Page 9 of Devious Obsession
“First time for everything,” he murmurs. “Are you on birth control?”
His finger stills inside me.
“What are you doing?” I squirm, trying to get away from him, but his weight keeps me immobilized. “I—”
“Quiet.”
He flips me over, my back hitting the ground hard. I bring my hands to cover my chest, protecting my shirt from being torn off me, but he doesn’t seem to care about that. Instead, he touches my lips. My arousal and his cum on the pad of his finger smears across my skin. My jaw automatically opens, and he pushes his finger inside, pressing down on my tongue.
I glower at him as he rubs his finger along my tongue, making sure I taste both of us. There’s a certain pleasure in not coming. It makes the ache between my legs all the sweeter. He smiles, then retracts his hand. He drags me up by the restraint on my wrists and undoes the belt, shaking his head slightly.
“What?”
“That was fun,” he says. “And now that you’ve shown me yours….”
I raise my eyebrow. “Your turn again?”
“Something like that.”
I rub my wrists. He pivots, shielding his body slightly to tuck his dick back in his pants. I get my shorts back into place, then stand and quickly assess the rest of my body. My hair feels gritty, like it has dirt in it… which it probably does. I finger brush out a few leaves and pine needles. There are new grass stains on my white shirt.
Once I’m somewhat put back together—although my heart refuses to calm down, plus that aching pulse between my legs that won’t go away—I follow him back toward the house.
There are a lot of questions on the tip of my tongue. His name, for one. Why he comes to parties like this. If he normally chases girls through the woods and fucks them, or if I’m special…
Yeah, right.
I push that last thought away, the one where I’m allowed to think I’mspecialordifferentornot like other girls,and obliterate it. Because when we’re taught to strive to be different, we’re also taught that we shouldn’t be. That there’s nothing wrong with being like everyone else.
My stranger takes my hand, threading his fingers with mine, and I try not to let out a noise. Like something between a whimper and a gasp.
He pulls me close and grasps my chin, lifting it so I meet his eyes.
They search mine for a moment, but I couldn’t begin to guess what he wants. Or needs.
“You’re not from around here, are you, sweetheart?”
I wet my lips. “No.”
“You don’t go to Crown Point University.”
“No.” Well, that’s a small lie. The decision of whether or not I’ll show up for the first day of classes is still wavering on a razor-sharp edge, waiting for a strong breeze to push me in one direction or the other.
Give it a month, my mother said.
I’m holding out hope for my top school. To see if I’ll be taken off the waitlist. Even though it’s months past when I should find out, and far too long to be holding on to it.
Two long years of community college, of getting perfect grades and suffering through too many extracurriculars, all to be considered for the best of the best. And then I got waitlisted, and my summer seemed to crash and burn.
So I’m enrolled at CPU, but the wishful thinking part of my brain wants me to believe I’m not actually going there.
Instead of explaining all that, though, I let my stranger take the no at face value. And it seems to be the correct answer, because his grip on my hand tightens.
“Stay quiet,” he says in a low voice.
He waits for my nod, then we slip into the house. Down the corridor to the stairs that lead up to the second floor. We go up and pause outside of the first bedroom. The door is open, and there’s a couple on the bed.
Having sex.
