Romans & histoires Obsession With Mr Right

“Just call me jolly old Mrs. Claus. All I need is a big red velvet dress with white fur. Maybe I can get a side gig at Macy’s during the holidays.” He raises his head and looks at me, his brows lowered. “You’re too hot for Mrs. Claus. If anything, you’d be one of those little elves with the pointy hats and green leggings.” Oh. It feels as if we’re actually having a nice conversation. I clear my throat. “Who’s the lady with the attitude? I’ll go after her if you want. I have a mean right hook. My brother Mattie taught me. The trick is how you hold your fist.” I demonstrate. “See? Knuckle is out.”

An addiction. She was nothing but an addiction. Yet an intense addiction that has made its way in his blood, coursing through his veins and now there was no turning around. He had reached to the dead end of that addiction that despite wanting, he can't give up on that addiction. Reaching a point that he had accepted he was obsessed with her. That he has fallen into the depth of that obsession. Fallen completely. Insanely. Passionately. Desperately. And lastly, hopelessly.

he stopped after saying. His eyes were getting teary as well. He was looking at the floor. His head was filled with guilts. He had lost his first mate Isabella in a war with the Sapphires before he met my mom. I knew he loved my mom a lot, even more than his own life. But we just simply could never deny the fact that a wolf's obsession for its actual mate never dies. It was the same in case of my father. Even though he loved my mom, still the lose of his first mate never left him.

He was such a complex man. "What do you think obsession is?" he asked, locking his stormy eyes onto mine. I was caught off guard by his question. "Obsession?" "Yes," he replied immediately. No hesitation. No smile. "Well, I think it's uh..." I chewed my bottom lip. "An unhealthy fixation. Like the... the strong influence. A compulsion. The desire to have full possession of something or someone," I explained, carefully selecting my words. "It can also be linked to mental illness."

"Mr.Blackwell, it is said in your file that you have an unhealthy obsession with a married woman." She looked up for the file with a curious expression and I shrugged. "It's not an unhealthy obsession. It's more like an intense obsession and love for her. I desire to claim her for myself, to protect her even if it means killing the bastard she calls her husband. I'd say the urge to kill him grows each day. I sometimes find myself fantasizing over it," I smiled sadistically as I spoke. Suddenly this therapy session didn't seem so absurd I now had someone to share my sinister intentions with.

Looked at me like a man who had walked into something he understood completely and was choosing his response carefully. He extended his hand. "Mr. David." His grip was firm. "Good meeting, very productive. I look forward to building something strong here" He held the handshake one second longer. "And Professional, ofcourse." That last word sat in the air. "Same," I said. He nodded. Put those hands of his on Lydia's waist and they walked toward the door. Marcus appeared from the corridor as they left, almost walking into them, apologizing, stepping aside. He watched them go down the hall. Then he came into the boardroom, closed the door and looked at me standing in the middle of the empty roo

He nodded once before leaving quickly. The second the office door shut, I leaned back slowly in my chair and stared at the city outside the windows. This was ridiculous. I knew it. June wasn’t mine. The contract was temporary. The arrangement was supposed to be simple. So why the fuck did the thought of another man touching her make me feel homicidal? A knock interrupted my thoughts before Nathan walked in holding coffee. “You look terrible.” “Leave.” Nathan smirked and sat anyway. “That bad?” I ignored him.

He didn't receive the love and care of his parents, it was only Emmanuel that stood by him through thick and thin and now she's the only one who has the rights to speak to him anyhow and go scot-free. He walked up to your room and gently placed her on the bed. Richard's bedroom was neat and tidy, every item in its place. His closet was organized by color and style, and his dresser was perfectly aligned with his bedside table. There wasn't a speck of dust to be found, and even the light bulbs were dusted and shining brightly. Richard had always been a bit of a clean freak, but it had intensified as he got older. He felt like he needed everything to be just so, or else his whole world would fa