Breaking Hailey (Shadows of Obsession Book 1)

An hour. That’s how long it takes before my hard-on subsides. Hailey sleeps like a baby, exhausted and tipsy, her cheek against my shoulder, face snuggled into the crook of my neck.

I weave my fingers through her hair in a mechanical motion, mesmerized by the liquid silk feel of the long strands.

It’s new. Everything I do with this girl is brand fucking new. Letting her use me without getting off myself?

New…. on so many levels.

My needs are always my priority. When I fuck, I fuck to come. To feel good. To release the tension from my knotted muscles and briefly forget about the blood on my hands and the threats lurking in the shadows.

If the woman I pound into comes too… good for her. If she doesn’t… better luck next time.

The same treatment could never apply to Hailey. I waited for her orgasm as if it’d save the world, cure diseases, and end poverty. I don’t know why. It goes against everything I know about myself, but I didn’t mind keeping my dick on a leash.

It took more control than anything ever should not to spill in my boxers, but one thought helped me along: She’s tipsy. This isn’t for your fucking benefit, only hers.

I’ve never been as entranced as when she ground into me. I could stare at her for hours.

Fuck knows what it is about her, but I’m defenseless against my instincts. Instincts that revel in the soft, sweet heat of her body beside me. Instincts that demand I toy with her hair.

There’s no need to get this close.

My task is retrieving her memories. Her trust was a part of it for a moment and that moment’s gone. Now, her trust is simply an unnecessary distraction.

I don’t need her trust. I don’t need her to tell me what she remembers because I know. I read all about it.

Well… not all of it; I still don’t know what she saw this week, but I have a feeling it isn’t relevant to the bigger picture.

Hailey wants to find out why her father’s lying. She’s rigorous in posing questions and detailing what might be relevant, while skimming over any details that don’t hold value.

Whatever she’s omitting can’t be important. What she’s written is enough. More than enough. The pages are filled with raw honesty… unfiltered Hailey in five different colors.

I’ve spent hours studying her words. I’ve read and re-read every sentence until I can recite the whole fucking thing.

It’s fascinating how her mind works. How quickly she invents plausible answers she can’t confirm. As fascinating as the liquid silk of her locks sliding between my rough fingers and tangling in my signet ring—the one accessory I refused to drop when I morphed into Nash.

Spending time with Hailey is dangerous. I should muster the hate and distance myself. The thought, a bit foggy around the edges, is there: push her away. I should, but my body operates on a different wavelength where she’s concerned.

My arms don’t budge.

Instead of loosening the hold, like I really fucking need to, a dominant, almost primal impulse has me grazing my lips over her hairline. She’s so close I crane my neck until a dull pain starts, but I do it. The impulse is too strong to ignore.

Overpowering.

I’m weak because… I do it again. I drag my parted lips over her skin and stamp a soft kiss on her head. My stomach tightens immediately, guilt sprouting like a magic bean. I shouldn’t have done that. I shouldn’t give in to the pull.

It’s just fucking desire. Primal, controllable…

Easier said than done.

Hailey’s intoxicating. A potent drug. Not the kind to instigate that addictive feeling of invincibility or euphoria. Far from it.

Hailey’s a bad drug. The kind of high that fucks me up so bad I’m tripping. Paranoia, cold sweats, tremors… I’m not far from crumbling under the mayhem. She leaves me teetering on the edge of sanity, threatening to shatter my psyche.

It’s like my mind’s not mine anymore. The correct thoughts are there, but they hold zero leverage over my actions.

And the irony?

Once the dizzying rush disappears, once she’s not within my reach, I crave another hit like a drowning man craves air.

◆◆◆

When I wake up bright and early, Hailey’s not in the same position she fell asleep in. Instead of sprawling over my chest with her lips almost kissing the crook of my neck, my face is in her hair, arms tightly around her, her feet between my thighs… a big spoon to her small.

She was calm all night. I dreaded a panic attack, like the one I witnessed in her room, but nothing happened. Not a hint of a nightmare. Not one whimper.

She feels safe with me…

Silly girl. I’m worse than her nightmares. I’m a plague infesting her life and using her vulnerability. I’m a monster in her closet. One she can’t run away from.

One she doesn’t know exists.

My pulse accelerates as I let myself feel every inch of her soft warmth against my skin. I feel trapped even though she’s in my arms. I can move away. I’m physically capable. Nothing’s holding me here, but I don’t move.

Of course I don’t. I spread my fingers over her belly, molding her further into me.

Bad fucking drug.

The outline of her ass pressing into my groin amplifies my raging hard-on. My imagination runs wild as I picture brushing her hair away to uncover her neck. My teeth grazing the soft flesh, the hem of her tee rolling up over her ass. My hand covering her mouth and muffling her moans so she doesn’t wake the whole fucking floor. My cock springing free from my boxers and thrusting inside her in this exact position. My other hand moving her leg back, opening her up to give me easy access to play her clit.

Fuck, I want her under me, face down, my arms flush with hers, holding her still, caged.

I inhale, filling my lungs with her scent, barely stopping myself grinding into her. In the next breath I jerk away, almost leaping out of bed.

My skin tingles where her warmth was pressed against me, replaced by an unpleasant chill. Balling my fists, I enter the bathroom, putting some much-needed distance between us.

I turn the shower, stripping off my boxers, my cock like a metal pole as scorching hot water patters my tense muscles.

I was mellow a moment ago. Now, it feels like Hailey has a lasso snared around my middle and she’s roping me in inch by inch. I fight it but this girl has supernatural strength.

Eyes closed, I brace against the off-white tiles, and wrap my fingers around my shaft. For one fleeting second, I stay still, reconsidering… and then I pump hard. Angry, almost painful strokes. The orgasm builds at the base of my spine faster than ever before. When I’m about to blow, I stop.

Punishment for the weakness Hailey ignites.

This is detox.Copyright by Nôv/elDrama.Org.

I start again, determined to rewire my brain with slow, measured precision as I fist my cock, jerking up and down while twisting my wrist around the head.

The pure ecstasy painting Hailey’s face last night comes back to taunt me and I almost fucking lose it.

I yank my hand away, my cock twitching, throbbing, so close to a release I won’t indulge in.

Punishment for veering off course.

Steam clouds the bathroom, hanging thickly in the air. I barely see the tiles right in front of my face. Hot water pools at my feet, every inch of my skin burning from the temperature and burning for her.

I fist my cock again, fucking my hand like I want to fuck Hailey’s pussy, ass, mouth. Every jerk of my hips almost sends me over, but I grit my teeth, stop, and repeat the torture, imagining she’s the one driving me this feral. That she’s the one denying me sweet release.

Punishment for craving another hit.

From the top. Five, ten, fifteen denied orgasms. My body’s exhausted, my balls so full they’re painful, my cock so swollen every touch drives me insane. I don’t know how long I’m at it. The pads of my fingers are water-wrinkled when I grasp the base again, squeezing hard as I stroke faster and faster, shaking harder the closer I get.

And then—because I’m goddamn certain I could hurt Hailey right now, because I fucking hate her—I let the orgasm rattle through me, an apocalyptic release. So potent my knees buckle, so potent that dark spots blur my vision. I milk the warm cum spattering the tiles, shaking with every erratic breath I pull down.

It takes three minutes to regain my balance. Another five to shower, dry-off and stumble back into the bedroom, a towel draped over my hips.

The hatred still simmers beneath my skin. I’m itching, vibrating with it, pure wrath scorching my veins. One look at the clock tells me I’ve been torturing myself for half an hour.

One look at the bed tells me it was all for nothing.

Hailey’s nose is buried deep in my pillow, as if my scent keeps her sleeping peacefully. As if my scent—and by extension me—is the only thing that lets her rest.

The defenses I erected a moment ago shatter like fine china. It’s a merry-go-round with this girl. Hailey’s memories and my guesses are the passengers. There aren’t many yet, but the seat where my hatred sat is empty already. It’s empty because just now, hatred evaporated like a drop of water on a scorching metal roof in full sun, leaving no trace, no proof it was ever there.

Something else is beelining for the spot. Something disturbing. Something I won’t name.

There’s no room on the ride for that something.

I’m overcome by that infuriating impulse to hold Hailey close, once again under the influence of my personal bad fucking drug. My head’s full of her riding me last night. The pure bliss painting her face, the narrow strip of hair between her legs where I want to bury my nose and inhale, the sweet, mewling sounds she made…

It takes everything I have to keep from climbing back in bed beside her.