SEXY ROMANCE: Her Dark Obsession

Her Dark Obsession

A Romance Novel

Karen Knightley

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Copyright 2015 by Karen Knightley - All rights reserved.

In no way is it legal to reproduce, duplicate, or transmit any part of this document in either electronic means or in printed format. Recording of this publication is strictly prohibited and any storage of this document is not allowed unless with written permission from the publisher. All rights reserved.

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Her Dark Obsession

Regina always had a closed heart. Always guarded, always waiting for that one and only true love, so that she could open up one day, when she met the right person and finally give herself to love and live life fully.

But while being closed, she one day realizes that she is losing the best years of her life.

Tired of holding out for something that’s never going to happen, she decided to say YES to every romantic opportunity that comes by, leading her to become obsessed and explore things she never even thought possible, to put herself in danger and in life threatening situations and to get to know deep and dark things about herself that she didn’t know before.

Will Regina be able to finally find a true partner and live fully in love? Or will her dark obsession lead her to get lost in desires that she is unaware of and that can put her life in danger?

Thank you for purchasing Her Dark Obsession by Karen Knightley

Her Dark Obsession

January

A woman’s heart is always guarded.  A woman only says “Yes” if she feels emotional fulfillment, as in True Love.  When a woman feels commitment, devotion and trust, then and only then does she allow a man into her bosom.  A woman’s judgment should never be impaired, otherwise, she would surrender herself to the same temptations as a man, and risk being called a whore.  Because everything that makes a woman a woman, everything that makes her so desirable to you, and every principle that builds the foundation of society is in her ability to say “NO.”

It’s what I always learned, growing up.  That the word “no” is what gives a woman character.  It gives her self-respect.  And yet I find, near the turning point of my life, that I am alone.  I have perfected my talent to drive the “inferior man” away, only to find that the genetic anomaly, Mr. Right, Mr. Perfect, is a myth.  

My friend, I am thirty-two years old now.  I don’t have the body of a teenager.  I no longer have the luxury of a ten-year mission to find myself.  Instead, I find myself tossing opportunities away and continuing to invest in this silly little vision of True Love that I was taught, even while I see that it becomes less true as each year passes.

I know it’s been so long since you’ve seen me in person, dear friend.  Maybe you should be intrigued to know that after all these years, I still look the same.  Still beautiful, as you once said, with long dark hair.  Every day, I drive to my office, hardly making a noise, hardly making eye contact with anyone.  Sometimes my colleagues joke about my lack of love life, and my apparent lack of interest in getting one.  They call me mousy.  They call me cat-lady.  And that’s how it, isn’t it?  Just what you said, my dear.  In life, you’re either a whore or a crazy cat lady.  Unless of course you marry a rich man, and then you’re the envy of everyone—the success story everyone loves to hate.

So I’ve decided to do something different this year.  I am making this the year of Yes.  I’m tired of rationalizing why I can’t.  I’m tired of holding out for something that’s never going to happen.  From now on, I am going to stop listening to that wretched little voice inside me that says “But what will people think?” and start saying Yes to life. 

Because maybe, just maybe. Living like a man instead of a guarded woman is the answer to my loneliness.  Maybe it’s time I start concentrating on what is front of me, rather than what is unattainable. 

No matter what, and without exception, I am going to gamble with this game called love.  I am going to surrender to temptation.  Because whatever life has in store for me, whatever winding road I travel, nothing can possibly be worse than what has already happened.  A lifetime of broken promises.  A toy to be passed around clever bed hopping tricksters smart enough to recognize vulnerability.  This time, the only difference is that my ego will not be wounded.  My heart is not guarded, it’s simply a revolving door. 

This time, my friend, it will all be for me. 

**

February

My new mission of Yes has led me into a strange relationship I still cannot define.  I have always been intrigued at the male species’ ability to simply walk into a bar or tavern and take home whatever or whoever he happened to find there.  A mechanical, almost consumerist approach to romance. 

When I went inside Pariah’s, a local sports bar here in the city, I saw a lonely man waiting at the bar.  The bar was clean, certainly not the danks you’re used to, darling.  But he seemed a bit disheveled, wearing slacks and a shirt that seemed only half buttoned.  I immediately got the impression that he had given up, just as I had given up.  Maybe he had just finished a month-long stint of striking out with all sorts of sexy girls.  Or maybe my late-thirties business suit, complete with man-eating grey jacket and pants, was the opposite of what he usually chased after on a Thursday night.

I sat down next to “Nate” at the bar, invading his territory just a little bit.  To my amusement, he seemed to get nervous quickly, as if I had challenged him.  I avoided eye contact with him until he began to summon up some grit.

              “You know, you don’t have to sit so close.  You can just ask me if I want a drink.”

              His smile lit up when I finally met his eyes.  Blue baby-like eyes, but with a seasoned face with a few years of hardship behind it.  About my age, maybe a year or two younger, and with just a hint of optimism in his smile.  His blond hair was short but full and his six-foot tall frame just the right size; a balance between fit and muscular.  Probably the type of ordinary man that wouldn’t be “enough” to merit a one night stand.  But even without taking a drink—after all, I said no excuses—I could begin to see a glow in his eyes.  

              “Well, you make me feel like a charity case,” I said with a pout.  “Back in my day, gentleman bought the lady a drink.”

              “Oh, all right.  I’ll buy you a drink,” he said with a giddy smile.  “I was just teasing anyway.  Actually, you’re the first really pretty girl I’ve seen come in here in a few…uh…days.”

              “Really?” I asked with a thick, closed-lip smile. 

              “Well yeah!  You know how pretty you are.  You got to know, right?  I mean your boyfriend or husband probably tells you that all the time.”

              “I actually don’t have a boyfriend or a husband.”

              “No way!  For real?”

“For real.”

“Well what the hell are you doing in here?” he laughed.  “My name’s Nate by the way.”

“Regina.”  Alas, you know I have to use a fake name here, my friend, for obvious reasons.

My instincts told me that he was losing his edge, the more “aww-shucks” moments he gave me.  But for once, it didn’t matter.  It didn’t matter how he was playing his cards, or where he was steering the conversation.  All that mattered was that he was there.  He was there and I was there.  And that was enough.

“Maybe it’s just the beer talking,” he said with a red-faced chuckle.  But you seem really nice.  Really nice.  I think I’m falling in love with you.”

“Oh really?” I laughed.

“Oh shit.  Did I just say that?  What the hell is wrong with me?” he said, slapping himself.  “I really shouldn’t drink and talk.  I end up saying all sorts of stupid shit…”

“You shouldn’t drink so much,” I told him with a smile.  “Why can’t you just be yourself and say what you really mean?  Do you need the alcohol to do that?”

“Well…no, I think YOU need the alcohol to hear,” he said with a big guffaw.

“Ohhh, I see.  So I guess I would be shocked and offended to hear what you really think of me.  Is that it?” I said, teasing him with my squinting eyes.  “I would run away, because all that hard guy talk isn’t becoming of a lady.”

“Well…” he laughed again.  “I mean, yeah.  The way guys think and girls think are totally different.  You got to admit that.”

“Why is that, Nate?”

“Well…evolution, I guess.  Or I don’t know…maybe society.”

“A suppressive society that hates women?  Yeah, I’ve read about that before,” I said with a tired nod.  “But I don’t know about all that.  I just think that women are just as capable of thinking that way, you know, like men do.  The mind in the gutter stuff.” 

“Ohhh, I don’t think so,” he said with a laugh.  “I mean you might feel, you know, horny…” he said cautiously, as if speaking a bad word.  “But you really have no idea how we think.  I mean if you ever did, you would never stop slapping us.”

I laughed and rolled my eyes, a bit frustrated at his coy attitude.  A man so proud of his own thoughts and yet afraid of offending me that he could only hint around at what his heart wanted.  I was ready to scandalize him.  I wanted to win this game.  I wanted to feel absolute power. 

“Well, Nate, here’s the thing.  My intuition is telling me that I’m going to go home now...”

“Yeah?”

“Forget that I ever met you.”

“Yeah…” 

“And use a vibrator.  As I always do, before bed.  Because it helps me sleep.”

“Oh…” he said, hiding a gulp.

“Are girls not supposed to say that?” I asked with a grin.  “Does that intimidate you?”

“Well, no, not really…I mean…”

“But I’m also thinking what would be the big deal about using you…”

“Using me?”

“Yeah.  Instead of the toy.  Using you as a toy.  Your tongue.  Using your…big dick?”

He laughed hard.

“Does that intimidate you?”

“No…well…”

“Oh wait.  Was it the word ‘big’?  Is that a no-no?”

“Well, if you must know, it’s not about the size.  It’s about how you use it.”  He smiled and winked.  My instincts said it was a perverted look, a clear cut case of sexual harassment.  But I chose to see it differently.  It was a verbal love tap.  An expression of endearment by a man who had almost no power, no chance, and no expectations except what I would give to him. 

“Oh, I see!”  I said, touching his shoulder and stirring up his senses.  I caught him looking so fondly at my arms and hands.  Wondering, fantasizing, about what it would be like, for him to jump up to my league and take me.  If only he were rich.  If only he were a little more charming.

And the old me would have found a reason to dismiss myself by now.  But I wanted to play with fate.  But first, wearing the mind of a man, I had to get that all important consent.

“Well, I guess I’ll be going home now.”  I bid Nate a shy smile goodnight and got up, leaving behind a tip.  Out of the corner of my eye, I saw him staring despondently, realizing this was a now or never moment—possibly a once in a lifetime moment.

“Well…would you like to come to my place for some drinks?  Also got weed.  Watch some movies.”

“Hmmm,” I said flippantly.  “I don’t smoke.  And I’m not really in the mood to drink or watch movies tonight.  So…”

He seemed miffed and bit his lip.  “Well, it was just my polite way of saying, why don’t you use my face as a vibrator.”  He laughed, looking away, probably figuring he might as well strike out in style.  I could tell he got a nice full body tingle from saying that and meaning it.  I waited until he met my eyes again.  I leaned in closer to his ear, taking his presence in with all my senses.  His smell.  My cheek barely grazing his.  The admiring, dreamy gaze in his eyes.  The little sounds of his gulping and heightened breathing seemed to overpower the sounds of a bar TV and clanking drinks. 

“Yes.  I want to go back to your place.”

**

To my surprise, even when we pulled up to his less than stellar apartment, I didn’t feel the dread of regret.  The pangs of conscience seemed oddly silenced.  I didn’t even feel worried for my safety, since I knew the negotiation was over.  We both wanted the same thing.  As soon as we entered his apartment, a typical bachelor pad and only moderately cleaned for the unlikely prospect of a visitor, I stopped him.  Leaning back on the living room wall, I said nothing except what the selfish side of me felt at that moment. 

“Don’t kiss me,” I said, looking into his eyes and meaning it.  I didn’t want to fall in love.  I wanted release.  

He understood me perfectly, and hopped to attention, nibbling my neck and inhaling my subtle work perfume, which had melded to my natural skin taste and a few hours of after work sweat.  As I suspected, he loved my unique taste.  He kissed my neck tenderly, building a pattern of steady down to my shoulders.  I barely knew his name, had no idea who he really was.  All I knew was that the sensation of a man necking me, craving my body, was titillating my imagination. 

He reached for my jacket and without a word, I stepped forward and slid it off, giving him a full view of my shoulders and chest.  I took a deep breath as he put his warm, hungry lips on my clavicles, inching his way towards my cleavage.

No, I thought.  I want to use him, not make love.  The thought of him kissing me intimately seemed anticlimactic.  Maybe all I wanted to feel was his lips on my wetness.  Maybe all I needed was a human vibrator, an experience about myself, not about any emotional coupling.

So I pushed his head down, instructing him where to go and letting him know what I wanted.  Ever the faithful pup, Nate went down on me, falling to his knees and unbuttoning my pants.  He slid off my pants and put his nose on my panties, inhaling my scent while kissing my mound softly. 

As I began to moan quietly, he reached for the door with his free hand. 

“No,” I whispered.  “Leave it open.”

No objections, not even a bratty smirk.  Nate followed orders to the tee, and pulled my black panties down, wriggling from my thighs, then down to my ankles then to my feet.  I stepped out of them and giggled as he began enthusiastically face-fondling my patch of pubic hair. 

I held onto his golden hair and welcomed his face into my wet pussy.  I spread my legs apart giving him full access to my every crevice.  The sounds of his licking echoed in my mind, while every long, wet stroke caressed my world-weary soul.  Within a few seconds I grew tired of his face.  I simply wanted to feel my own passion rise, I wanted to lose control of all my senses.