Page 18 of Their Obsession

Her hips slow as she begins to gradually come down from her orgasm. Her spent body sags against mine. Our sweaty flesh sticks together as she curls herself against my chest and wraps her arms around me beneath my jersey. I hold her close in silence, rubbing soft circles along her spine as both our breathing begins to calm.

“Did you really have to ruin my shirt?” she finally asks, breaking the comfortable silence. “Now I’m going to have to drive home in my bra.” She laughs, but beneath her, I stiffen.

Not a chance.

“Oh, sweetheart, you’re not going home.”

She swiftly pushes up to stare down at me. The movement causes my cock to slide out of her slightly. I can feel our combined release dripping from her. The knowledge that my cum is literally dripping from my girl’s cunt onto her desk has my spent dick twitching. I’m completely addicted to her in the worst way possible.

“What are you talking about?”

I lay a soft kiss to the tip of her nose before informing her, “First, I’m going to get you wrapped up in my jersey because no one, and I mean no one, gets to see you in this incredible brabut me.” Her cheeks flush in the cutest way at that compliment. “Next, I’m going to pick up whatever food you’re craving. Thai, Chinese, a burger and fries—whatever sounds good to you. Then I’m taking you back home to eat and refuel before round two.” I emphasize the last words with a firm squeeze to her ass that has her squirming in my lap.

“Round two?” Her tone is teasing and a little bratty. I kind of like it.

“Two, maybe three. We will see how exhausted you get.” I smile and nod in confirmation. “I’ll swing back by your place in the morning before coming back here so you can shower and change quickly.”

“You’ll be with me the entire time?” she asks almost longingly. The vulnerability in her voice surprises me. She doesn’t seem like the type who needs others with them all the time.

“If you’ll have me,” I confirm for her before wrapping her back up in my arms and pulling her down onto my chest.

She lets out a contented sigh and nuzzles into my sweater. “That sounds really nice. Can we get a pie for dessert?”

“Sunshine, for you, I’d buy every pie in the whole damn town.”

TEN

Lilly

Ten Years Ago

Respectfully, what the fuck was Charles Dickens smoking? Like, there’s an orphan who meets a criminal in a graveyard and gets a fortune, then he falls in love with some girl who’s being raised by an angry man-hater with an ancient wedding cake. And then, in the end, everyone ends up miserable and alone. I can not believe Mr. Mills really thinks thatGreat Expectationsis ‘the height of classic literature.’ It’s literal garbage nonsense. I can not wait to get to college where I can choose classes that actually interest me instead of being stuck reading the same ancient crap that has been taught in schools for the last century.

I stare blankly at the flashing cursor on my laptop screen. I have no idea what I could possibly say about the coming of age realizations found in the story. That’s the essay prompt that I’m supposed to be finishing up. I have two sentences written.This isnot going well.

My mind wanders off, and instead of thinking about Mrs. Haversham, I find myself staring out my window, thinking about a certain masked man and his devilish fingers. I haven’t been able to get the Halloween party out of my head for the last month. After running from the house, I fully expected to show up to school on Monday and have the police there to question me again. But there was nothing. Not even a hint that anyone had heard anything. It seemed as though my masked admirer either also wanted it to remain a secret, or was biding their time before telling others. Part of me wondered if he was the same one who left the note and present in my locker. But that would be crazy,right? A masked stalker who knows my darkest secrets and finger fucks me at a party isn’t reality. There has to be another explanation.

Yet, there’s a part of me, a dark and depraved part deep within that’s thrilled with that idea. The amount of times that I’ve closed my eyes and touched myself to visions of my masked man cutting up my bullies and then making me come with those same fingers is embarrassing. I know it’s wrong and that there’s probably something wrong with me, but I can’t seem to help myself.

It’s a cool evening, too cool. I shiver as a breeze blows in from my open balcony doors. I usually leave my balcony open in the evenings in order to cool my room down. I always sleep better when it’s cold. But it’s November and the cool air is becoming frigid, causing goosebumps to skitter along the exposed skin of my arms. My white curtains dance across the floor as the wind whips through the opening. I rise from my desk, my back aching from sitting slumped for the last hour, and begin to walk towards the door to close it.

Until I see a figure standing in the shadows.

Through the billowing fabric of my curtains, I can make out theoutline of someone standing on my balcony. The outline of his large, muscular form lurking just outside my open french doors has my steps faltering. Fear runs through me, forcing my heart rate to skyrocket. I can’t see him clearly but I can see enough to know it’s him—the masked man. He cocks his head to the side.

How long has he been there, watching me?

Before my mind can register what I’m doing, my body is lunging for the door. I leap, shoving my entire body against the opening and swinging it closed. But before I can get the doors closed and locked, a large black combat boot appears between them. My eyes flick up only to be met with the empty dark pits of his mask. He’s wearing the same black and white mask. The mask I can’t stop thinking about.

His hands shove harshly at the seam of the doors. The force causes me to fly back onto my ass as he enters my room. I skitter backwards on my hands and feet, trying desperately to create space between myself and my masked intruder.

“It’s you,” I whisper as he crouches down to assess me. My eyes drift to his large hands that have fallen between his bent knees. The same strong hands that I came on just a few weeks ago. My core clenches at the memory.

“Hello,Moy Klubnika.” He reaches out to push a fallen lock of hair behind my ear but I flinch away. “Did you miss me?”

The tone of his voice is dark and sinister, completely opposite of the sweet touches he’s offering as he caresses the shell of my ear and column of my neck with those thick fingers.

“Was it you who left that box in my locker?” I ask, my voice barely a whisper.

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