Brutal Obsession (92)

I groan, bowing my head. “There’s no way in hell I’m telling you. Not until you promise to be done with me.”

His laugh his hollow.

And then his wet finger touches my asshole, and I go rigid.

“Has anyone fucked you here?” He presses his finger in, inching deeper.

I don’t know if it feels good or not, but it’s foreign. And he doesn’t seem to care that helpless whimpers are coming out of my throat. He pulls it out and pushes in again, testing me.

“No?”

“No,” I say on an exhale.

“Good.”

His finger disappears. There’s a ripping sound, and then a condom wrapper floats to the floor. “Round two is going in your pussy,” he informs me. “Bare.”

I swallow.

The tip of his cock rests… there. I try to relax, but I’m not sure I can get my muscles to cooperate. He spits on my ass, and I squeeze my eyes shut. I curl my hands around the bar, the laces cutting into my wrists. It hurts when he forces his way in. He’s not gentle about it. One minute he’s teasing me, touching my thighs, and then next he’s got me in a tight grip and has pushed all the way in.

“I can feel the toy vibrating inside you,” he tells me.

I bite my lip so hard, blood fills my mouth. I don’t want to give him a single sound.

He gives me a second to adjust, then starts to move. My body is on fire. And then, weirdly enough, something flips in my brain.

It doesn’t feel bad. Or like an intrusion.

I rock my hips back, and his cock slides deeper. The double penetration makes me feel too full, but it’s a unique, shiver-inducing sensation.

“Give it to me,” he grunts. “Tell me you like my cock in your ass.”

I don’t say it. Fuck that.

He reaches around me, his front pressing to my back, and tweaks my nipple. The vibrator goes to a higher level, a pulse, and he groans. He rubs my breast, scraping his nail along the cut he gave me. Fresh blood rolls down my breast and drips to the floor. He alternates between touching the cut and pinching my nipples between his fingers.

He thrusts into me harder, and I let out another whimper.

I can’t come again.

But it seems he has other plans, because he doesn’t let up. He circles his hips, and my eyes roll back. He pounds into me with wild abandon.

“So fucking tight.” He slides his hand between my chest, down to my abdomen, and holds it there. “You don’t know what taking your last virgin hole is doing to me.”

He comes with a roar, slamming into me a final time.

It’s too much. Again.

I let go, and I think I black out as my orgasm overtakes me. My body relaxes all at once, and Greyson grabs me before I take a header into the wall. Still, my eyes close.

When my eyes open, I’m flat on my back. Somehow, we went from there to here, my wrists now untied and resting at my sides. I flex my fingers to get blood circulating in them again, and I move to sit up.

Greyson stops me. “Tell me what my father told you.”

I stiffen.

He shakes his head and winds his hand to the back of my neck, helping me rise a little. “Don’t fucking lie to me, Vi. What’s he giving you in exchange for… avoiding me?” He narrows his eyes. “For having nothing to do with me?”

He knows.

Somehow, he knows.

Dread laces through me, and I grab his wrist. I keep it on my neck. I don’t know what to feel—part of me is too exhausted to feel anything at all. But I know that I like Greyson far more than I should.

I know this last month of avoiding him has been hell.

“It’s a long story,” I hedge.

He sits beside me. His brows furrow. “Then tell it.”

I shiver.

He pauses, then goes to get his sweatshirt. He helps me slide my arms through the sleeves, briefly touching my wrists. I put it over my head and immediately sigh. It’s not cold in here, but when you’re naked…

It smells like him, too.

“I went to Vermont to meet with a specialist, at the behest of Crown Point Ballet’s artistic director,” I start.

“Mia Germain.”

“Uh-huh.” I narrow my eyes. “How do you know that?”

He shrugs. “I saw your texting thread with her.”

Oh, great. I should really password protect my stupid phone. Willow calls me out for being too trusting, too.

“Anyway.” I shift and try to ignore the soreness in my ass. Ugh. “Dr. Michaels said my leg healed okay, and it was physically able to support my dancing, but the nerve pain was holding me back.”

“Nerve pain.” His gaze drops to my leg, then back up. “How long has that been going on?”

“Since the accident?” I shrug.

“You touch it sometimes. Your leg, I mean. Like it hurts. I just thought it was something that you did as a habit.” He winces. “And you’ve been running—”

“Dr. Michaels ordered an MRI to check for stress fractures and then suggested aquatic therapy for the nerve pain,” I say in a rush. “But I wouldn’t have been able to afford any of it. My mom and I… I don’t know what happened, really, but we don’t have a relationship anymore.”

Is it her fault or mine that we fell apart?