Page 121 of Quiet Obsession
I nod, holding the sheets close to my chest. I’m pretty sure there are a few strategically placed bruises and love bites dotting my skin. Better not to let him notice.
“Okay,” he says, exhaling down his nose. “Text me next time, alright? I was worried. It’s not like you to miss classes.” His eyes rake over my desk and night table, probably checking for pills. “Get dressed, you should eat.”
“I just woke up. I’m not hungry. I’ll grab a shower and try to make it to my afternoon classes.”
He takes my hand in his and pulls me into his chest, both arms going around me. I hope he can’t smell Creed’s cologne or there’ll be hell to pay.
“Want me to wait for you?” he asks.
“No, go grab some lunch.”
He lingers a moment longer, then ruffles my hair and leaves the room. I fall back on my pillow, eyes on the ceiling, head full of Creed and our first moment that wasn’t defined by the electric, physical pull between us...
I already want more.
***
“I should go before everyone’s up,” I say, lifting my head from Creed’s chest, my body sore and exhausted after we worked out in bed instead of the gym this morning.
It was my fault. I didn’t see him all day yesterday, and he went into town with the guys in the evening, so I showed up at his door at five this morning.
He was leaving the bathroom when I entered, water trailing down his muscular chest, a towel draped over hiships. It made dropping to my knees and swallowing him down very convenient.
Three orgasms later, we’re tangled in his sheets, bodies slick and hot, my breath still not back to normal.
“It’s barely six o’clock, baby,” he says, pressing my head back down. “Ten more minutes.”
I smile despite myself, my fingers absentmindedly trailing the ink mapping his skin. “Do they mean anything?”
“Every single one, though they’re not all equally deep.” He reaches up, index finger dragging over the snake coiled around his neck. “That one’s for the Fight Club. Brock settled for snake stamps, and I inked one after the first fight.”
“What about this one?” I kiss the spider he’s got below his sternum, dragging my parted lips up to his neck.
Creed weaves his fingers into my hair. “Keep kissing me like that and you’ll be back on your knees.”
“You need to work on your threats, that one sucked.”
That earns me a slap on the ass. “Mouthy little thing.” He squeezes hard, then soothes the ache, massaging the spot. “When I first opened the door to my freshman dorm room, a spider was crawling down from the ceiling. Apparently, they symbolize destiny among other things.”
“So Gravemont was your destiny?”
He curls me back into his side. “It’s where my life changed for the better, so yeah, I like thinking that.”
“Okay...” I hum, studying every tattoo before I pick the next one. “And this?” I bring his hand closer, poking the tally marks. “All the fights you won?”
His expression darkens on cue, jaw tightening, and nostrils flaring. Before I can inch away or backtrack, having apparently picked something deeply personal, he tightens his hold on me.
“That’s every one of my bones my father broke.”
The words hit me like a punch to the stomach. I stare at his hand, counting the thin black lines across his skin, at a loss for words. I figured his relationship with his father wasn’t a good one based on the celebrations, pine casket, the lack of flowers, and everything he said while I listened at his home in Seattle.
But I didn’t expect such horrific abuse.
There are twelve,twelvelittle lines.
My mind whirs through possibilities, the creative side of my brain pushing images of Creed, much younger than now, taking a beating from the one person who should’ve protected him.
What are you punishing me for, baby?
