Secret Obsession: Chapter 14

First problem?

Ronan fucking Pierce.

I guess it was bound to happen eventually—Willow would think I was fucking kidding around about her avoiding guys. And I arrive at Haven on a high, knowing she’s there, only to find her drunk out of her mind and practically falling over the football jerk.

Mood ruined.

Second problem?

My brother.

I catch him watching Willow’s abrupt exit out of the bar, and then he goes to the front entrance. Ducks into the coat-check room and finds her jacket, because of course he knows exactly which one is hers, and leaves without a word.

It takes everything in me not to chase after them. But even my patience isn’t that good, and I last only a minute. I can’t hold myself back anymore. I stalk out of the bar and quicken my pace until I spot them, although it’s easy enough. They’re moving at a glacial pace, so I adjust mine, too. I don’t want to catch them—not yet.

Willow and him don’t really touch as they walk. She sways, and he steadies her every so often, but that’s it.

We make it all the way to her apartment, and it strikes me that Knox really should be more aware of his surroundings. I’ve been following half a block behind them since the bar, and—

He glances over at me and gives a half-wave behind Willow’s back.

I glower at him and step farther into the shadows. Last thing I need is for Willow to spot me, although that seems doubly unlikely with her drunk goggles on.

He has to unlock the door for her, then helps her upstairs.

I wait outside, until I get too cold—then I step into the first door and shut it behind me softly. I cross my arms and wait for my brother to reappear. He trots down the steps so fucking smug, I have to ball my hands into fists.

He stops beside me and pulls out his phone. Mine goes off a second later, and then he’s slipping past me into the snowy night.

My blood boils.

Willow, smiling like she’s never smiled at me before, in a corset that’s pushed her boobs up and together. Her lipstick is smeared, and it takes me a long moment to remember that it was my hand that did that, not from kissing my brother. Messy hair. Tight black shorts, the kind that she used to wear to dance practice, over those fishnet tights that make her legs look killer.

Fuck.

She let him see that?

Ronan was bad enough—but my brother is off-limits.

I pocket my phone. Once I’m in her apartment, I shed items. My phone on her dining table, my shoes by her door. My jacket on the back of a chair.

I find her in nearly the same position as the photo, except dead asleep. Her bedside lamp is still on—the only things that managed to come off so far are her dress and shoes.

Part of me doesn’t give a shit that she’s drunk.

The other part… well, does. Because I want her to remember our first time.

Although the sight of her like this is doing things to me, and my control has been fraying for weeks. It’s already cracked a few times, like yesterday in the basement.

My brother just wants to shove me over the edge, and I think Willow does, too.

I sit beside her on the bed. It dips and her weight shifts in my direction, but she doesn’t so much as stir. Her mouth is open, her breathing deep. I pull her shorts and fishnet tights off and push her onto her side.

Her ass cheek is purple and red, the handprint almost perfect. Right down to my fingers.

I put my hand over it, digging the pads of my fingers into her flesh.

She doesn’t react.

Makes me wonder if it hurts.

But then I register her thong. Another one, black this time. I drag it down and off her legs, and it joins the pile on the floor. I roll her to her back again. Her arm grazes my leg, and my throat tightens.

How can I want her so much, and hate her so much at the same time?

Once I undo the bow at the top of the corset, the rest is easy to loosen. Easier than my skates after a hard game. The ties are soft ribbons, and I change my mind about just loosening it—I keep tugging until the ribbon is pooled in my palm, and the corset gapes open.

Her breasts short-circuit my brain.

Holy shit.

I’m glad the light is on and that she’s not hiding herself from me. Because they’re perfect. Her nipples harden now that they’re in the open. I reach out and drag my finger down the center of her chest, resisting the urge to touch her more. Although, for the first time, she’s completely naked in front of me.

My gaze goes from her body to the ribbon, and I nod to myself.

A plan forms in my mind.

First, a way to claim her.

Then, a way to save her.

And when I’m done with her, I’ll turn my attention on the football player who thought he could get in her pants—and everyone will learn that she’s not available any longer.