Page 56 of Psycho Obsession
“I’m… I’m almost… Jex, the fire!”
“Ignore it!” I roar, my hands bruising her hips as Idrive into her one last time, my own climax hitting me like a freight train. “Give it to me! Now!”
The rafters above us groan. A piece of the ceiling, wreathed in flames, crashes down just feet away, sending a spray of sparks over our tangled bodies.
The floor is screaming. The wood is curling under the heat, the ancient varnish bubbling into black blisters as the ring of fire licks toward our feet.
I reach up, my muscles corded and straining, and I slice through the leather binds with a flick of my knife. Hallow drops—not to the floor, but onto me. I catch her weight, my cock still buried to the hilt, her legs finally snapping around my waist like a trap.
“Don’t you dare stop,” she hisses into my ear, her voice a mix of smoke and pure filth. She’s not afraid of the fire anymore; she’s part of it.
I back up, slamming her spine against the one support beam that isn’t yet a torch. The flames are roaring now, a wall of orange and gold encircling us, the heat so intense I can feel the hair on my arms singeing.
“Ride it, then,” I growl, my hands gripping her ass, lifting her and dropping her back down onto me. “Ride it until the roof comes down on our heads.”
She takes over. She’s a frantic, beautiful animal, her hips pumping in a blur of motion, her head thrown back as she gulps down the scorched air. Every time she slides down, I feel the wet, scalding heat of her clenching around me, dragging the soul right out of my chest.
The world is a tunnel of fire. There’s the roar of the blaze, the crash of falling timber, and the wet, rhythmic slap of our skin colliding. I can see the sweat boiling off her skin, the black kohl on her face running in jaggedstreaks down her neck. She looks like a war goddess born from the ashes.
“Jex… fuck… it’s so hot… I’m going to?—”
“Do it!” I roar, my voice lost in the thunder of a collapsing rafter.
I can feel her shattering. Her internal muscles go into a violent, rhythmic seizure, milking me with a desperation that makes my vision go white. She’s screaming, her voice raw and shredded, her fingers digging deep into the meat of my shoulders as she hits a peak that matches the intensity of the inferno surrounding us.
I don’t hold back. I let go, my own release hitting me like a shotgun blast, my blood turning to liquid lead as I spill into her.
The floorboards under my boots give a final, terminal groan. The heat is unbearable, the oxygen vanishing. I wrap my arms around her, shielding her body with mine, and I don’t look for the door. I look for the weakness in the wall.
“Hold on,” I rasp, my lungs burning.
I turn and throw us both through the rotted, flaming siding of the funhouse, plunging out of the fire and into the cold, salt-stained air of the night, falling toward the black water of the harbour below.
The cold doesn’t kill the heat. It just makes the fire in my blood feel like a goddamn riot.
We hit the harbour like a bullet, the black, oily water swallowing the screams and the roar of the flames. For a second, it’s silence. A crushing, freezing weight that tries to pull us into the silt. But I don’t let go. My arms are locked around her like iron bands, and my cock is still buried deep inside her, held there by the vacuum of the water and the sheer, desperate grip of her thighs.
We break the surface, gasping, the salt air stinging our scorched lungs. Fifty feet away, the funhouse is a towering pyre, the orange light dancing on the black ripples of the waves.
Hallow is shivering, her teeth chattering, but her eyes are wild—feral and dark with a hunger that the ocean couldn’t drown. She wipes the salt from her eyes and looks at me, her hands tangling in my wet hair.
“Don’t… don’t you dare… pull out,” she wheezes, her voice a shredded rasp.
“I’m not going anywhere,” I growl.
I swim us toward the underside of the pier, where the massive, barnacle-encrusted pilings disappear into the depths. I find a crossbeam, slick with moss and salt, and I haul us up just enough so our chests are out of the water. I pin her against the wood, the rough surface scraping her back, while the freezing tide surges around our waists.
I start to move.
It’s different in the water. It’s heavy. Every thrust is a struggle against the current, a slow, deep friction that feels like velvet and ice. The cold water acting as a lubricant makes every slide in and out feel impossibly smooth,yet the heat where we’re connected is a searing, concentrated point of light in the dark.
“Fuck, Jex,” she moans, her head thumping back against the timber. “It’s so… it’s so deep… I can feel you in my spine.”
I grab her by the throat—not to hurt, just to anchor her—and I drive into her with a rhythmic, splashing violence. The water churns around us, white foam mixing with the dark shadows of the pier. I’m watching the way the orange firelight from above reflects in the wet curves of her breasts, the way her nipples are peaked and hard from the cold and the lust.
“You’re mine, Hallow,” I hiss, my mouth finding hers, tasting the salt and the lingering smoke. “In the fire, in the water. There isn’t a place on this fucking earth where you don’t belong to me.”
She lets out a high, fractured cry, her hips jerking upward, trying to meet every one of my lunges. She’s clenching around me so hard it’s an ache, her internal muscles pulsing in a frantic, underwater rhythm. The contrast is breaking my brain—the freezing harbour water against our skin and the boiling, wet friction where we’re joined.
