Brutal Obsession (41)

I’m swallowed by the forest, where the air is colder. It’s lit intermittently by glass lamps on wrought-iron posts. They give off just enough of a glow to illuminate a small circle around each one. It doesn’t touch the pockets of darkness in between.

My fear spikes, adrenaline bleeding in with it.

I should be scared—I know what Greyson is capable of. My stride lengthens, but I won’t win this race. He’s in shape. Tall. Strong.

He draws closer. Relentlessly closer. Thump, thump, thump.

I can’t tell if that’s my heartbeat in my ears or his footsteps.

All I know is that this is worse than walking into the locker room, because I don’t know if he’s serious. I don’t know which version of him I’m going to get when he catches me.

I veer off the path, crashing between two shrubs. The long branches snatch at my clothes and hair, and fallen twigs snap under my sneakers. I push myself faster, weaving between trees. If I can’t outpace him, I might be able to outmaneuver him.

But that proves false, too. He tackles me out of nowhere, and we crash to the ground. My hands slide in the dirt and pine needles, my teeth clack with the force of the fall. I dig my nails in, trying to get purchase, but he grips the back of my head and forces my head down. My cheek rubs the dirt. The earthy scent fills my nose.

I scramble, still trying to break free, when something heavy presses into my lower back.

I let out a strangled whimper.

He yanks my leggings down. I’m slick with sweat, collecting pieces of leaves and needles as I squirm on the ground. He pins my legs together, and the sound of his zipper going down is my undoing.

He’s going to fuck my ass.

I let out a shriek, doing my best to try and twist around. He grunts, and his fingers dig into my hair. He lifts my head and slams it back down.

Stars burst in front of my vision, sparking in the darkness. The noise in my throat dies to a small cry, and my chest heaves. Simultaneously, I’m surprised by the violence—and not. Heat rushes through me, fire pooling under my skin and between my legs.

I can say stop.

I shift, my mouth opening and closing. I don’t want to say it—not yet. I’m running purely on adrenaline and instinct.

He runs his finger through my wetness, shocking me into silence. His throaty chuckle is the only warning before he grips my hips, pulling them up slightly, and slams into me. Not my ass—thank god. His thighs bracket mine, keeping my legs pinned together.

The friction of him sliding into me is too much, and I moan. Fucking hell, I shouldn’t want this. I push up, but he collects my wrists and pins them behind me. He torques one of my arms up, and I fold back into the ground. Pain travels up my arm, pulsing into my shoulder.

But then he moves faster. He hits a spot deep inside me, drilling into it like a wild animal.

That’s what we’re reduced to—animals fucking in the forest.

I pitch myself to the side, throwing him off balance, and get free long enough to burst up. My leggings around my knees don’t give me much time to move, and Greyson is on me in a flash.

His fingers tangle in my hair, and he rips my head back. I crash into his chest, and he walks me forward. Into a tree. The rough bark scratches my cheek, my throat, my chest. And then he yanks my hips back again, and I grip the trunk to keep from falling over. My skin burns.

I close my eyes as pleasure and pain spark and tangle together, until I can’t tell which is which. He grunts, not bothering to touch my clit or try to get me off. My orgasm is building slowly with every thrust of his cock against my G-spot, but it isn’t enough to tip me over the edge.

He pounds into me with renewed energy, and stills all the way inside me. He groans and leans forward. His forehead touches my shoulder.

Without speaking, he pulls out and steps back.

Immediately, I feel the wetness between my legs. He came in me without a condom.

Again.

I say a quick thank you to my mother, who forced me to start taking birth control when I turned seventeen. She didn’t want any grandchildren. Said I was still a child myself, and she’d end up doing all the raising.

Greyson’s knuckles ghost along my chin when I finally push myself upright. He’s lost the malice and anger in his expression, so much so that I want to ask him what tonight means to him. It doesn’t feel like it has a lot to do with me.

Maybe only a little.

He yanks my leggings up, snapping the waistband into place, and leans forward. I don’t expect him to kiss me, but he does. His lips touch mine softly, briefly, before he pulls back.

A silent thank you? Does he even know how that works? My bet would be on no. The rich boy has probably never uttered those words—or please—in his life. Because of his personality, for one, and also because he’s a dick.

I guess those two might be the same thing.

“Do you get it?” He brushes his thumbs along my hips, just above the waistband of my pants. “Do you understand better now?”

Yes, I think I do. The anger inside him needs an outlet.

My teeth are chattering. His eyes narrow, and it only seems to register with him now that it’s the middle of fucking January. He grabs his jacket from the ground and guides my arms through the sleeves. He takes care zipping it up, lingering between my breasts. He must’ve shed it beforehand. An earthy smell, plus a spice that I’ve been associating with Greyson, surrounds me. And warmth. Here I was, racing through the woods in a sweat-dampened t-shirt and leggings, like a dumbass.