Page 33 of Devious Obsession
They leave me at the top of Aspen’s street, heading for the hockey house. We have a game in two days, and Coach has been working us twice as hard to make up for our loss. If we lose again, we may as well kiss any hope of the national championship goodbye.
Aspen and her roommate are walking—stumbling—toward their apartment.
I stop outside and watch the lights in the living room go on. I settle across the street, the spot familiar from the last few times I’ve done this. The kitchen is at the back of the apartment, through the living room, and they’re not clear through the curtains. But they’re lingering, maybe drinking water to stave off a headache in the morning.
Eventually, though, the light goes off. Aspen’s bedroom light turns on next, and I catch her shadow as she passes the window. Copies of her keys are burning a hole in my pocket, connected to the ring that holds my own. Seemed fitting to add hers there, since I plan on using them often enough.
I pull open my phone and go to the website.
A white window pops up instead.
Error, page not found.
I grunt and log in to the back end. It shows up there just fine, but there seems to be a glitch. Still, I can access the log of submissions Aspen received through that contact form. Some are creepier than others, and my gut churns. It seems the website caught a wider net of psychopaths than I intended.
What I wanted was for the girls at school to hate her, and the guys to be… intrigued, maybe? Or scared off of her. Who wants to date someone who would spread her legs for anyone? Allegedly.
I guess we’ll find out the impact of that tomorrow, outside of the nasty looks she was receiving tonight. Damage done.
I delete the page and then the whole account. I go onto her social media and swipe through photos, my jaw tensing. Her most recent few, posted in the last two weeks, have blown up. A hundred comments on each.
That will be dealt with, too.
I chew on how to solve the problem of keeping assholes away from her. It takes a little while for me to come to a conclusion, but I smile to myself as I pull up another website. Once that’s done, I give Aspen twenty more minutes to fall asleep.
Then I move. I get into her apartment with ease and lock the door behind me. I slip through the long kitchen and living room, to the short hallway that leads to Aspen’s room, the bathroom, and her roommate’s door. Both of which, except the bathroom, are closed. It’s quiet in here, the silence seeming to echo inside my skull.
Without further delay, I step into her dark room. I don’t need a flashlight—I have the space memorized. But seeing her on the bed, on top of the covers and still in that fucking dress, spikes my anger again.
I’m going to mark her as mine.Soon.
But right now, my hands will have to do.
8
ASPEN
Something wakes me up out of a dead sleep. Even though the alcohol still buzzes through my system, and it delays my movements. And my thoughts.
Before my eyes can open, a weight drops down on my hips. I jerk, the reflex tensing my muscles hard, but my arms don’t move.
And when my eyes open, I can’t see. I open my mouth to scream, and a hand slams over my lips. Fear bursts through me, and I thrash before I fully register what’s happening. Something bites into my wrists, keeping them stretched up over my head. A soft blindfold covers my eyes.
And the weight on my hips keeps me immobilized.
A soft whimper escapes me, and then I feel it.
A hand traces over my collarbone and dips down between my breasts.
Bare.
I’m naked.
My breathing comes faster, my nostrils flaring. His hand is still against my lips, preventing me from begging for him to stop. Until he pulls it away for the briefest moment.
Immediately, something is shoved between my teeth. The hand covers my lips again, and the fabric in my mouth muffles any noise I hope to make. The other hand is still trailing across my chest, avoiding my breasts. Down my sternum, across my ribs. My stomach, the stretch marks, around my belly button.
It’s Steele.
