Page 99 of Quiet Obsession
God, has hetouchedher? Is she his now?
She’s not scared of him the way she’s scared of me, and seeing Zara crawling all over me tonight only made things worse, I’m sure. I went out of my way to hurt her and she must’ve realized I’m a wreck.
My ribs cave in. I close my eyes, but that makes things worse. It makes me see the ecstasy painting her pretty face when she was in my arms. It makes me relive every second of having her close.
I glance at Hyde’s cell again, the war inside me coming to an end. It’s a breach of privacy but fuck it. I copy Millie’s number into my phone and leave Hyde’s cell beside a box of painkillers.
And for the next forty minutes, I talk myself out of texting her. It’s two in the morning, I’m sitting in my loveseat, showered, hair damp, sleep nowhere in sight thanks to the Molotov cocktail of contradicting emotions tearing me open.
I shouldn’t text her. Not after the shit I pulled. She doesn’t fucking need my crazy, but my hands are itching, and anger coils around my throat.
Me: Your brother’s wasted. I don’t think he saw your text.
That’s a lie, but she doesn’t need the details. She doesn’t need to know her brother’s meddling in her life.
Me: Did you need anything?
I don’t sign off either text with my name. I’m pretty sure mine’s the only number she’s missing. She’ll figure it out.
Toying with a half-empty bottle of water, I stare at the screen, growing more and more restless and feeling stupid for it.
It’s the middle of the night. She’s probably fast asleep.
I’m so preoccupied with waiting for a reply that I don’t notice when the message changes from delivered to read.
My insides twist. Why the fuck is she up still?
Is Noah still there?
He already kissed her. What if they’re kissing rightnow? What if he has his hands all over her?
She starts typing, then stops, then starts again, second-guessing her reply. I squeeze the phone harder, pissed off all over again.
I can’t take her silence.
Every time she stops talking when I show up it’s a small blade right in my sternum. Every time I see her talking to someone, smiling, laughing, it drives me insane.
I’ve been patient. So fucking patient, even if it’s been slowly killing me. The deliberate way she refuses to speak to me is a constant flashback to the days I spent begging my father to say something. I’m at my wits’ end, especially now I realize she won’t even type words easily if they’re aimed at me.
Millie Baby: Leave me alone.
That’s enough to send a shot of adrenaline through my system.Alone. So he’s not there?
Me: Are you alone?
Millie Baby: Fuck you, Creed.
I smile then groan when my cock reads into that message way too hard and juts upwards.
For a girl with doe eyes and heart-shaped lips, whosefavorite color is dusty pink and who doesn’t say much at all, she can be surprisingly mouthy.
My head hits the backrest and my hand falls to my lap, squeezing my hard, aching length through the gray fabric.
Fuck, that feels good.
It’d feel ten times better if she were here, on me, her soaked little pussy choking my cock, those titillating gasps in my ear, nails drawing blood.
Me: Come fuck me yourself, baby.
