Page 98 of Reckless Obsession

With a deep, guttural groan, I bury myself to the hilt and cum hard. Thick ropes of cum shoot straight down his throat as his muscles convulse around me, milking me through every powerful spurt.

The moment I start spilling down his throat, Maksim lets out a wrecked, muffled cry around my cock. His hand strokes himself furiously, and his body arches violently off the bed as he follows right after me. Hot cum spills over his fist and across his abs in thick, pulsing ropes, painting his skin like constellations. The sight alone makes me grind deep against his face, pulsing again and again, flooding him until I feel his throat working desperately to swallow everything I give him.

I stay buried deep until the last aftershock fades, savoring the way he keeps swallowing around me, taking everything I give him like he was made for it.

Finally, I pull out slowly, strings of saliva and cum connecting his lips to my cock. He gasps desperately for air, coughing and wheezing, chest heaving as he tries to recover. His face is a mess. Tear-streaked, spit and cum streaked, but also still looking devastatingly handsome.

I pull him up to face me, and his eyes lock on mine with that raw, obsessive devotion that always hits me somewhere dangerously deep.

I grip his chin firmly, and wipe a streak of cum from his bottom lip with my thumb before pushing it into his mouth.

“Good job,” I murmur, voice low and dark with satisfaction. “You took me so fucking well spitfire. But I’m not done with you yet.”

He shudders, sucking weakly on my thumb, completely spent and still looking at me like I’m his entire world.

❧

I stand on my apartment balcony, gazing at the city lights shimmering below like fallen stars. It’s a little after 2 a.m., and the city is finally silent. This quiet, secluded part of the city has always been my refuge, away from the constant buzz of nightlife.

Up here, high above everything, I can breathe. The cool night air brushes my skin as I swirl the whiskey in my glass, the ice clinking softly. I take a slow sip, letting the cold burn slide down my throat. It’s exactly how I like it, burning enough to remind me I’m still here.

But tonight, the peace outside does nothing to calm the storm inside my head.

My mind isn’t at rest tonight.

And for once, neither is my heart.

That’s the part I can’t seem to get past. I used to think I had control over everything—my feelings, my actions, the things I allowed, the things I didn’t. I used to think I was the kind of man who could draw a line and never cross it, no matter what temptation stood on the other side. But apparently the man sleeping in my bed right now, in my bedroom, in my apartment, has proved me wrong in every possible way.

Maksim.

He’s exhausted, and he has every right to be. I wasn’t merciful tonight. I never am with him. After using his throat like a man possessed, I fucked him again and again. Hard, relentless, and almost cruel in my need. I fucked him as if I was trying to exorcise something from both of us. Like I could punish him for making me lose control… and punish myself for wanting him so badly.

I fucked him until he begged, until his eyes filled with overwhelmed tears, until his voice cracked into broken whimpers. By the time he came for the third time with me buried deep inside him, he passed out from sheer exhaustion. And the worst part? I loved every second of it.

Maksim only ever shows that kind of vulnerability when sex is involved. That’s the only time he gives in, the only time he bends, the only time he lets the world see something soft and shattered beneath all that arrogance and chaos. I’ve always known he was a masochist, and I know the trauma that shaped him. I know things about his past he doesn’t even remember. I know him better than I should. Better than anyone probably has the right to.

I go hard on him because I know it pleases him. I know it quiets something feral in him. I know it gives him the release he’s always chasing, which he never seems to find anywhere else. And I still feed into it like a selfish bastard, because there is something dark and broken in me too.

I love watching him submit to me in bed. I love the control. I love the way he falls apart for me. I love seeing exactly how much pleasure and pain he can take before his body gives up trying to hide what he feels. I love having absolute control over the one person who constantly threatens to unravel mine.

Getting involved with him again after two years of doing my best to avoid him feels like I’m about to lose my fucking mind. Something in me has been woken up, and now that it’s awake, it refuses to go back to sleep. Now that I have him, I don’t want to let him go. I don’t know how to stop wanting him. I don’t know how to pull back from whatever this is. I hate what that means for me, and I hate what it could mean for us.

Because I cannot give him what he wants from me.

I can’t.

Even if he doesn’t have the words for it yet, I know that’s what this is slowly becoming. He wants more than sex and my control. More than obsession and jealousy and all the ugly, intoxicating things that flare between us when we’re together. He wants something deeper, something softer, something far more dangerous.

He wants my heart.

And I can’t give it to him. I can’t give my heart to anyone again.

Not because Jake still lingers in the ruins of it—I buried those pieces long ago. But because I’m terrified I no longer know how to love without fear. Because someone like Maksim gets bored easily. He runs hard at everything and everyone until the thrill wears off, and one day that could very easily include me. I know I should find comfort in that. I know I should be relieved by the idea that he’ll eventually get tired of me, that this will end before it has the chance to become something worse.

But unfortunately, I am not built like that.

People look at me and see someone stoic and cold. A man who doesn’t feel much, or at least never feels enough to let it show. But that has never been true. The truth is, I’m the worst kind of man to fall into something like this, because when I love, I love hard. Completely. Without moderation. And when I hate, I hate just as hard. Nothing about how I feel is small. I’ve just become very good at hiding it.