Page 89 of Secret Obsession
He comes around and presses his lips to my temple. “Wake up, wild girl.”
My brows furrow. “I’m not sleeping.”
He straightens, and I swear, his expression is almost wistful. Or… regretful?
Either way, I’m treated to a nice view of his ass as he walks away.
* * *
It’s 5:12 p.m.
I walk in through the front door of the hockey house, my nerves racing. The game starts at seven. He’s due to be at the arena at 5:30 or something like that. So my bold lateness is going to be an issue, I can already tell.
It’s dark in the house and unusually silent. I haven’t once thought of it as mine.
Mine is a crime scene.
I sense him a split second before he grabs me, and I whirl around. Except it isn’t Miles’ face staring down at me—it’s a mask. The same Scream one that Steele tormented Aspen with months ago. I know, because she took a little pride in showing us after the fact. In hushed tones, she told us about their little game of chase.
And I swore that I’d never be chased like that. No fucking way.
But that doesn’t mean my knees aren’t trembling at the sight of it in front of me.
Miles isn’t wearing a shirt. He’s got low-slung sweatpants on and sneakers. That’s it. I lick my lips at the sight.
“You’re late.” It’s his voice behind the mask, at least.
I shiver.
“I was going to go easy on you.” He pulls something from his pocket and tosses it to me. “But now…”
I look down at the odd-shaped thing in my hand.
“What is this?”
“Turn around,” he murmurs.
“Take the mask off,” I demand.
He chuckles and ignores that. Instead, he grabs my hand and yanks me around, dragging me to the couch. He bends me over the back of it, my arms trapped behind me. Cold cuffs are locked around my wrists, keeping them at the small of my back. He lifts the object from my fingers.
A moment later, he’s unbuttoning my jeans and dragging them down.
“What is this?” I ask, shifting my weight.
He kicks my legs wider, and something cool hits my ass. It drips down my crack, and I close my eyes. I squeeze them tighter when something touches my ass.
The object?
“Handy little toy, this plug,” Miles says in my ear.
The plastic mask touches my jaw. He works the toy deeper, and I try to relax my muscles. Otherwise it’ll just fucking hurt more than it already does. He pushes it in another inch, then draws it out. He fucks me with it, his body pressing down on mine.
I turn my head and look him in the eye. Through the shadows of the creepy fucking mask. Just blue on blue, me to him.
“Tonight, Willow. Tonight we wake you up for good.”
He pushes the plug all the way in, and my lips part as my muscles tense and close around it. When I straighten, it shifts inside me. It’s foreign and sets me off-balance, but Miles ignores it. He pulls up my underwear and jeans—again with his fucking briefs instead of anything I own—and reaches around me to do up my zipper and button.
