Obsession (7 page)

A beep from my watch let me know I didn’t have a lot of time left before the truth serum ran its course and her mind closed to my influence once again.

A rumble of pleasure escaped me in the form of a groan. “I want to fuck every inch of your body. No part of you will be unmarked by my seed, inside and out. But right now, you need to sleep. Just let your body go limp, nothing matters but feeling good…content…just drift.”

After she fell into a deeper trance, I began to lay the groundwork for addicting her to me, mind, body, and soul.

I’m not a good man, in fact I may be an evil one, but I’d bind this angel to my wicked life any way I could.

After I was done with setting the mental triggers in her subconscious, I’d take a vial of her blood and send it overnight to El Salvador. The potent aphrodisiac the Cordova cartel made, D128, would be ready after being custom altered to her body chemistry and mine, then shipped up from our El Salvador lab. The complex chemical mix would increase Hannah’s sex drive to the point of her going into heat, of her body demanding sex the way most female animals do when they’re fertile—though the drug won’t force ovulation. She’ll beg for my cock and I’ll give it to her, sooth her need, and bind her to me forever. The more I fuck her during those first few essential days, gave her endless orgasms and drowned her in my filthy desires, the more she would crave me and my admittedly kinky brand of sex until no other man would do.

The Cordova cartel first developed this particular combination of chemicals by accident, but when they figured out what they had made, the cartel’s wealth had exploded overnight as everyone wanted a taste of the aphrodisiac.

Unfortunately, it didn’t work for men—we were always in heat; always fertile and ready to create life—but for women…it was a miracle.

D128 was obscenely expensive because each batch had to be custom made for each individual woman, and took a team of highly trained chemists to produce, but the results were worth the time and money. While the drug couldn’t force arousal—female desire comes as much from their minds as from their bodies—the blend of chemicals would increase a woman’s physical response and sensitize her body so that when she did naturally become turned on, the results were…overwhelming. Strong enough to release her sexual inhibitions and allow her to blossom into the erotic creature she was meant to be, before society’s bullshit opinions weighed her down.

I couldn’t wait to see Hannah’s reaction.

She would become insatiable and I’d give her everything she needed, addict her to my touch, to my rough brand of sex, to my cock.

Was it immoral to drug a woman and basically brainwash her? Maybe. If I was a cruel man with cruel intentions towards Hannah, I could see the point that such an action was an outrageous violation of her basic rights as a human being. But turning her into a slave wasn’t why I was doing this. I needed her to be so happy she’d never leave me. I wanted her to enjoy every aspect of our lives together and share her pleasure with me. Including our sex lives. Maybe especially. While I’d never be the kind of man who would be what society envisions a picture-perfect husband, I
was
the kind of man who could satisfy her sexually in a way no other man ever could. It’s not bragging, it’s simple fact. I’ve studied women, what they like, how they respond, and I’ve used that knowledge to punish them into submission with agonizing pleasure.

Those past sexual encounters had been physically satisfying, but emotionally empty. The equivalent of jacking off with a woman’s body. The thought sounded crude even to me, but I didn’t lie to myself. Slipping into Hannah’s no doubt exquisite pussy would be an entirely different experience, the addictively positive feelings I had for her surging at the thought of finally having her beneath me, stuffed full of my dick while I rutted into her.

Marked her.

Filled her up until my cum flowed out of her well-fucked cunt.

But first I had to open her mind to the type of dirty fucking I liked best.

Still speaking to her in a persuasive, unhurried voice, I told her that my pleasure was her pleasure, that when I was aroused, she would be aroused, and she would orgasm on command for me. I conditioned her mind for my needs and desires, shaping her own naturally submissive soul for my particular brand of kink. I couldn’t drastically change who she was at her core, or make her suddenly love lemons when she truly hated them, or even love a monster like me, but I could mold some of her responses with a butterfly touch to her psyche. I could plant the seeds of trust and absolute loyalty deep inside her mind and pray they took root.

Though I wanted to keep her here with me, I’d take her home instead. She’d wake up and realize she couldn’t remember anything after her second glass of champagne, would forget she’d ever met me, only to learn from her roommates that I had gallantly driven her home, untouched, after she’d had too much to drink. Then, when I reentered her life in two weeks with her dose of D128, I’d have an excuse to talk with her, and an in with Hannah for being a good guy who’d returned her safe and sound. Her roommates—who I would make sure to charm into liking me—would encourage Hannah to see me again.

Running my fingers through the heavy silk of her hair, I let the shiny black sheet flow over my scarred knuckles. Touching her felt good, so good I was reluctant to let her go, to take her safely home, along with pastries from an exclusive bakery and gourmet coffee. It was my way of apologizing to her for the wicked hangover she’d experience. I didn’t want her to suffer, and wished I could be the one to care for her, but the time wasn’t right.

No, I’d have to content myself with stalking her from afar for the moment.

There were cameras already set up in the public areas of her apartment, and Hannah’s bedroom, but not the bathroom. I had no desire to see either of her roommates naked, and since Hannah slept only in a long t-shirt, I’d had plenty of time to admire her pussy as she’d kick off her covers in her sleep. Watching Hannah while she lived her safe, normal little life had become one of my favorite pastimes when insomnia plagued me late at night. Sometimes, when I had a particularly stressful day, I’d watch her for hours if she happened to be home, fantasizing about what it would be like to spend my day with her. The sharp curves of her face fascinated me, her laughter made me smile, and now that I finally held her in my arms, the urge to own her, all of her, threatened to overwhelm my iron control. Without that control I’d become a monster, so it was absolute.

But oh, did she tempt me.

I still had enough time for the final phase of my plan, the real reason I’d put her under tonight. Her breaths came light and even as I said what I hoped would be magic words in her ear, ones that would enable her to fully embrace her potential as my wife.

By the time the beeper on my watch alerted me that the drug had worked itself out of her system, my voice had gone hoarse, but I’d managed to repeat my instructions three times. Hopefully it would be enough.

It had to be enough.

Soon her personal dose of D128 would be ready then Hannah would be mine, forever.

Hannah

At three a.m., the twenty-four-hour diner I worked at was populated with an odd mixture of the late-shift crowd from the hospital across the street, drunk students from the bars one block over, and random people who had a craving for greasy diner chow in the middle of the night. The smell of frying food hung heavy in the air, mixed with the ever-present aroma of coffee and a hint of cigarette smoke that had seeped into the walls long before the city banned indoor smoking. Those smells mingled in an oddly comforting blend I’d grown used to over the last few years while working nights to make ends meet.

Right now we were experiencing a lull in business, but in two hours the breakfast crowd would start pouring in, and there was a lot of prep work to be done.

Only myself and two other servers were on the floor right now, and I scanned my tables with a practiced eye, looking for empty plates or someone needing a refill. The giggling group of college girls by the door, obviously drunk, kept sending flirty glances over at one of my other tables, a quiet man who sat by himself in the back, his square jaw tense and dark gaze locked on the hospital across the street. His nice black suit was slightly wrinkled and his dark silver tie hung askew from his thick neck. Even though he wore his golden-brown hair back in one of those man-bun things I normally hated, on him it looked Viking-warrior hot.

I hadn’t really paid that much attention to him earlier, too busy trying to divide checks among a group of eleven nurses, but now that I could take a breath, I found myself oddly fascinated by him, even though he wasn’t the type of guy I was normally attracted to. I tended to go for…well, if I was being honest, I went for weak men. Nonthreatening. Guys who looked like they spent their spare time screwing around with video games instead of hitting the gym. The man sitting at my table was sooooo not that. He was raw, visceral, and even in his obviously high-quality suit managed to look rough—like the kind of guy who would play a villain in the movies.

But I couldn’t look away.

Something about him was familiar, and I studied him closer.

A layer of light brown scruff covered his thick jaw and he had deep lines going across his heavy, prominent brow, as well as lighter ones bracketing his deep-set eyes. It almost gave him a caveman-like profile, but his high cheekbones and solid jaw balanced it off, giving him an intensely masculine vibe. He was staring out the window and it gave me a chance to go secret stalker on him, to indulge this odd, intense curiosity I had about him.

When I looked down to his large hands grasping the white ceramic coffee cup, I noticed what appeared to be faint dots of blood on his cuffs, and followed his line of sight to the hospital across the street.

Oh no.

I’d been admiring him when he was obviously worried about something, or someone. Shit, he must have brought a loved one into the ER, or was visiting someone at the hospital. Someone close to him or someone he knew was hurt or sick. That’s why he appeared so closed off from everyone else in the room, as if he were living in his own personal bubble.

I knew what that felt like, to lose someone close to you. My younger sister had died of childhood leukemia a little over ten years ago, and I can still remember feeling separated from the rest of the world, like I was alone and no one could ever understand what I was going through. My parents totally cut themselves off from me emotionally, despite my rather desperate efforts to be the perfect daughter and make them love me. When I’d moved away to college, they’d pretty much stopped all contact with me other than an occasional Christmas or birthday card. I never went home to visit and they never invited me. Hell, I saw my cousins in Michigan, halfway across the country, more than I saw my own parents.

So yeah, I knew what it was like to be alone with your grief, and I knew it sucked. 

With these thoughts in mind, I made my way across the faded tile floor armed with a fresh pot of coffee. I’d go over, offer him a refill, and see if he wanted to talk. Sometimes people did, sometimes people didn’t, but I couldn’t see a gloomy person without wanting to make them smile. I’m one of those people who’re happiest when I’m making other people happy, and I feel their grief like my own. I realize this makes me vulnerable to the assholes of this world, that many would confuse my kindness for weakness, but I can’t change who I am.

Pasting on a bright smile, I approached his table and he totally ignored me.

Okay, maybe this wasn’t the best idea.

Up close, I could see the small web of fine lines around his eyes, the scars marring his skin, and my sense that he was dangerous was blaring warnings through my mind.

Yet that feeling of familiarity remained.

I had a job to do, so I forced my voice to be cheerful as I asked, “Can I offer you some coffee?”

His eyes, so dark brown they almost appeared black, flicked to mine and I nearly dropped the coffee pot when his gaze struck me like a physical blow. “Yes, please.”

Instead of giving me his cup, he slid it forward with his large hand still wrapped around it.

I hesitated, and then, in an unusually graceless move, managed to pour steaming-hot coffee on his hand instead of in the cup.

“Shit,” he hissed, and shook his hand out.

“I’m so sorry!”

Horrified, I jerked the pot up and back—scalding a small section of my
own
arm this time, which made me drop the insulated metal coffee pot with a sharp scream as intense pain lit up the nerves and agony sizzled along my skin.

Instantly tears filled my eyes as I checked my arm, the skin growing angry and pink as the burning seemed to increase with every passing second.

Before I could move, I found a big arm looped around my waist, hustling me back to the bathrooms as I cradled my arm and cried.

Thankfully there was no one in white-and-black tiled room with us, but I didn’t really give any of that a thought. My only focus was on getting the pain to stop, and I was aided in that task when a calloused hand gently grasped my arm and turned on the cold water at one of the four sinks facing the mirrors, forcing me to hunch over the bleached-to-death white tile. As he helped me get comfortable, I became aware of how large he was, how he could almost perfectly rest his chin on the top of my head. He surrounded me, and as the burn began to die down, I turned my teary eyes to the mirror and found him watching me with a searching look I didn’t understand.

“Hannah, are you all right?”

His voice was deep, raspy, and I almost shivered as he shifted behind me, widening his stance while he guided my arm beneath the flow of water.

“How did you know my name?”

“You introduced yourself when I first sat down.”

“Oh, right.”

“And you’re wearing a nametag.”

I glanced down at my chest to confirm something I already knew, and noticed his hand resting on the faded sink countertop, the skin an angry bright pink.

Without thinking, I turned on the faucet of the sink next to us then grabbed his lightly haired wrist and thrust his large hand beneath the water, while he still held my arm beneath the other mercifully cold stream. The skin on the back of his hand looked like it hurt and I cringed inside. I’d injured him, like really hurt him, and his first reaction was to take care of me. Guilt swamped me and I sucked in a shaky breath.

The rushing water almost drowned out my voice as I whispered, “I’m so sorry.”

“Hey now,” he rumbled, the vibrations of his voice pinging off my nerves in a seductive baritone. “Look at me.”

He said that with such authority that I followed his command without thought. The serious set of his expression, the absolute dominance he gave off, washed over me in a soothing wave of heat. Next to my slender frame, he was positively beastly, a mature and grown man who knew who he was and what he wanted. Authoritative older men have always been a secret weakness of mine, and the man behind me embodied every one of my fantasies come to life. My nipples peaked and I was glad the ugly apron of my uniform hid them from his probing view.

Good Lord, what was wrong with me? I’d burned the shit out of a customer and all I could think about was how good he would feel on top of me.

Still holding my arm beneath the water, he pinned me to the spot with his dark stare. “Hannah, did you spill the coffee on purpose? Do it just to see me in pain?”

“What? No, of course not.” Offended that he would think that, I tried to pull my arm away. “It was an accident.”

“Then you have nothing to apologize for.” He removed his hand from my grasp then gently examined my skin with a care that made something melt inside of me.  “Come with me, I think you should see a doctor.”

My shit insurance had a crazy-high co-pay, and unless I was dying, I avoided going to the ER at all costs. “That’s okay. I’ll just ice it and look up how to treat burns on the Internet.”

Wow, when he frowned, he was scary.

Before he could say anything, Beth, the night manager, came into the bathroom then let out a little shriek at the sight of the guy with the burned hand.

“Jesus, you’re a big one.” Her gaze found mine and went to my arm. “Hannah, are you okay?”

“I’m fine,” I lied. “I’m more worried about Mr…”

I looked at him, realizing I didn’t know his name, and found his gaze already on me. “Leo.”

Well, that fit. Bet with his hair down, he would kind of resemble a lion too. “I burned Mr. Leo’s hand.”

“Just Leo, Hannah, and I assure you, I’m fine. In fact, I’m more worried about your arm. You should see a doctor.”

Beth approached and spoke up with a nervous flutter of her hand in my direction, “I agree, Hannah. Take the rest of the night off and go to the ER. I’ve burned myself before and it’s no picnic.”

Thinking of all the corners I’d have to cut in my budget to afford a trip to the hospital, I pasted on a smile and tried to pretend the nerves in my forearm weren’t screaming from pain. “Really, I’m okay. I’ll just go home and ice it.”

Leo spoke up from behind me. “I’ll take her.”

Turning back to face him, I had to tilt my head up to meet his determined stare. “No thank you, I’m fine.”

“That arm isn’t fine.”

“Neither is your hand.”

He seemed bemused when I gave him my meanest glare, the one that I used while babysitting.

Beth clucked from beside me. “Really, Hannah, you need to get this looked at.”

Lowering my voice until it was barely a breath, I leaned down so I could whisper in her ear, “I can’t afford the co-pay.”

“I’ll take care of it,” Leo said from too close behind me.

Once again, I glared at him for getting up in my personal space, but it was like trying to intimidate a statue. “Thank you, but I’m sure I’ll be fine. I’m the one who injured you, I can’t possibly let you pay for my medical care.”

“Stubborn little thing with a strong moral compass,” he murmured, and that icy look in his eyes softened.

“What?”

“Hannah,” oh, I liked the way he said my name, way too much, “I promise you, nothing will happen to you while you’re with me.”

I licked my lips, wincing as the skin of my arm felt like it was still burning, and internally cursed. “Thank you, but no.”

“Actually, Hannah,” Beth said with a hesitant smile. “The diner will pay for your medical care, and Mr…uh, Leo’s as well.”

“See, no reason not to let me take care of you.”

“Uh—hello? Stranger danger?”

With a smirk, he pulled out his wallet and I couldn’t help but wince at the sight of his hand, the skin an unnaturally bright pink color. “Here, Beth, this is my business card. If anything happens to Hannah, you can take it to the police.”

While Beth read the card, I asked in a low voice, “Does your hand hurt?”

“Yes, but I’ve endured worse.” A low sigh escaped his deep chest and the look he gave me was more than tinged with exasperation. “Hannah, stop martyring yourself and let me help you.”

Before I could make any sense of that odd, but I was pretty sure offensive, statement, Beth gave me a nudge in the lower back. “Go ahead, Hannah, grab your stuff. I’m sure Mr. Brass will take care of you.”

At the odd, tight tone in her voice, I turned to look at her and was confused by the way she was watching Leo with wide, almost fearful eyes. “Are you sure?”

She blinked a couple times, then glanced at me. “Yes. You need your arm looked at.”

“Fine, take me to a doctor,” I huffed then jerked my head at Leo. “Come on.”

The left side of his mouth quirked and I almost got a smile, but I turned away before I could be sure. Being outside of the bathroom helped me get my bearings and I quickly made my way to the back of the restaurant, enduring a few moments of my coworkers all coming to see if I was okay before I could shuck my apron then grab my purse and lilac fake leather jacket. It was down in the sixties tonight and I automatically went to put it on, only remembering too late that my arm was injured.

I bit my tongue to keep from screaming as I eased the jacket off, sure I was going to be taking a layer of skin with it as I whimpered in discomfort.