Page 76 of Arranged Obsession
She points the pen at me. “See, that right there, that’s creepy as hell. Your passion iskillingpeople?”
“No, my passion is pulling it off.” I can tell she’s skeptical, so I keep talking, not even sure why I’m explaining this to her. “Each new job is like a puzzle. Every target is different. Their habits are different, their routines are different. I approach each one like a brand-new puzzle. Most times, I spend days or weeks following them, getting to know them, falling for them in my own way. So when I finally do make my approach—” I smile to myself. I canfeel a throat under my hands. “I feel something when the light leaves their eyes.”
She sighs and slumps back. She stares up at the ceiling. “That’s some extremely psychopathic behavior, you know that?”
“Does it help if it didn’t work the last time?”
“Not really.” She frowns and looks at me again. “Why didn’t it work?”
I lean forward. “Because of you.”
Silence hangs. I can tell she’s processing. I am too, honestly; I’m not really sure what it means that the kills don’t have the same effect anymore, ever since she came into my life.
“I don’t really want to be responsible for that,” she whispers softly.
I stand and walk to her door. I flip the lock and turn the blinds until the windows are covered. There’s fear in her eyes as I approach, but she doesn’t need to be afraid of me. I’d sooner kill myself than ever hurt her.
I kneel down in front of her chair. She tries to scoot back, but I don’t let her.
“Do you want to know when Idofeel now?”
She shakes her head. “Not really.”
I pull her closer. “When I’m with you.”
“That’s what I was afraid of.”
“It’s a good feeling, feather. It’s light and bright and clean. Before, during my kills, I’m always filthy afterward. I had tocleanse myself. That’s why I would—” I stop myself, sensing the secret we’re both skirting around. “But with you, it’s good. It feels right.”
“Cormac,” she whimpers as I spread her legs and fit myself between them. I’m on my knees in front of her as I tug her closer until she’s pressed to me, our faces almost level. “You’re fucking terrifying.”
“I know.” I kiss her softly. “But not to you.” I kiss her harder, sucking her lower lip. “You’re safe with me.”
“That’s what I’m afraid of,” she whispers, kissing me back. “I’m afraid I’m starting to like the way this feels. It’s dirty and dark. It’s all sorts of fucked up.”
“But you like that.”
“Yeah, I do.” She shivers, shaking her head. “All my life I’ve tried to do good things to balance out all the shit my family does. Like I’m trying to right the cosmic scales or something. But when I’m with you, it’s like I want to tip them in the wrong direction.”
“Good.” I slip my fingers into her hair. “We can balance each other. You make me better. I make you so much worse.”
“Is that what we really want, though?”
I kiss her, holding it for a moment, before pulling back. “Who fucking cares? So long as it feels good.”
Then I crush her mouth again. This time, I feast, diving deep into a frenzy. I drag her to her feet, shove space on her desk, and make her sit on it. Her legs open for me, inviting, begging, as I toss her heels aside and tug her slacks down. She lifts her hips, helping me, lips pink and bitten, eyes burning with desire.
Her pussy’s wet when I stroke it. She’s mostly naked on her desk, her shirt open, her breasts covered in a lacy black bra.
“Look at you,” I whisper, kissing her chest. I push down one cup and lick her nipple hard. “Legs spread. Pussy dripping on your desk. Tell me you’re a bad girl.”
“Cormac,” she moans as I kiss down and down until I reach her inner thigh. I get closer to that sweet-smelling pussy and gently tongue it top to bottom. “I can’t say it.”
“Tell me you’re bad, feather, or I’m going to stop.”
“Don’t stop.” She pushes into me. “I want it.”
“Then tell me you’re bad. Tell me you’re filthy. Tell me you’re as fucked up as I am because of how bad you want this.”
