Hate Obsession Novels & Stories

I couldn’t stop the smile from stretching over my face. She moaned my name when she was with Aaron? I tried to picture that. It made me so happy, so hot. “Really?” Aaron saw my glee and frowned. “This isn’t funny, Aston. She’s obsessed with you. Like, weirdly obsessed with you. The worst part is that she doesn’t know it yet. She thinks that her feelings are hate. But I know what they are. I used to feel the same way about my ex. It’s that crazy feeling when you are so obsessed with someone that you can’t breathe, can’t think straight and do stupid things like try to fuck them out of your system.”

It doesn't even hurt much than seeing him standing undisturbed while his best friend hits me. He has always defended me before now. What changed? I guess his obsession for fame ruined all the love we've built together, perhaps, the one I've struggled to build while he does nothing but chase his top priority which is his career. "How dare you call me names!" The shameless vixen bickers, grabbing my hair in a fist. My scalp hurts and now I wince on pain. I'm not so strong but Zoey is an intimidating she-wolf — she's tall, pretty and has a nice shape.

I breathed. "I’m obsessed," he corrected, his thumb tracing the line of my jaw with a chilling tenderness. "There’s a difference. Insane people don’t plan for ten years to take back what was stolen from them. Obsessed people don't stop until there is nothing left of their enemy but ash."

I will be able to drop my suitcases somewhere else. I breathe fresh air through my nostrils, and I have the feeling that this is new. As if I had been locked inside four walls for too long. My work as a writer obliges me to do so, but my job isn't the only thing I could blame. I have spent too many years forcing myself to love. It is terrible. They say love is beautiful. It's always better than hate. In my defense, I have no hatred towards Paul. I am unable to tame this feeling. I have a kind of affection, a bond. Paul is a shoulder, a sweet candy that we like to go to when things are not going well. But have I been honest with him? I imagine him getting up with a hungry stomach. I see him t

Dare. Right. Maybe it’s the tequila finally kicking in or the painful new shoes or the fact that my skin is itchy as hell and probably beet red as well underneath the mohair, but something insane hits, and I give him my own Miss American wave—only it’s really a one-finger salute. It’s a whole new level of juvenile, completely childish and revealing. I’m bitter, it screams. I hate you is scrawled across my face. Same is what he’s thinking if the tightening of his lips is anything to go on

he murmurs, his voice low and cutting, “but don’t lie to yourself. Hate’s just fear dressed up with a little fire.” My fists clench above my head, but I don’t dare move. His palm feels like fire against my skin, his presence suffocating, a storm I can’t outrun. “Do you know what hate does to me?” he continues, his tone taking on a dangerous edge. “It fucking fuels me. Makes me sharper, crueler and gets my cock hard as fuck. Hate is a slippery slope. One minute, you hate me. The next? You’re fucking obsessed.”

She broke loose from whatever held her back and faced the woman head on. “Look, stay away from Zemia!!.” The woman worned and helped Zemia out of the restaurant. He seemed weak and fable. People began to murmur as they watched, waiting patiently for what was going to play out next. “Some girls are just rotten!.” “From a sex tape to snatching a man?!.” “She’s hot!, maybe I could try to hit her on.” Alora sighed when she heard every word they said about her, a couple of men talk about her body and how nice it would be to have her, some men talked about how disgusting she is, while many woman starred in hate.

The gun never leaves my skin, trailing down my thigh before pressing between my legs, the barrel nudging against the damp heat of my pussy through the robe. “If I didn’t like you,” he murmurs, his voice rough, “I wouldn’t be watching you from my phone, jacking off to the videos I take of you in the shower.” His free hand grips my chin, forcing me to meet his gaze. His eyes are dark, almost black, burning with something feral. “I wouldn’t be distancing myself from you, trying to get a grip on myself.” His lips twist. “But I can’t, baby. I’m obsessed with you. And I hate that.”

I replied lightly. He finally smiled. "You're smart. I guess I should read more books now." I chuckled, then asked. "What do you think about it? Love and obsession." He leaned forward, resting his elbow on the table. "I think obsession is a darker form of love. It's more intense than whatever you think love is. It is raw and messy. It doesn't lie the way love does." I stayed quiet, trying to understand him. Well, he had his own perspective just like I had mine.

“No Darren do not say that. Do not ever say that. You are lying. You cannot love me and say you want them dead. You cannot. Love does not kill. Love does not destroy. Love does not punch until the person screams. Love does not make me bleed until I can barely breathe.” “You are not obsessed with me. You are obsessed with hurting me. You are obsessed with control. You are obsessed with power. You are obsessed with watching me crawl and break and shatter. That is not obsession. That is not love. That is sickness. You are sick. You are twisted. You are evil.” My tears poured so fast I could barely see him but I still saw that smile. That smile that made my stomach twist until I wanted to throw