Page 131 of Quiet Obsession
More images flood my mind, each worse than the last. Millie under Noah, naked and open like she is for me, moaning his name,again. His hands on her hips, his mouth at her throat, his body moving, taking, claiming.
My grip tightens at her waist, and she shifts again, her breath catching, hips rolling and I want to shove her off me and tell her to go find Noah, but she’s only dreaming and—
“Eli.”
My name again.
It should relax me, but it makes things worse. Who’s in her head right now? Who was there first?
Fuck... is she dreaming about us taking hertogether?
I swallow hard, holding very still.
Noah told me Millie walked in on Abby getting railed by two guys. Is that what’s playing in her head? A twisted fantasy where she’s sandwiched between us?
“Eli, please...”
Me again.
She digs herself into me, her thigh sliding higher. I closemy eyes, forcing myself to breathe so I don’t lose my mind over something she won’t even remember in the morning. And while I inhale and exhale, Millie starts to settle.
Tension drains from her limbs. Whatever she was chasing slips away, and she goes still, curled into me.Me. It was just a dream. She can’t control what her unconscious brain does, but she can control what happens when she’s conscious...
And when she is, she comes tome.
Kissesme.
Fucksme.
Sleeps inmyarms.
My jaw unclenches, and I stare into the dark, wide awake, pulse still uneven. It wasjust a dream.
It doesn’t mean anything.
I repeat it like a mantra as I drag a hand through her hair and press my mouth to her temple, burning one kiss after another into her skin.
39
Millie
Abby’s getting ready for fight night, rushing between bed, wardrobe, and bathroom the way she always does.
Three outfits are laid out, two pairs of shoes wait on the floor, and a curling iron is creating a potential fire hazard atop her bookstack.
Her playlist spills through the tiny speaker on her desk, “12 to 12” by sombr. I’ve heard that song through the walls on every floor this week as if the entire building collectively became fans.
Normally, I listen to heavier music, but coupled with Abby’s frantic movements, the upbeat track’s quite entertaining. I sit on my bed, sketchbook in my lap, Creed’s tattoo design staring back.
“Blue or green?” Abby holds two tops for me to judge.
“Blue, it makes your eyes pop.”
She beams at me, tossing the green top aside. “Blue it is.” She shakes it out, taking a closer look, her face turning dreamy. “Thomas likes my eyes.”
“They are pretty,” I agree, then snap a picture of my design and close the sketchbook. “I assume it’s going well?”
It must be, considering she hasn’t spent much time in our room since she told me they’re dating. She’s only ever rushing, though, making enough time to check I’m good and tell me she is before vanishing again.
