Page 49 of Secret Obsession
But just because he’s been at the back of my mind doesn’t mean I want, orneed, him. I don’t want him. I should’ve gone home with the football guy who was buying me drinks. He seemed into me.
Miles hurts too much. Hits too close to the pain I’m desperate to bury.
“What are you doing?” My voice is thick with sleep—and maybe lingering alcohol still in my system. Everything feels a little hazy anyway.
Maybe I am dreaming.
“I’ve decided that this will prove to you that I’m serious,” he says.
“Serious about…?”
“You. Me.”
A buzzing sound fills my ears.
My gaze falls down his body. He’s shirtless—holy shit, abs—and not wearing pants. His cock rests just above my pubic bone. There’s a piece of metal, a piercing, in the tip. And another on the underside, horizontally. No condom. He shifts, and it slips down between my spread legs.
Legs that I opened when I thought it was some random guy.
Not Miles.
“I don’t want to have sex with you.” My breathing is harsh, more like panting. Because I know, Iknowthat he wants to bury himself in more than just my pussy. He wants to be in my mind and my heart and my soul.
I can’t do that.
Iwon’tdo that.
“Stop.” I try to inch away, any direction I can go, but he drops his hips and pins them to mine. “Miles, don’t.”
He ignores me, lowering his mouth to my neck. I squeeze my eyes shut when he kisses just below my jaw. Then his lips are on the shell of my ear, and his other hand is moving between my legs. His thighs, hips, prevent me from closing my legs. Even when I draw them up, my knees even with his ribs.
“This is how it has to be,” he whispers. “It’ll be okay. Promise.”
“None of this is—”
He runs the tip of his dick down my center. The piercing has a different sensation from skin. It’s cool, smooth. I could see how girls would be into that. But it makes no difference when he notches at my entrance.
And it makes no difference especially when it belongs to Miles.
I shudder. I yank at my wrists, but his grip, now on my forearm, just tightens. I look up and realize he’s tied my wrists with some sort of ribbon. It holds fast when I try to jerk my hands apart, and he does the rest.
“Please don’t,” I whisper.
He pulls back to meet my eyes at the same time that he inches into me. He moves painstakingly slow, but it hurts nonetheless. Like he’s ripping me in half. I’ve seen his gaze a thousand different ways over the last three years. Flashes of anger when I started dating his brother, then annoyance. Then disgust.
Is he disgusted with me now?
He’s out to prove something. To himself, or me. Or maybe he just wants the pain that comes with this moment—when we’re joined but so fucking far apart. My mind is a million miles away.
It doesn’t matter. He seems determined to drag me back into the present.
His fingers brush my clit. He rubs small little circles, and I squeeze my eyes shut. He brings my arms down and loops them around his neck, his lips inching along my throat. I dig my nails into my palms, and my skin crawls at this total invasion.
Tears burn behind my eyelids. A few leak out, slipping down my temples and into my hair. My hips shift. The attention he’s paying to my clit is causing a physical reaction, one I can’t stop.
One I desperately want to stop.
And then his hand is wrapping around my throat and jaw, tilting my head up.
