Page 47 of Secret Obsession
I guess it was bound to happen eventually—Willow would think I was fucking kidding around about her avoiding guys. And I arrive at Haven on a high, knowing she’s there, only to find her drunk out of her mind and practically falling over the football jerk.
Mood ruined.
Second problem?
My brother.
I catch him watching Willow’s abrupt exit out of the bar, and then he goes to the front entrance. Ducks into the coat-check room and finds her jacket, because of course he knows exactly which one is hers, and leaves without a word.
It takes everything in me not to chase after them. But even my patience isn’t that good, and I last only a minute. I can’t hold myself back anymore. I stalk out of the bar and quicken my pace until I spot them, although it’s easy enough. They’re moving at a glacial pace, so I adjust mine, too. I don’t want to catch them—not yet.
Willow and him don’t really touch as they walk. She sways, and he steadies her every so often, but that’s it.
We make it all the way to her apartment, and it strikes me that Knox really should be more aware of his surroundings. I’ve been following half a block behind them since the bar, and—
He glances over at me and gives a half-wave behind Willow’s back.
I glower at him and step farther into the shadows. Last thing I need is for Willow to spot me, although that seems doubly unlikely with her drunk goggles on.
He has to unlock the door for her, then helps her upstairs.
I wait outside, until I get too cold—then I step into the first door and shut it behind me softly. I cross my arms and wait for my brother to reappear. He trots down the steps so fucking smug, I have to ball my hands into fists.
He stops beside me and pulls out his phone. Mine goes off a second later, and then he’s slipping past me into the snowy night.
Knox
[IMAGE]
My blood boils.
Willow, smiling like she’s never smiled at me before, in a corset that’s pushed her boobs up and together. Her lipstick is smeared, and it takes me a long moment to remember that it was my hand that did that, not from kissing my brother. Messy hair. Tight black shorts, the kind that she used to wear to dance practice, over those fishnet tights that make her legs look killer.
Fuck.
She let him see that?
Ronan was bad enough—but my brother isoff-limits.
I pocket my phone. Once I’m in her apartment, I shed items. My phone on her dining table, my shoes by her door. My jacket on the back of a chair.
I find her in nearly the same position as the photo, except dead asleep. Her bedside lamp is still on—the only things that managed to come off so far are her dress and shoes.
Part of me doesn’t give a shit that she’s drunk.
The other part… well,does. Because I want her to remember our first time.
Although the sight of her like this is doing things to me, and my control has been fraying for weeks. It’s already cracked a few times, like yesterday in the basement.
My brother just wants to shove me over the edge, and I think Willow does, too.
I sit beside her on the bed. It dips and her weight shifts in my direction, but she doesn’t so much as stir. Her mouth is open, her breathing deep. I pull her shorts and fishnet tights off and push her onto her side.
Her ass cheek is purple and red, the handprint almost perfect. Right down to my fingers.
I put my hand over it, digging the pads of my fingers into her flesh.
She doesn’t react.
