Page 62 of Quiet Obsession
“Harder.”
Left, right, left again. Harder. Faster.
“Imagine the person who hurt you most. Imagine theyarethe bag andhit harder.”
I don’t move away. I should but that’d mean denying myself the heat of her rage seeping into my body. The bag swings, and she whimpers, hissing through the pain of her torn knuckles splitting further, blood soaking the wraps.
She keeps going until her body’s too exhausted, and she collapses onto the bench, shaking with the effort. She doesn’t look up, tears sliding down her nose as she dips her head low.
“Don’t forget your stance again,” I tell her, already marching away. “Next time, I won’t be here to correct you.”
20
Millie
Creed’s footsteps echo in the empty gym, every step pulling another sob from my mouth. Every inch of my body burns, aches, and pleads with me to dosomething. To make him stay.
The way he looks at me, the way he begs for my words... It’s a blessing and a curse. I’ve never felt this powerful and this defeated at the same time.
One second, I have a hold on him. I’m in control and it does dangerous things to my head. I want more of it... and the next, his voice hardens and something inside me locks down again.
It’s like he’s reaching too close to a part of me I barely recognize, one I don’t know how to give without losing whatever’s left of me.
His hands hit the swinging door, and I bolt upright, chasing after him, driven by instinct. My body movesbefore my mind can stop it and I grab his arm. He spins, jaw set hard, eyes cold and distant, but I don’t care. My hands move without command, grasping his t-shirt and yanking him down.
Our lips connect.
Nothing but a hard press, but the contact makes my heart stutter like crazy.
“Millie—”
No, I mouth, shutting him up.
It’s like a red rag to a bull. He bands his arm around my lower back, the other fisting my ponytail and pulling hard enough for fresh tears to sting my eyes.
He stares down his nose at me. “Nowhat, baby? No talking? No explaining? No apologizing for acting like a bitch?”
That should hurt. I should feel insulted, but instead, I feel exposed. Whipping my head up, I ignore the pain screaming through my scalp and crash my mouth to his.
He freezes for a second, paralyzed in place, but in the next breath, he crushes me against him, his tongue forcing its way past my lips and into my mouth.
Nothing’s ever felt this good.
I gasp, desire taking me over with a vengeance. Every dream I’ve had since walking in on Abby loops inside my head, isolating his hands, lips, and cock, while redacting Noah.
Creed groans into the kiss that’s far from sweet or soft.
It’s nothing like the first kisses from movies or Abby’s rom-coms. This is a battle. A war between two mouths. We’re fighting to stay on top, to purge our frustration andanger, to hurt and punish each other for different things.
Me for the unwarranted trust he’s ignited, for how much I want to curl into him and stay there.
Him for my silence.
He bites my lower lip, tugging it between us, and groans again, sinking deeper into my mouth, his hot tongue tangling with mine, his hands bruising my body. I rake my nails down his back, intending to leave long angry lines.
I want his t-shirt off.
I want to break skin.
