Page 49 of Psycho Obsession
She uses her tongue, a hot, wet contrast to the sharp scrape of her teeth, swirling it around the tip until I’m humming with the need to spill. She’s a genius of cruelty. She knows exactly when to back off, when to let the cold air hit the wet skin, making me throb so hard it feels like a pulse in my throat.
“You like the teeth, don’t you?” she whispers, her eyes locked on mine, watching the way my jaw is locked, the way my breath is coming in short, pathetic hitches. “You like that I want to eat you alive.”
She bites down again, harder this time, her teeth catching the ridge. I lose it. I shove my hand harder into her hair, my hips jerking forward, burying myself in the heat of her mouth. I don’t care about the pain. I don’t care that she’s trying to unmake me.
“More,” I growl, my voice a broken, filthy rasp. “Do it again. Bite me until I forget my own goddamn name.”
She lets out a muffled, triumphant laugh against my skin, her hands sliding up to my chest, her fingers find the scars Aris left on me. She’s mapping my trauma with her teeth while I’m mapping hers with my hands.
The funhouse is silent except for the wet, rhythmic sounds of her mouth and the frantic, uneven thud of myheart against my ribs. I’m a dead man walking, and she’s the one holding the shovel.
I reach down, grabbing her under the arms and hauling her up. I don’t give her a choice. I spin her around, slamming her chest-first against the one mirror that’s still standing, forcing her to look at the mess she’s made of herself while I tear into her from behind.
Chapter
Twenty
JEX
I’m buried so deep in her I can feel her heart thudding through her back, a frantic, trapped-animal rhythm that matches the slamming of my hips against her. The mirror in front of her is fogging from her gasps, her forehead pressed against the cold glass, her eyes unfocused and blown wide. She’s right there. I can feel the first ripples of her climax starting to squeeze my cock, that desperate, internal clenching that tells me she’s about to break.
I want it. I want to feel her shatter under me.
But then I remember the way she looked at Aris. The way she looked at the needle.
I grab her by the hair and yank her back, pulling out of her with a wet, clinical slap just as she lets out a high, broken wail of protest. I don’t let her fall. I twist her around and shove her down onto the floor, pinning herwrists over her head with one hand, my weight crushing her into the shards of glass and dust.
“No,” I growl, the word tasting like bile. “You don’t get to forget. Not yet.”
She’s sobbing, her hips bucking against the floor, her pussy pulsing and weeping for the friction I just stole. “Jex, please—fuck, please, I was right there?—”
“You were nowhere,” I snap. I reach down and grab the heavy leather belt I discarded, wrapping it twice around her wrists, cinching it until the skin goes white. I loop the end around a rusted pipe jutting from the wall, tethering her like a goddamn specimen.
The shift in her eyes is instantaneous. The lust flickers and dies, replaced by a cold, paralysing terror that I know all too well. It’s the Hillside look. The ‘Subject 402’ look. She stares up at me, her chest heaving, the black kohl running down her face like funeral ink.
“Jex?” she whispers, and this time, it’s not a plea for sex. It’s a plea for mercy.
I don’t give it to her. I kneel between her legs, my cock still weeping, angry and purple-red in the flickering light. I don’t go back inside. I just lean down and press the head of it against her clit, dragging it slowly, agonisingly back and forth through the mess she’s made. I’m not entering; I’m just haunting the entrance.
“Does this feel familiar, Hallow?” I rasp, leaning over her until my shadow swallows her whole. “The restraints? The cold floor? The man looming over you while you can’t move a fucking inch?”
I see her breath hitch. I see her memory fracture. She’s not in the funhouse anymore. She’s back on the slab, and I’m the one holding the scalpel.
“Stop,” she chokes out, her eyes darting around the room, looking for an exit that doesn’t exist. “Don’t… don’t do this.”
“Why not? I thought you wanted to be ‘hollowed out,’” I hiss, increasing the pressure of my cock against her, teasing the very edge of her sensation while her hands strain against the leather. I’m making her body scream for a release that her mind is absolutely terrified of. “I’m just finishing the job, sweetheart. I’m making sure that every time you feel pleasure for the rest of your pathetic life, you taste the copper of the asylum.”
I flick my thumb over her nipple, hard, watching her flinch. I’m destroying the one safe thing she had left—the heat between us—and turning it into a cage.
“You’re a monster,” she sobs, her head thrashing on the floor.
“I’m your brother,” I whisper, leaning down to lick the salt from her eyes. “And I’m the only person who’s ever going to tell you the truth. You aren’t free, Hallow. You’re just under new management.”
I keep the rhythm slow, steady, and torturous, watching her fall apart in the dark, caught between a climax she can’t reach and a fear she can’t escape.
I grab the end of the leather tether and haul. The rusted pulley in the ceiling shrieks—a dry, metal scream that echoes through the hollow ribs of the funhouse.
I pull until her toes leave the glass-strewn floor, until she’s dangling like a broken marionette. Her wrists are cinched tight, her arms straining toward the dark rafters, her ribs flaring with every panicked breath. I take a length of heavy industrial rope from the crate and loop itaround her ankles, jerking them apart and securing them to the iron struts of the walls.
