Sweet Obsession: Chapter 17

After playing one more game of pool, Marcus insists on driving me home to change, and then to work. I don’t fight him on it, partly because I’ll definitely be late if I try to take the bus, and partly because… I don’t want to.

I’m sick of fighting. Sick of trying to convince myself I don’t feel anything for this man, and sick of blaming myself every time my defenses break down and I let him in.

I still don’t believe in fate. Don’t believe in destiny.

But whatever brought us together the night I was shot, it’s stronger than I ever allowed myself to admit.

When Marcus drops me off at Duke’s, it doesn’t even surprise me that he follows me inside. He spends my entire shift settled on a stool at one end of the bar, nursing a drink and occasionally scrolling on his phone. He talks to me when I end up on that side of the bar, but only when I initiate it—and he never tries to keep me from getting back to work when another patron needs a drink.

Mostly, he just watches me.

As if I’m the most fascinating thing he’s ever seen. As if watching a girl of average height with dark hair and blue eyes and a tattoo covering the stump of her arm serve drinks is all he ever wants to do.

I get the strange feeling that this is what he’s been doing for a long time, only now he’s decided to throw subtlety out the window entirely. Instead of hiding in the shadows, he’s doing it out in the open.

And I’m no longer making any move to stop him.

Several times over the course of the night, women sidle up to Marcus, either perching on the stool next to his or leaning against the bar as they incline their heads toward him. He brushes each one of them off with barely more than a glance, and as I watch them slink back to their friends with dejected looks on their faces, I can’t help the strange sense of satisfaction that flares inside me.

Because he’s not theirs.

“You good, Ayla?” Duke asks at the end of my shift, his gaze flicking to Marcus, who’s still stationed in his spot at the end of the bar.

Maybe this is my chance. Now that Marcus and his friends aren’t even bothering to hide their stalking anymore, maybe I could build a strong enough case to report it and have the cops actually listen and believe me.

But the thought barely flits through my mind before I shake my head at Duke, brushing off his concern. “Yeah. It’s fine.”

After I finish cleaning up, Marcus drives me home. His hand rests on my knee, his grip firm and possessive, and I close my eyes and lean back against the comfortable seat, letting the music playing softly through the stereo lull my tired mind.

When we reach my place, he cuts the engine and uses two fingers to tilt my face toward his. Then his hand slides around the back of my neck, and he leans over to kiss me.

His lips are warm and soft, and although a sense of heated urgency still infuses the kiss, it doesn’t feel quite as desperate as others have.

As if he knows I’m done running.

He draws back, his knuckles tracing the curve of my cheekbone. “Goodnight, angel.”

“Goodnight.”

He looks like he wants to kiss me again—and maybe never stop—but he reluctantly pulls back and watches me unclip the seatbelt.

I hear the engine start up again as I make my way up the stairs to my apartment, and when I get inside, I peer out the window down at the street.

Marcus’s car is gone.

But somehow, I’m sure I’m not alone.

Everything settles into a strange sort of routine over the next couple of weeks.

I wasn’t wrong at all in my assessment that Marcus and his two friends have basically decided to stop hiding in the shadows of my life and exist unabashedly in the middle of it.

They’re everywhere.

When I go to work, one of them drives me. Whoever it is usually camps out at the end of the bar for my entire shift, and sometimes the others join him as well. Duke and a few of the other bartenders have definitely noticed it, and I get the feeling some of them think I’m dating all three of these men.

I don’t bother correcting them, because… well, I don’t exactly know why. But I tell myself it’s none of anyone’s business who these men are to me, or how they came into my life. I’m still trying to sort through all of that myself in a way that makes sense, and I definitely don’t feel up to the challenge of explaining it to someone else.

When I go to the library, when I go shopping, even when I go to various temp jobs in offices around the city—one of the men is always there.

I wonder if this is what it feels like to be a celebrity or a politician or anyone important enough to have a security detail that follows them everywhere. Only instead of being loved by millions or important to national security, I’m important solely to these three men.

Some days, I still hate it. Some days, panic wells up at how very normal this is all starting to feel.

In those moments of panic, I lash out at Marcus or pick a fight with Ryland. But no matter what I do or say, nothing pushes them away. The heat that always simmers between me and Marcus will ignite, and he’ll end up fucking me raw, but when it’s over, he always pulls me back into the cradle of his embrace—a protective, everlasting force that will never fade.

And Ryland, for as much as he seems to hate me and this entire situation, watches me with a laser focus sometimes that makes me feel like he can see all the way through my skin, like he’s slowly dissecting and analyzing my soul.

Theo’s the only one I can’t ever bring myself to intentionally provoke. For one thing, it would probably be pointless, since his easygoing demeanor makes it a lot harder to rile him up than the other two men. And for another thing, I don’t want to. He’s my calm in the storm that is Ryland and Marcus, the one whose voice and touch always soothes and never hurts.

The kiss we shared in the alley still hovers at the edges of my mind whenever I look at him, and I find myself daydreaming more than once about what it would be like to kiss him again. To drown in the sweet warmth of his full lips.

I think he thinks about it too. Or at least, that’s the only explanation I’ve been able to come up with for the few moments of tension that have bubbled up between us. Usually, he’s easy to talk to, his charming demeanor making me feel like I’ve known him for much longer than I have.

But sometimes, he’ll catch my gaze and fall suddenly silent, the lopsided smile slipping from his face. The air will fill with something thick and electric, and words will fail me too. It’s hard to even draw a breath in those moments, and I fear them as much as a part of me waits for them.

Something is building between us, and I don’t know what will happen when—or if—it breaks.

Nearly three weeks after the day Natalie moved back into my building, I step out onto the front stoop and find Marcus waiting for me in his car. I never tell these men my schedule, but they always seem to know exactly what it is anyway.

I slip into the passenger seat, and he leans over the console, threading his fingers through my hair and attacking my mouth with a hungry, starving kiss. When he breaks away, his blue and brown eyes gleam heatedly as he looks at me. Then his focus moves over my shoulder, and he frowns.

Turning, I track his gaze. Carson and Natalie are heading up the walkway toward the apartment. Her body is wedged so tightly against his I’m surprised she can even walk without tripping over his fucking feet, and he’s got an arm slung possessively around her shoulders. Like the day she moved in, she’s wearing much more expensive clothes than she used to, and jewelry glitters on her wrist and at her ears.

“I’ve only seen her once since she moved back,” I say, shifting my attention to Marcus again. He’s got a murderous look on his face, and tension is pouring from his body. “And I haven’t seen Carson at all until now.”

“Good.”

His answer is short and clipped. He still looks like he wants to shove his door open, stride up the walk after them, and beat the shit out of Carson. But instead, he just grabs the wheel and pulls away from the curb.

The foul mood he’s in seems to stick with him even as he takes his usual spot at the end of the bar at Duke’s and I get to work serving patrons. He stares moodily into his glass of whiskey, swirling the amber liquid around as if he can read the future in it like tea leaves.

His tension puts me on edge too, and after I spill my third drink and break my fourth glass, Duke asks me if I need a break.

“Yeah. Thanks,” I mutter gratefully. “I’ll just take a fiver and go wash up.”

I blow out a breath as I slip out from behind the bar and head toward the hallway that leads to the bathrooms and the back exit. I don’t know what it is that’s got me so twitchy tonight, and I hate to think that my emotional connection to Marcus is so strong that his feelings can infect me this easily.

Brushing a piece of hair off my face with the bicep of my damaged arm, I push open the door to the ladies room. But I almost lose my balance when a large hand shoves the door open wider. The scent of leather and soap surrounds me as Marcus pushes me inside and presses me up against the door, forcing it closed with a heavy thud.

His eyes are slightly glazed as he stares down at me, and I would think he’s drunk—but I’ve been the one serving him, and I know he’s only had one whiskey.

“This is the ladies room,” I point out breathlessly, still trying to recover my equilibrium.

“Not right now it fuckin’ isn’t.”

That’s all he says before his lips are on mine, his hands moving roughly over every part of me they can reach. My body bucks against the restraint of his hold, undulating against his as fire licks through my veins.

I don’t know what the hell has gotten into him. By some unspoken agreement, the men usually don’t interfere in my work or other important activities, as if my reward for letting them this deep into my life is that they won’t disrupt it too badly. Usually he just sits at the bar, watching me as if he wants to devour me.

Now? It’s like he’s trying to do just that.

There’s a violent desperation in his touch that reminds me of the first time we ever fucked, and it scares me even as it draws out an answering response from my own body. I hook my leg around his lean waist, grinding against his cock. It’s already thick and hard, straining toward me as he thrusts his hips into mine—as if we could fuck through our clothes if we just try hard enough.

My clit throbs, already aching hotly from the friction and the feel of his mouth pillaging mine. I reach for the button of his jeans, reason abandoning me like it always does with this man, but he grabs my wrist roughly and pins it to the door beside my head.

Then he draws back, breathing hard and deep as he reaches for my zipper and tugs it down. He doesn’t even pull my pants down, just opens my fly enough to allow him room to squeeze his hand inside. Then he shoves two fingers into my pussy, biting his lip as he watches my response.

Keeping his gaze glued on my face, he works his thick fingers deeper inside me, and I swear I can feel his whole body shudder, all the way down to the tips of his fingers. He pumps them inside me a few times, fucking me roughly with them until I’m gasping for breath, and then he drags them out, smearing my wet arousal over my skin as the pads of his fingers find my clit.

Sensation explodes inside me, building higher and higher with each circle of his fingertips. He leans closer, caging me entirely with his body, his cheek pressed to mine as his harsh breaths stir my hair.

The hand stuffed down my pants works faster, and his grip on my wrist tightens almost painfully as his taut, rigid body presses against mine.

“Sometimes I want to break you, angel,” he murmurs into my ear, his voice a rough burn. “Sometimes I want to break you apart just to see what’s inside.”

My breath hitches in my throat, my hips bucking off the door to get closer to his touch as electric pleasure spikes in my veins.

I hate that I know what he means, but I do. Sometimes I want to break him too. As if the part of him I’m desperate to reach, desperate to have, is hidden deep inside him, and the only way to claim it is to smash him to pieces.

As if I don’t just want his body.

I want his whole fucking soul.

A ragged noise tears from my throat, and he groans into my ear, pinching my clit between his fingers. My stomach tightens as pleasure and pain blast through me, and Marcus rears back, releasing my wrist and clamping his hand over my mouth as I scream out my release.

My eyes are wide, my nostrils flaring and my chest heaving as I try to suck in enough oxygen through my nose to survive.

But his fingers don’t stop moving. The rough pads of his fingertips keep circling my clit, slowing only slightly. Earth and air stare back at me, a deep, consuming, devastating hunger lurking in the depths of his eyes.

“Break for me, angel. Let go.”

I just did. Didn’t he see it? Didn’t he feel it?

But it wasn’t enough. He wants more. Always more.

He’s relentless, pushing my body higher and higher. He makes me come again, and when he wrings a third orgasm from my exhausted body, making my clit ache from too much stimulation, I bite down hard on his hand.

He grunts, his whole weight falling against me as his punishing fingers finally slow. I can feel his cock pressing into me, hot and hard, but he makes no move to fuck me. Instead, he just… holds me.

His hand is still down my pants, cupping my pussy. His temple rests against mine, and his other hand cradles the back of my neck.

I don’t know how long we’ve been in the bathroom. Much longer than the five minutes I told Duke I was going to take, I’m sure of that. But I don’t move. I don’t try to push Marcus away. I just breathe against him, letting our heartbeats sync into a single rhythm.

Finally, he stirs, dragging his body away from mine. He zips my pants back up and secures the button, staring at me with an enigmatic gaze.

“I have to go away this weekend,” he murmurs.

“Oh.” I blink. “So will Ryland and Theo stay—”

“No. They have to come too.” There’s a heaviness in his voice, and his eyes pinch a little at the corners as he speaks.

“Oh.” I repeat the word, nodding slightly.

Is this why he’s been acting strange all night? Why he followed me in here? Why there was something so wild and desperate in his movements?

Because he’ll be gone. They all will.

For the first time in who knows how long, days will pass where none of them will see me.

Where I won’t see them.

A sudden, strange ache wells up in my chest, and I press away from the wall, palming the back of Marcus’s neck and pulling him down to kiss me. His hands find their way into my hair as he kisses me back—softly, sweetly this time, as if there’s no more violence left in him.

Or maybe he’s just decided to break me with gentleness instead.

“Stay with me tonight,” he whispers against my lips. “Stay with me until I go.”

I nod, the barest movement of my head. “Okay.”

As if that single word has unknotted something inside him, his body relaxes. I can feel the tension drain from him as his lips curve up in a smile.

“Thank you, angel.”