

  “I do. Are you scared of me now, Pretty Debt?”

  I swallowed his question and let it fester in my gut. Was I scared of him? I should be. My mother would have told me to run the fuck away. Maybe my answer stemmed from wanting to rebel against the fear my mother taught me to embrace, but I said it anyway.

  “No.”

  Hunter ran a hand through his blond hair and cursed under his breath. Fuck. He then turned around and slipped outside, leaving me standing alone in his kitchen with more questions threatening to burst at the seam of my lips. I wanted to know more about Rosemary, mainly if the things she said were true. I walked up to the window leading outside and placed my hand on the glass, watching outside as Hunter Hammond paced and punched the sky. He looked feral underneath the twinkling stars. He’d turn his face towards the cabin, and I’d be gifted with flashes of his murderous expression. He was furious, and I wished I could crawl into his soul and understand every nuance of it.

  After two hours of watching from his kitchen and feeling too scared to touch anything, I wandered through his house until I came across the bedroom I'd woken up just weeks ago. It looked the same. The midnight walls were still dark. The floor still had that rust-colored stain that made me now wonder if it was the blood of his enemies.

  Trembling and willing the terrifying thoughts away, I lay down on the mattress and curled my knees to my chest.

  I was almost kidnapped. I watched a woman die. A man, who knew my mother, is the reason these people want me.

  Shock was a fickle thing. It hit you like a bucket of ice water, lighting up your senses with a cold, harsh sort of reality. Round and round my mind went, circling through all the events that led to this moment. It all started with Hunter. It all ended with Hunter.

  I trembled on the bed as hours casually slipped by. I waited for him to return. I knew he would return. He had to return. I let my mind bubble with all the questions. I let my heart pound.

  I wasn't the type of woman to be easily impressed by gore. I numbed my soul so it wouldn’t destroy me like it did my mother. Hell, I'd pressed my own index finger to the too-still vein in her neck on my tenth birthday. I learned long ago to bury my trauma deep within my chest and let a rose bloom from the seeds of pain. But this was too much.

  The bedroom door opened, and I squeezed my eyes shut. I felt the small mattress dip and a hard body settle next to mine. Warm, muscular arms wrapped around my body, and I went completely still when hot lips pressed against my ear. “Little Debt, you're in so much trouble.”

  His words didn't feel playful or teasing. It felt like one wrong move and he'd wrap his massive hands around my throat and close, close, close—squeeze until the air in my chest turned to cement. “You scared me, Hunter,” I whispered before gnawing on my lip. “Where did you go?”

  Hunter squeezed me tighter before responding. “I went outside to sit for a bit and calm down so I didn't kill you,” he offered nonchalantly, like it was another one of those simple little sentences that didn't mean anything.

  “Do you want to kill me?” I asked. Maybe not facing his cold expression was making me bold, or maybe I just wanted to know how this ended.

  “It would make things a lot easier.”

  His answer made me sick to my stomach. I rolled over to face my stalker, cupping his stubble-covered cheek with my good palm while staring into his eyes. It was like I could see the entire world in its fucked up entirety at the edge of his nose. I stared until my eyes burned.

  “How did you know my mother?” I asked quietly.

  “What does it matter?” he replied.

  “I just want to know why I matter to you, Hunter. I want to make sense of this crazy connection. I want to know why you hate me so fiercely yet are protective. Just give me something, Hunter. Anything.”

  “It’s so wrong to want you, Roe,” he whispered. I'd expected a denial or maybe even more regret. I was holding my breath for the truth. But Hunter kissed me, instead.

  His lips were soft and insistent. He threaded his hand through my wild, caramel hair and groaned against my sealed lips. My leg wrapped around his hip, and I whimpered. We let go. We collided.

  We gave in.

  His sharp teeth tugged on my lip, pulling, pulling, pulling. I knew my bruised lips would forever feel his presence. His mouth worked to convince me that the truth was just a minor detail. His touch massaged me past the reserved rigidness of disbelief. He kissed and savored me. “You're my prettiest debt, Roe,” he whispered like a prayer over my altar lips. “When I saw you'd gone, it scared the shit out of me.”

  To emphasize his fear, he squeezed my neck, making my mouth pop open in lust. “They could have hurt you, Roe,” he whispered before kissing me again. His tongue exp
lored my open mouth, and our teeth clashed. It was messy and hot. We didn't look like two practiced lovers aching to kiss away the pain, we were exploratory sadists wanting to hurt with intent. “You’ve always been mine, you know. Since before you were born.”

  My mind went back to the photograph of my mother’s pregnant belly and Hunter’s pale, childish face.

  I didn't know how that made me feel. I was willing to explore this between us, but I needed more to work with. He didn't seem willing to tell me about our shared past, but maybe I could work more out of him in other ways.

  We stopped kissing, and I placed my ear to his chest, listening to the consistent beat of his rebel heart. “When did you become an assassin?” I asked.

  “So many questions,” Hunter breathed out while snaking his hand up my shirt. Resting his fingers on the clasp of my bra, he replied while working it free. “My first kill was when I was eighteen. My employer said I was a natural at it and let me do it again. And again.”

  His hand drifted to the front, and I gasped the moment he pinched my nipple between his index finger and thumb. “Do you want to be a killer?” I asked, my voice shaky. I wasn't sure if it was fear or lust making my words tremble, but I wasn't ready for the reality of that answer either.

  “When I first started, it felt like redemption. I had so much anger in me with no place to go. Now it just feels like a means to an end. It pays the bills. It keeps a roof over my head. It allows me to watch over you...” His words trailed off as his fingers traced lazy lines up and down my abdomen, each swipe leading lower and lower.

  “I guess you could say killing is in my blood. You were born nothing but a debt; I was born a murderer.”

  His words were dark and complex, everything stirring between us felt too complicated, too confusing. “So what does that make us together?” I asked.

  Hunter leaned forward and pressed his lips to my forehead, murmuring his response over me. His tone was full of haunting regret. “I'm still trying to figure that out. I'm going to kiss you until I do.”

  Hunter eased me out of my clothes, stumbling a bit to get my cast out of my T-shirt. He kissed the awkwardness of our movements away, lapping up my mouth with his tongue as he unbuttoned my jeans and helped me ease them over my thighs. I ran my hand under his hoodie and traced the lines of his stomach, begging him with my touch to undress, too.

  He undressed with taunting moves. Slowly, he shrugged out of his shirt. He unbuttoned his pants and made me watch as he shoved them off. His body was hot and slick with sweat. He smelled like the outdoors.

  Moving his lips to my neck, he then sunk his sharp teeth into my collarbone. I whimpered as he sucked on my creamy skin. He hovered over me, and I wrapped my legs around his body and lined up our sexes as he focused on the sensitive skin on my neck. His hard cock teased at my entrance. Hunter was so close to sliding all the way inside, but I wanted one last answer before I’d let him find a home in my cunt.

  “Tell me why you hate me, Hunter,” I pleaded between kisses. I knew that once our bodies were joined, there would be no going back. I’d need to cling to his hatred if I was going to survive this.

  “I hate you for many reasons, Roe,” he replied before thrusting inside of me with one harsh move. My eyes widened. My mouth dropped open in lusty shock. He felt so fucking thick. I was so full. “I hate you because we were destined to be together,” he began before sliding all the way out and slamming back into me.

  “Oh fuck,” I whimpered.

  “I hate you,” he began before sliding out again and pounding me with another punishing thrust. “Because you represent every bad thing that has ever happened to me, and you don’t even know why.”

  I wrapped my good arm around his neck and pulled myself up to a sitting position. Hunter stayed on his knees as I rode him. We gazed into each other's eyes as I moved. “I hate you,” he rasped before searing his lips to mine. We fought with our mouths. We shared unspoken remorse and a history I didn’t understand before he continued, “Because I wasn’t taught anything but hate. I know obsessions and pain. I wouldn’t know affection or care if it slapped me in the face, Roe.”

  I drank in the look of his hooded gaze. I bobbed up and down again, watching his eyes roll back, his lips part, his head tilt up in bliss as I waited for him to explain. “It’s wrong to want you, Roe. I was just supposed to protect you.”

  “It’s not wrong,” I moaned. He placed his palm against my chest and shoved me, sending me flying towards the mattress. In an instant, his mouth was on my left breast. His tongue was dancing around my nipple. He shoved apart my legs with his hand and started playing with my clit, running his rough thumb around it in circular motions timed perfectly to my pleasure.

  My back arched off the bed, and I moaned. “Fuck, Hunter.”

  “I don’t hate you, Pretty Debt. My obsession turned into something more.”

  He moved to suck on my neck, finding that sweet, sensitive spot and biting it. “More?” I asked, but I wasn’t sure if I wanted clarification on what he meant or if I wanted him to fuck me into oblivion. His touch wasn’t enough. I wanted to feel full again. I wanted to come on his cock.

  Hunter circled my clit faster and harder, coaxing a harsh orgasm out of me with ease. I cried out and bit his shoulder, riding the waves of ecstasy as he sucked on my skin. “More, Pretty Debt,” he replied before aligning us once more and sliding into me.

  He fucked relentlessly. He didn’t hold back. I felt how hard he wanted to deny this thing between us. I felt his determination to keep me safe. I felt his fear. I felt just how dangerous he was with each and every deliberate pound. Sweet heat made our movements slick, and the sounds of our slapping skin echoed around the small room. I cried out as loud as I could. There was so much energy and pleasure building between us with nowhere to go. Again and again and again he pounded. Another orgasm flooded me.

  I was so fucking sensitive to his touch, but he didn’t stop. He moved his hand to the apex of my thighs to circle my clit with his thumb. He wanted me to feel it all.

  Another thrust. Harder. Our slapping bodies fought for dominance. I writhed on the bed. Another orgasm, this one smaller, wrecked me. My body was exhausted, but Hunter didn’t seem close to stopping at all. I reached down to shove his hand away from me, but it just pissed him off.

  “You want me to stop?” he asked while grabbing my hand and moving it over my head. Pinning me to the mattress, he stopped fucking me to hear my answer.

  “I’m too sensitive,” I cried out. Hunter threaded his fingers through mine, then slowly slid in and out of me. I was so slick.

  “You feel too much,” he said, and I wasn’t sure if it was a question or not.

  “I do,” I replied as he moved faster and faster.

  Hunter smiled, that wicked smile that felt mischievous and dangerous all the same. “Feel my obsession, Roe. Feel it all,” he replied before finally letting go of all restraint and fucking me raw.

  He was fast, every muscle in his body tense as he drove into me. I cried out, the pleasure too much. In and out. Harder. Harder. Harder.

  Let your damage breathe.

  He fucked me until we both came. We were an explosion of bad decisions and compatibility. He grunted and gasped but never closed his heavy eyes. He watched me with every spurt of his cum. I felt filled to the brim with his release, and never wanted it to stop. He collapsed on top of me, and I wrapped my limbs around him, begging him to stay. I wanted to feel this connection forever.

  “Pretty Debt,” he whispered into my ear, his hot breath trailing across my skin.

  “Yes?” I asked.

  “I don’t hate you.”

  “I know.”

  HUNTER

  I watched her sleep this morning while counting all the ways I'd fucked up last night. I killed someone and left the mess for the police. Gavriel was pretty pissed but pulled some strings. Surprisingly, murder was one of the easier mistakes to cover up.

  I woke up knowing exactly what nee
ded to be done. This would probably be the last time I woke up holding Roe.

  I'd told Roe what I was. I spilled out my job title like it was nothing and watched as her faith in me slipped. The terror in her eyes taunted me. I liked finally getting through to her—finally showing her just what I was capable of. But it hurt, too. For the first time in my life, I didn't like feeling like a monster. I didn't like feeling ashamed. She claimed to not be afraid of me, but I saw the tremor in her lips. I saw the way her eyes widened and her skin turned pale. I was the type of man to insight fear, and there was no escaping the terror Roe felt.

  And then I held her. And then I kissed her and admitted that this fucked up dynamic between us had somehow shifted over the last couple of weeks, and I stopped seeing her as an obligation and more as this constant entity in my life.

  I fucked Roe. I slid inside of her and felt the way our bodies pulsed with intent. It was the most erotic sex I’d ever had, but I felt regret the next morning. We experienced a shift in our dynamic. She started to mean something to me in ways I hadn’t expected, and now I felt sick to my stomach.

  “Good morning,” she whispered the moment her sleepy eyes opened. She stared at me like I was deserving of being the first thing she graced those pretty deep pools of depth on.

  “How did you sleep?” I asked, though I knew damn well that she slept much better than I did. This bed was too soft, too small. I could feel all of Roe's inhales. Her breasts spent all night pressed against my chest, and I spent all night reminding myself to keep my hands still. Sex once could be written off as a mistake. Twice was intentional.

  “Okay,” she replied. “I'm surprised the police aren't knocking on your door, though. It feels like last night never happened...”