Page 7 of Devious Obsession
Except, I’m not fit. I don’t run, I don’t do sports. I play the piano, I study, I read. My sisters, mother, and I would do the occasional hike—but that was more for them than me.
So, five seconds into sprinting across the lawn, heading toward a boathouse, I’m winded. My lungs burn, every part of me is jiggling. I should’ve worn a better bra, but I picked a cute lacy bralette instead. No support.
I get to the boathouse and throw open the door, stepping inside. There’s a boat—obviously—in its own little inside dock, and two more smaller ones lifted out of the water. A whole rack of kayaks.
The boathouse suddenly seems too obvious.
There’s another door, and I move quickly toward it.
I’ve only just grasped the handle when the other door flies open.
My heart jumps, and a squeak slips out of my mouth.
His chuckle answers me. It’s dark, low, curls right around my core and threatens to never release me.
There are those people who you just have a connection with immediately, and my stranger is one of them. In the most magnetic, damning ways.
Good girl falls for bad boy.
Cliche.
Avoid.
I leave the door ajar, not bothering to close it behind me in fear that he’ll hear it, and rush toward the woods. I manage to get to the tree line and duck behind one of the larger trees, pressing my back to it. My heart is pounding so loud, I almost miss the footsteps coming toward me.
Then past me.
Holy shit.
I let out a slow breath and creep around the tree, then take off back toward the lake house. The air has a bite to it that’s refreshing for mid-June. When I got the invite to this party, I leapt at the chance. I’m not living in Crown Point, but the drive over was easy enough. And getting my footing here has been rough.
Uncomfortable.
Mom’s been urging my sisters and me to get into a routine, to put down roots. I had only just finished two years at our local community college, and I’d been accepted into a few different universities.
I picked Crown Point University for its arts programs, not realizing I’dstillbe trapped close to my family.
Don’t get me wrong—I love them. But aren’t you supposed to find your independence in college?
My few high school friends immediately went off to the big, fancy schools right after graduation. Not a single one stayed in our hometown.
Because of that, I sank myself into my passions and let the rest rot.
Which is why my lungs are literally on fire when I reach the steps to the raised deck.
But I’m too late.
Hands wrap around my waist and yank me backward. My fingers slip off the handrail, and my feet slide in the grass. I’m towed around the side of the deck, into its shadow, and thrown to the ground on my back.
My stranger has a punishing gleam in his eye.
I crawl backward, fear and anticipation sweeping through me.
He grasps my ankle and drags me to him, his hands inching along my legs. He forces them apart, kneeling in the grass between them.
Fight.
I shove at him, batting his hands away from my shorts. He pulls his belt off with asnapof leather and catches one of my hands. Then the other. Without so much as a hesitation, he wraps the belt around my wrists and cinches it tight. He uses it to drag me into a sitting position.
