Page 55 of Psycho Obsession
“Work for it, Hallow,” he growls, holding the lighter near the edge of the gasoline circle. “Show me how much you want to stay alive.”
The timer is a digital heartbeat, bleeding red numbers into the dark. 38… 37… 36… The smell of the gasoline is a physical weight now, thick enough to taste, making my lungs burn. I look down at the shimmering ring of death encircling me and then at Jex. He’s standing just outside the circle, the Zippo flame dancing in his eyes, his face a mask of cold, beautiful cruelty.
“Jex… help me,” I whisper, my voice cracking, a pathetic, jagged sound. “Please, I can’t… I can’t get there like this. Help me.”
He tilts his head, a slow, mocking smirk pulling at the corner of his mouth. “And how am I supposed to do that, sweetheart? I’m the one holding the match. You’re the one on the hook. This is your solo.”
“Come closer,” I sob, my body jerking as the anchor inside me hits a nerve so sharp I see stars. “Close… please. I need you.”
He hesitates for a fraction of a second,the predator in him debating whether to play or kill. Then he snaps the Zippo shut and steps across the gasoline line. He moves into the space between my spread legs, his chest pressing against my stomach, his heat radiating through the thin, ruined rags of my gown.
“I’m here,” he rasps, his hands staying at his sides, refusing to touch me. “What are you going to do about it?”
I growl—a feral, desperate sound—and I start to move. Because my ankles are tethered wide to the struts, I can’t wrap my legs around him. I can’t pull him in. I have to use the core of my body, thrusting my hips forward, grinding the swollen, weeping heat of my pussy against the hard, unforgiving ridge of his denim.
The friction is electric. Every time I slam my pelvis against his, the anchor inside me shifts, caught between the pressure of his body and my internal walls.
“Fuck, Hallow,” he groans, his head falling into the crook of my neck. I feel his hands finally snap, grabbing my hips, bruising the skin as he holds me steady for the assault. “You’re fucking burning up. You’re going to melt that goddamn machine.”
“Let me… use you,” I pant, my eyes fixed on the timer. 22… 21… 20… I’m grinding against him with everything I have, my muscles screaming, the sweat dripping off my chin and onto his shirt. “I need your cock, Jex. I need to feel you, not just the steel. Give it to me… make me cum or let us both burn.”
I’m working for every bit of sensation, twisting my body, forcing the contact until I can feel the throb of his pulse through his pants. He’s rock hard, a lead pipe against my clit, and the combination of the tappinganchor and his solid, masculine weight is pushing me over the cliff.
“You’re a fucking monster,” he mutters, his teeth sinking into my shoulder, his breath hot and ragged. “A beautiful, sick, desperate monster.”
I can feel the wave starting—a tidal wave of black fire starting at the base of my spine. The timer hits 12. My heart is slamming against my ribs like a bird in a cage.
“Jex! Now!” I scream, my hips bucking frantically against him, the friction turning into a blinding, white-hot heat that smells like ozone and sin.
Chapter
Twenty-Two
JEX
Ireach down and grab the anchor. With one violent, wet yank, I rip the cold steel out of her. Hallow lets out a shattered cry, her body sagging against the ceiling tethers as the sudden absence of the machine leaves her raw and empty.
I don’t give her a second to breathe. I shove my jeans down, my cock spring-loaded and thrumming with a heat that outshines the fire outside. I grab her thighs, hauling her body forward until she’s skewered on me, burying myself to the root in one heavy, unforgiving thrust.
She gasps, her eyes rolling back, her internal muscles clamping around me like a vice.
“There,” I growl, my voice a jagged wreck of a sound. “No more toys. Just me.”
With my free hand, I reach into my pocket and pull out the Zippo. I flick it. The flame is a tiny, mocking dancer in the dark. I don’t look at it. I look at her—at thesmeared kohl, the sweat, and the absolute, terrifying beauty of her ruin.
“Tick-tock, sweetheart,” I rasp, leaning in to bite the shell of her ear as I begin to move inside her, my pace slow, deep, and agonising. “Better cum before we both burn.”
I drop the lighter.
The flame hits the gasoline circle with a soft, hungry whoosh. A ring of blue and orange fire sprints around us, walling us off from the rest of the world. The heat is instantaneous, a wall of blistering air that makes the sweat on our skin sizzle. The smell of burning wood and chemical fumes starts to choke the room.
“Jex!” she screams, her hands clawing at my shoulders, her eyes wide with the reflection of the rising flames.
“Don’t look at the fire,” I command, slamming my hips into her, forcing her to focus on the friction, on the way I’m stretching her, on the way we’re both dancing on the head of a pin. “Look at me. Cum for me, Hallow. Give me everything before the floor gives way.”
I’m moving like a man possessed, each stroke a desperate gamble against the clock. The fire is climbing the velvet curtains of the vanity, the glass of the mirrors starting to crack and pop from the heat. The air is thinning, turning into a heavy, golden haze.
She’s frantic, her body bucking against mine, her pussy pulsing around me in a frantic, rhythmic squeeze. She’s caught in the perfect intersection of terror and ecstasy, her breath coming in short, high-pitched hitches.
