Cruel Obsession Novels & Stories

her voice shivered as that night ran in her mind. "What he did to you?" "He-he-he. All I know is that he is crazy. Wild. Violent. An obsessive enthusiast. He can kill with a flick of his finger, with a flutter of his lash," she kept on saying as if in a trance, "if you g-go against him, he won't kill you but extract your soul. When you are u-under him, around him, you have got no other option but to obey because at the end only that would happen what he had mentioned in the very start. I'm scared of challenging him,"

The man who ran the most feared mafia in the country, commanding loyalty and fear from everyone around him, was asking me for permission. “Yes,” I breathed. “Please,” I added, my voice almost desperate. I wanted him, needed him, more than I had ever wanted anyone before. Without a second wasted, Killian’s lips collided with mine, slow, scorching, sending me into a dizzying haze. Moans escaped my lips despite my effort to contain them, soft, pleading sounds. He pulled back just enough to see my reaction, his eyes darkening with a mix of pride and lust. “You better keep all of those moans, baby,” he murmured, his hand sliding down my side, his thumb tracing light circles against my hip. “I wan

It never ends well. Obsession is lethal. It creeps in quietly, wrapping itself around you like comfort, but it suffocates in the end. It erases who you were and replaces it with hunger. If I stay, the person I am will disappear, replaced by someone who longs for a violent man, a sadistic killer. Obsession has never been a good trait, and this one terrifies me more than he ever could. More than what happened earlier tonight. Being locked in that office was horrifying, but this is worse. This feels like addiction, deep and consuming.

Cruel. Kamara thrashed. “Nia—please!” “No.” She edged her again. And again. Until Kamara was sobbing for release. “Say it.” “I’m yours—I’m your slut—please—let me cum!” Nia smirked and licked her tongue soft, then rough—until Kamara exploded, squirting all over her mouth, the toy, the desk. Her body convulsed, moaning Nia’s name like a prayer. She collapsed. Sweating. Spent. Fucked into oblivion.

And he will do anything to get her , even if it's hurting her. "Something poisonous like obsession craved him, but will he able to see the broken doll he was breaking with his own hands

‘Do you know why you’re being punished, little Omega? Whimpering, Isadora rasps. ‘I-I d-dis-disobeyed you…’ ‘Good girl... I told you that there were consequences… Are you going to disobey me again?’ ‘N-no…’ Ransom pushes to the front and growls. ‘No. What? Little Omega.’ ‘N-no, P-pro…’ Ransom growls low and surrounds her with his Alpha pheromones and aura, making Isadora sob. ‘I-I’m s-sorry… I-I w-won’t dis-disobey again, D-d-daddy…’

A dark stain spread across my chest. "Son of a—" I cursed low through gritted teeth. I watched him stroll off, so fucking proud. His shoulders stayed straight. His steps confident. I looked at the mess. Though not big, it was so damn obvious and embarrassing. The coffee smell now mixed with the alcohol felt much stronger on my clothes.

I gave him Blow jobs so many times but his skills were beyond my imagination. "Don't you get tired??" "Oh, I can't get tired Ever." "Don't you have any shame, Mr CEO, trying on your Secretary??" "My craving for my secretary is never-ending. And My late-night cravings are always you."

I had stumbled into a den of monsters, and I was the next victim to be sacrificed on their blood-stained altar. As we made our way through the throngs of people, I saw the faces of those who were about to be slaughtered. They were slaves, no longer useful to the Lycans, and they were going to be put down like animals. It was a chilling sight, one that made my blood run cold. But the Lycan was not content with just killing these poor souls. He had his sights set on me.

Instead, it had turned waiting into its own quiet affliction, and I had never been a man who counted time this way, not for a person, not for anticipation that lived too close to hope. And yet by Thursday, I could have told you exactly how many candles had burned down in the side chapel since she left, the numbers of masses I had stood through without seeing her in the third pew on the right. How many times my gaze had moved to the church doors before I'd caught myself. I had become observant in all the wrong directions, and I knew, better than most, that observation left unchecked was only ever the first step toward something worse. (Obsession)That was the word I refused to use — even in si