Page 85 of Secret Obsession
And then he strikes again.
Hit, massage. Repeat.
My mouth is hanging open by the time he’s done—and the butterflies in my chest are fanning their wings. I want to fall into his arms, because if this was punishment, I’ll break every fucking one of his rules.
All I need is an orgasm and a bed.
His hands drift along the outside of my legs, coasting down to where my jeans are pooled around my ankles. My eyes crack open, and I see him through my legs. His crouched position, the way his long fingers pluck at his black briefs that sit, in plain sight, on top of my jeans.
“Clever girl,” he murmurs.
He pulls that fabric up first, securing it around my hips, then dips back down for my jeans. He rises and presses his groin into my ass, and I nearly groan again. He’s hard as a rock. Layers of clothing separate us, but I swear I can feel his piercing.
Wishful thinking.
“When will she wake up?” he asks.
My brow furrows again.
When will who wake up?
He reaches around me and does up the button of my jeans, then the fly. He pulls me upright, and it takes a minute for my brain to connect to my muscles. I wobble.
And in the next instant, I’m in his arms.
Good, a little piece of my mind whispers.
The louder part doesn’t think that’s good at all—but the alcohol has silenced that voice.
And I don’t think I miss it.
25
MILES
Isit outside the bathroom door, frowning down at my phone. I should beinthe bathroom, but she managed to get it locked before heaving her guts out. If I was nice, I’d be in there with her, locked door or not. You know, to hold her hair and rub her back.
As it is, I’mnotnice. And the sound of her throwing up vaguely makes me nauseous, too.
My current screen is information on the pill that makes your body unable to process alcohol. It’s prescription only, but this is Crown Point. There are dealers for everything if you know where to look. Find me a college campus that doesn’t have a guy with connections to the local pharmacy, I dare you.
It’s got too many side effects for my comfort.
And getting Willow dry needs to be painful but not dangerous.
I eye the door again. She’s gone silent.
Maybe that’s my solution. Every time she has a drink, I get her drunk enough to throw up? Or…
Fuck, I don’t know.
Movement on the stairs draws my gaze. Finch has a pretty girl hooked under his arm, and a smirk firmly in place.
I wasn’t too sure about him, but I think my brother and our friends are rubbing off on him. Hudson Finch used to be nice. That niceness has flaked to the floor like peeling paint, leaving behind a rough shell.
Good for him, though. Hockey isn’t for the nice.
It’s for the angry.
