The Obsession Novels & Stories

I pant, placing my hand on the sink as I stare at my reflection in the mirror. I just went down on my knees to suck a man’s dick. Did I enjoy it? Yes. Fucking too much that I'm hard. I can feel my dick straining against my pants. I want to walk back to that room, strip before Nikolai, so he'll run his tattooed fingers through my body, touch me as his fucking breath fills my nose. I want to get off and I want Nikolai to be the one to do it. And that overall is entirely wrong. I've had vulgar thoughts, but not at a man. I've never been attracted to a man. But Nikolai? That bastard is like a fucking magnet, each time I try to get away, he draws me even closer.

The drives, the hidden folders, the envelopes—all pieces of a puzzle I was slowly mastering. My phone vibrated. Jeffrey. Jeffrey: First test complete. Did you survive? Me: Yes. And I’ve learned more than I expected. Jeffrey: Good. Now you understand. Control is obsession. Obsession is pattern. Observe him. Learn his triggers. Wait. Then act. I nodded, even though he couldn’t see me. The plan was taking shape. I would obey, but I would also prepare. Every test, every obsession, every tiny misstep could be a weapon if I wielded it carefully.

He weighed the book in his hand, not looking at the title but at me. ​"A good choice," he agreed, his voice dropping to a low purr. "Obsession is a fascinating thing, isn't it? It can drive a man mad, or it can make him feel utterly alive." He closed the distance between us just enough that I could smell the faint scent of his masculine body scent with his usual intense cologne. "And once a man is obsessed, he rarely lets go of the object of his desire, no matter the consequences." ​My breath caught in my throat because I knew he wasn't talking about Heathcliff.

“I… I don’t want you to stop. Not ever.” His hands went to my waist, pulling me close. “Good,” he murmured, pressing his forehead to mine. “Because I’m obsessed with you. Completely. And I will show you exactly what that obsession means tonight.” Back at the penthouse, we didn’t wait. Every kiss, every touch, every whisper became a battle of possession and surrender. Sebastian’s hands memorized me, claimed me, burned into me with the intensity of his obsession. I responded in kind, trembling under his control, craving every moment, every edge of danger and desire.

It was a natural, easy connection that made her stomach churn with a jealousy so potent it tasted like poison on her tongue. Alli stayed at The Hollow long after closing, nursing a warm beer, refusing to let herself go home and sit in The silence in her head was a thick, su#ocating blanket. Alli scrubbed at the same spot on the bar, the cheap wood grain starting to blur under therelentless pressure. Her arm burned, muscles screaming for a break, but she couldn't stop. Couldn't let herself stop. She counted the money in the drawer, again and again, the bills snapping like tiny gunshots in the otherwise empty space. Anything to keep her mind from replaying the scene, a loop of Layla's hands po

There was simply nothing normal about him, so of course breaking into a woman's house wasn't considered a crime in his dictionary. "Then what is?" "Obsession." The answer came so easily it stole the next breath from my lungs. His head tilted slightly. "I'm obsessed with everything about you, Little Cub." His gaze lingered on mine. "Every breath. Every sound. Every sweet little treat you put between those pretty lips." My stomach tightened. "You're insane." "Already covered that." I hated how I almost smiled. I chewed the inside of my jaw, forcing myself to focus on something other than him

Always close by. constantly observing. Never getting close. never saying anything. Just watching. It was hard to ignore the pattern. My desk was piled high with pictures by midnight. And each and every one of them told the same tale. Harold had spent years observing Evelyn. long before she got married. long before she became successful. long before she came back. I had a bad taste in my mouth after realizing this. Because obsession didn't just go away over time. It expanded. It changed. It got risky.

His breathing has changed. Subtle, but I notice. I noticed a lot about this son of a bitch. The way his pupils are slightly dilated. The tension in his shoulders that has nothing to do with anger. I know that look. I’ve seen it before, on other men, in darker places than hospital scrub rooms. “You know what your problem is, Morozov?” I ask, voice dropping lower. “I’m sure you’re about to tell me.” “Your problem is that you think obsession looks like competition.” I tilt my head, studying him. “But I’ve seen the difference. I know what it looks like when someone can’t stop watching. Can’t stop finding excuses to be in the same room. Can’t stop—”

He has been sitting here for over an hour turning things over in the specific way he turns things over, which is directly and without softening the edges, because that is how he thinks about everything and he is not going to stop doing it because the thing he's thinking about is uncomfortable. He has known obsession since before he had a name for it. He had looked at it early and called it what it was and never flinched from the truth of it. He was obsessed with her. That had been clear and simple. He'd filed it correctly and kept going. He had known possession the same way. She was his. He'd been certain of that before he had any reasonable basis to act on it, before she had any reason to a

“She was too eager. Too prepared. Almost… relieved.” He paused. “And Jenny herself — she looked completely unaware. Like someone who didn’t choose this marriage… but someone who was pushed into it.” Richard leaned back in his chair, fingers tapping the desk lightly. A slow, calculated expression formed on his face. “Interesting,” he murmured. The atmosphere thickened. Something dangerous flickered in his eyes. “Continue,” he commanded.