Brutal Obsession (50)
It doesn’t take long.
How pathetic is that?
I’m strung so tight, he only has to touch me a few times for me to come apart.
He pounds into me as I come. I clench around him, my silent orgasm triggering his own. He grits his teeth and explodes inside me.
We both go still when someone yawns.
In the silence, I strain to hear their slow breaths as they fade back to sleep.
Greyson pulls out of me, and the noise is loud. Slick. His weight covers me. He stretches out on top of me, and he unlocks the handcuffs.
“Next time you don’t answer my text, I’m going to repeat this little game… but I might make sure someone else sees. I like this little game of you resisting, Vi.” He meets my gaze. Some of the ice has melted, but he’s still frigid.
I want to set him on fire.
“You and I have a meeting tomorrow morning. Ten o’clock.” He gives me a look. “With a publicist.”
I swallow.
“Remember your NDA. Remember what my father can do to you.” He analyzes my face.
Does my expression change? Do I show more fear when he mentions the senator? Because it’s true—no matter what Greyson does to me, there’s always a bigger threat.
Greyson hides behind his father’s name. He hides behind the money and the prestige, and even though he’s a psychopath… there are worse monsters.
Like his father.
His eyes narrow, but he doesn’t push it.
I don’t think he wants to know.
He shifts off me and pushes back up. His earlier threat registers, and a thrill goes through me. My mind is fucked if that makes me excited. If that is what I’m looking forward to.
So twisted.
I need my head checked.
I stay still until he’s gone, then slowly peel the tape off my mouth. I touch my lips. I count to one hundred in my head, then slowly rise. His cum is coated on my thighs, seeping out of me. My muscles ache when I stretch, and the room tilts.
Still buzzed.
And utterly confused.
Greyson is obsessed with me. It came out of nowhere—and I think my reaction to him has put my feelings into perspective, too. I’m not obsessed… but I am curious.
And turned on.
Shit.
Who knew I’d be this depraved? To enjoy when he fucks with my head, when he steals my breath, when he forces himself into me.
Jack was vanilla. Nice. He could make me come, which was a plus, but it wasn’t as earth-shattering as Greyson.
So now… I don’t know what to think.
Before, vanilla was good. I was content. There were only so many exciting things I could dedicate my time to, and ballet always won. Jack was the same, with football stealing a lot of his attention. He liked me cheering him on at the games, just as I liked it when he came to see the dance team.
Not that he ever came to a ballet…
Besides the point. Ballet was something he just didn’t get, like I didn’t understand why the clock had to stop every ten seconds in a football game.
Some things just aren’t worth explaining, Jack said on occasion.
I stretch and hunt down my sleep shorts that got tossed. I sneak into the bathroom, and when I come back, one of the girls is sitting up. She squints in the darkness.
“Violet?”
My heart thunders. “Yeah?”
“I thought I heard a noise…”
I swallow, my throat tightening. “I just had to pee. Sorry.”
She nods to herself and lies down. I do the same, pulling my forgotten blanket back over me. Amanda keeps her apartment warm, but I think I’ve caught a chill.
One thought keeps circulating in my head. If I’m becoming something new… where did the real Violet go?
22
GREYSON
Violet and Willow come out of Amanda’s apartment an hour before our meeting with the school’s publicist. My teeth have been grinding for the last ten minutes, but I refused to go pound on the door—or text her. Not when she couldn’t have been bothered to text me back yesterday.
Her indifference in the daylight irritates me. All week, she’s been acting like nothing is wrong. Like a former friend didn’t dump a drink over her head and then make out with me. Like she wasn’t hurt by that.
Maybe she wasn’t. Maybe Paris has always been the enemy, and she’s used to her behavior.
I could dig deeper.
Cut harder.
My cock twitches, and I lean forward. I rest my chin on my forearm, on top of the steering wheel. I can almost see her as I will when I’m finished with her. I can’t get the thought of blood out of my head. The little winces of pain, the distrust.
The other day, Knox reminded me of our bet. He said Willow was coming along, and it didn’t seem that I gave a shit about Violet.
That’s wrong.
I don’t give a shit about the bet.
But it keeps him occupied.
I reach down and grab the folding knife from my cup holder. I flip it open and press the point into my thumb, hard enough to sting but not hard enough to draw blood.
Seeing her handcuffed last night just deepened my fascination. She squirmed, she seemed scared, but then a switch flipped.
She wanted me.
Violet and Willow reach the sidewalk.
Her head comes up, and she finds my out-of-place sedan a good ten seconds before Willow has even noticed something is amiss. She stares at me, her brows furrowing.