Page 59 of Reckless Obsession

But I care about Maksim. And this… this doesn’t feel like one of his usual tantrums. There’s no playfulness buried in it, no edge of performance.

Something about this feels real and feral to me. Like something in him has slipped its leash to reveal his unhinged side.

The phone lights up again. Another FaceTime from him.

Each second stretches longer than it should, tension pulling tight in a way I refuse to name.

Then I exhale and answer.

His face fills the screen instantly. For a second, there’s something raw in his expression. Something almost like surprise, as if he didn’t expect me to actually pick up.

He leans back against what looks like a headboard, exhaling as he drags a hand through his hair.

He’s shirtless.

Of course he is.

My gaze betrays me for half a second as I take in the hard lines of his collarbones, the faint tension in his shoulders, and the way his chest rises and falls like something restless lives just beneath his skin.

“Ah,” he says, voice rough, edged with something cold. “So you still care about him that much.”

“Do not call me a dipshit or stupid ever again,” I warn evenly, each word measured.

“Or what?” he fires back without hesitation, rolling his eyes. “Okay your face isn’t stupid, but you are a fucking dipshit.”

There it is.

That familiar irritation sparks under my skin, immediate and alive in a way I despise so much. He provokes and forces me off balance just enough to make me react. It’s calculated chaos, and I’ve spent years pretending I’m immune to it.

I’m not.

“Let me get this straight—”

“You are not straight, Tristan,” he cuts in smoothly. “You’ve been gay your whole life.”

My eyes twitch, and rage blooms hot and deep in my chest. I’m surprised I haven’t hung up yet. I can’t stand him half the time, fuck, most of the time, but he still pulls me into his orbit like the spitfire he is.

“I mean,” he continues, shrugging like none of this matters, “you were about to go on one of your speeches. Something about how you’re older than me and how you won’t take insults from some impudent kid—”

“You’re not a kid,” I cut in, sharper than intended.

The words come out too fast and too instinctive, and I hate that he notices.

Because of course he does.

His expression shifts just slightly, interest flickering beneath the mockery, as if he’s just found something worth keeping.

The word kid rubs me off in a weird way. It doesn’t help that I’ve known him since he was fourteen and watched him grow into this reckless, volatile, unpredictable force that refuses to be controlled by anything or anyone.

“Wow,” he drawls, eyes glinting. “When did you figure that out?”

“Did you threaten me into answering your calls just to fuck with me?” I ask, my tone seeping into annoyance and a patience I don’t have.

“Close,” he smirks, a subtle, dangerous glint flashing in his eye.

“I actually called,” he says, slower this time, voice dropping, “because I’m horny as fuck.” His gaze lowers slightly, then drags back up to mine, slow and deliberate. “And I want you to watch me as I fuck myself on a dildo the size of your dick.”

My brain short-circuits, and stunned silence grips me. I blink rapidly, like I’ve officially lost my mind.