Secret Obsession: Chapter 16

She’s infuriating.

Being inside her is the most wicked thrill. Like I’m doing something wrong—well, I am—and right at the same time. My blood sings with harmony.

Until she tells me to fuck her.

And then I see the awful, cold truth of it.

Sex, to her, means leaving.

Or maybe, in a more complicated manner, sex leads to sleep, which is when my brother would always slip out of the room. That’s how I found her, more often than not. Sleeping in his bed while he drank downstairs.

I don’t want to psychoanalyze it, but I do think it broke something in her.

Something deep and dark that she doesn’t even realize.

Okay, maybe I do want to psychoanalyze her.

Maybe I’ve been doing it for a long fucking time.

But it’s mid-morning. We’re not going to sleep—but there is a chance that I’d leave after I come inside her again. That’s what she’s thinking.

“Miles.” Her hand slips higher, up my arm, to my neck. Then my jaw. Her fingers are featherlight on my face.

Loathing rips through me.

I can’t stop it—and I don’t even try.

I pull out of her and drop her feet to the floor. Her knees give a little, and only my hands on her forearms keep her upright. I turn away from her and shove a chair. It topples over with a crash.

“Fuck!” I yell.

I stalk back to the bedroom. To my pants, neatly folded on top of her chair of forgotten clothes, and yank them on. At the last second, I find her panties and clean my dick with them. A mix of her arousal and my cum soaks through the thin, sheer fabric.

A present for her to find later.

Jeans buttoned. I grab my shirt and almost, almost put it on. Instead, I grip it harder and stride back to where I left her.

She seems frozen and unsure, and fuck, naked and timid Willow is just as big of a turn-on as the fearless wildling that parties too hard and puts on an excellent bravado.

The thing is, neither of them are the real her.

I guide her arms through my shirt, then her head. While I have her limp, I undo the remaining ribbon from her wrist and slip it in my pocket. Fuck that corset—she’ll wear it in my bedroom and nowhere else.

What I should’ve done was find her panties, or sweats, or something… but my shirt hangs down to mid-thigh on her, and my dick twitches at the sight.

Again.

I mean, I kind of blue-balled myself and her just now…

“What are you doing?”

I don’t know.

I ignore her question and go back to her room. This time, she follows. I rifle through her drawers and hold up a mess of hot-pink lace.

“What is this?”

She chokes.

I face her, my brows furrowing. “Why is it all… what is it?”

Her face turns red. “Um… crotchless panties?”

“What?”

“They were a gag gift. You know…” She shrugs. “For easy access.”

I’m intrigued. I stuff them back in the drawer, resolved to revisit that idea later. She has a shit ton of thongs, which would display the bruise on her ass nicely. See, thinking about that has my mind slipping back toward fucking her senseless.

But then I register the gift part of her statement.

“Who the fuck is giving you panties?”

She laughs.

Laughs.

“Pretty sure it was Thalia.”

My brows furrow automatically.

Her smile drops. “Aspen’s roommate? You’ve met her on more than one occasion…”

Right. “Sure.” I snag a black pair that look like normal underwear and toss them at her. No bruised ass on display or piece of string wedged up her ass.

“These are my period undies,” she mutters. “Can I—” She steps up next to me and hooks her finger around a neon-green string thong. Like, there’s a minuscule triangle of fabric, but—that’s it.

“Why would you wear that?”

“To make you uncomfortable,” she replies. “Is it working?”

I clench my jaw. “No.”

“You deserve to be a little uncomfortable. I’m going to shower.” She disappears out the door, and the bathroom door slams a second later.

I ball my fists, then force myself to exhale. My hand automatically finds the folded knife in my pocket, and I pull it out. I flip it open and run my thumb over the blade, trying to gain control over my emotions again.

She’s infuriating.

You already thought that, a voice in my head reminds me.

Well, she is.

I don’t know how much time passes as I just stand there, contemplating what I am going to do with her. She’s like a wild animal right now, half-feral, and my instincts are screaming at me to tame her.

To lock her down, bit by bit.

“You kept it?”

My gaze lifts. Her hair is wrapped up in a towel, my t-shirt back on her body, and the neon-green panties out of sight. On her, I’d imagine. Although I shouldn’t imagine it, because it just makes me want to fuck her again.

And then I register what she’s talking about, and nod. “I took it apart and gave every piece of it a bleach bath. Don’t worry.”

“That’s not…” She takes a breath. “That’s not what I was worried about.”

“I’m not going to stab you,” I offer.

Not really the best thing to give her assurances, but whatever.

We stare at each other for a beat, and my mind goes to someone I would stab.

“Get dressed.” My voice snaps out of me. It’s colder than a moment ago, and Willow’s spine straightens.

For once, she doesn’t argue. I watch her pluck leggings from a drawer and then slide a CPU hoodie over my shirt. The fact that she doesn’t change out of it soothes a broken part of me. The part that had to endure her wearing Knox’s number on her cheeks, or his jacket, or his shirts when she would sleep over—

“Where are we going?” Her cheeks are rosy, her eyes wide. No makeup on her face anymore. It gives her a surprisingly youthful appearance. She could pass for a college freshman.

I don’t answer her question, but I do offer my hand.

For a split second, I think she’s going to take it. She certainly looks at it long enough. But she strides past me instead, and my gut churns. I follow her out the door, sliding on my shoes and shrugging my jacket on over my bare chest.

Am I an idiot for giving up my shirt in the middle of winter…? Maybe. But the thought of Willow wearing it instead will keep me warm.

I zip my jacket up most of the way. On the street, I take her hand and lace her fingers with mine, not giving her a choice in the matter. My knife is back in my pocket, my keys now in my free hand. She doesn’t say a word when I open her door for her and close her in, then round to the driver’s side.

My car is cold. Willow turns the heat up all the way, shivering into her hoodie.

“Where are we going?” she asks again.

“Patience,” I grunt.

She sighs.

I check my phone, then we’re off. The closer we get to the other apartment, the faster my heart beats. My brother pulled some strings, got me some information—but he doesn’t know what I’m going to do with it.

And neither does Willow.

My nose fucking hurts.

I guess I didn’t think about it until now, but the vibrations of the car are making my eyes water. How pathetic is that?

She probably broke it. I felt the bones click back into place when I aligned it. I can’t remember how many scuffles I’d gotten into in hockey that resulted in someone breaking their nose. And our coach in high school was usually the one to set it before they went to the ER.

“Better to do it fast,” he always advised, forcing the kid to stand still as he gripped their nose.

At least it’s not bleeding anymore.

But I’m going to have two black eyes—and that’s going to be a great story that neither of us will be able to share. Willow’s eye is darkened, too, from Amanda’s shitty punches. We fucking match.

When I find the correct street, and then the brownstone building, Willow frowns. She doesn’t ask any more questions, though. I park. And then we’re at the front door of a brownstone, which has a list of names and corresponding buzzers.

Then the door swings open before I can hit one, or any, of the call buttons. It forces Willow back as a woman in a long coat sweeps past us. I lunge for the door and catch it before it closes, then hold it open for Willow.

She scowls at me.

So far, so good.

“I don’t know what we’re doing,” she whispers. “Where are we?”

“We’re just going up a level,” I say. I run my hand along her shoulder, brushing her hair to the side for access to her neck. There’s a hickey just under her ear from where I was sucking and nipping at it earlier… One day, I’ll cover her in them.

“I don’t understand.” Willow glances at me.

“You think I’m going to fuck you and run away.” I spit out the words.

She stiffens.

I grip the back of her neck, my fingers curling around and digging in. She shakes her head to deny it.

“You think so because my brother trained you to believe it’s what people in love do,” I argue. We climb the steps, and my hand doesn’t leave her neck. “I’m not faulting you for that. I’m just stating a fact.”

“It’s—”

“So, this is how it’s going to go.” We get to the right door, and I rap my knuckles on the wood. “I’m going to fuck you, and then I’m going to make sure you know I’m not leaving. No matter how much you might want me to do so.”

Willow grimaces.

“And I’m going to make sure you know that no other man is allowed to touch you.”

The door swings open.

“Willow?”

My hand slides free from her neck. Lost cause, anyway, as she stumbles backward. I launch forward, though. No time to waste.

I punch Ronan Pierce in the face as hard as I can.

Willow screams behind me, but the fucker in front of me has most of my attention. Not all of it. I think there’s a part of me that’ll always be focused on the girl at my back. He rocks back into his apartment, and for a moment, I lean forward like I’m going to follow.

Nah.

Instead, I manage to snatch the front of his shirt and haul him into the hall with us. I shove him against the wall beside his door and point at Willow. Her mouth is covered by her hand, her eyes wide and pupils dilated.

Fuck, she’s sexy.

“Do you see her?” I ask him in a low voice.

He eyes Willow, then jerks his head in a nod.

“No,” I correct. “You don’t. You don’t see her, and none of your friends will see her. If she’s sitting alone at the bar, you don’t fucking buy her a drink. If she’s sitting alone at lunch, you leave her be.”

Ronan licks his lips. “Didn’t realize she was your girl, Whiteshaw.”

I scowl. “Well, now you do.”

“Miles—”

I step back from him and turn to Willow. My knuckles ache, but I ignore it in favor of wrapping my arm around her shoulders.

“Now look at him, wild one,” I say in her ear.

She shivers. But she does it. She stares right at him.

“You accept a drink from someone other than me, and I’ll do a lot worse than this. And I’ll make sure you’re right there with me.” I kiss her temple and relax my grip.

She pulls away automatically, her brows furrowed. She doesn’t know what to make of it. But really, it’s not that hard to figure out.

I want her alone.

I want her isolated.

But I need her to learn that, of all the people in the world, and of all the fucked-up shit people will do to each other, I will never leave her.