Bound by Obsession (Shadowed Souls #2)

21. Chapter Twenty One

“ G arrett!” I chastise, tugging him back from the kitchen by his T-shirt sleeve. He pauses mid-bite, looking down at me guiltily. “We’re supposed to be mad at him.” I stand tall, arms crossed and shoulder to shoulder with Dax and Axel. We all glare at Huxley, casually leaning against the kitchen counter.

“Sorry guys, he got me doughnuts. I have no issues here.” Garrett sinks his teeth into the cream dessert and slinks away. The rest of us aren’t so easily assuaged. The central island between us is covered with food, ending with a crate of wine and several bottles of pink gin.

“Ohhh, ice cream!” Meg appears then, instantly drawn to a tub of cookie dough poking out of the top of a paper bag. I clench my jaw, allowing her to retrieve the tub and a spoon. Sensing the tension rippling between us, Meg suddenly looks around and excuses herself, retreating to the living area.

“Some of us can’t be bought so easily.” I glare at Huxley. He’s unaffected, his ankles crossed and hands leaning against the worktop behind him. He was fully expecting this reception.

“What if something had happened to you?” Dax says, followed by a sharp huff. Huxley rolls his tongue between his teeth.

“Then only one of us would have been harmed, and the rest of you would still be here to look after Avery.”

“You’re out of your mind if you think we’d be able to restrain her from coming after you,” Axel grits out. It’s true. Huxley has taken a bullet for me once. Never again. I was preparing to climb out the window and go after him when the SUV pulled up outside the beach house. Hux’s chocolate brown eyes darken and he stands straighter.

“You’d better find a way. I’m doing the supply runs. It’s non-negotiable.” Pushing away from the counter, Huxley attempts to storm away until Axel slams a hand into his chest. A moment of uncertainty passes when I can fully envision a fight breaking out. Moving swiftly, I put myself between the two of them.

“Why are you acting like this?” I frown up at Huxley’s stone-like expression. At some point, for some unknown reason, a wall has been slammed down between us. Just when I thought we were getting back on track with his eating and our relationship. Just when I thought our dynamic was going back to how it used to be, he’s shut me out.

“I’m saving your damn life,” Huxley snaps. I feel Axel and Dax tense behind me, offended by his tone. I manage to hold my ground, despite the sinking feeling that I’m losing him. He’s drifting away from me, despite our bodies being barely a few inches apart. A long exhale comes through Huxley’s nose. “Go back to worrying about who will share your bed, Swan. I’ll be in the background, doing whatever it takes to keep you safe and I’m sorry to say, I don’t even need you to like me for me. Maybe it’s too late for us.” He leaves then, snatching my heart from my chest and stomping all over it in the process.

The slam of the door echoes through the kitchen, leaving a hollow silence in its wake. My breath catches in my throat, and the weight of Huxley’s words sinks in, dragging me down with them.

Maybe it’s too late for us.

The words play over and over in my mind, each repetition cutting deeper. After everything we’ve been through and all of the progress we’ve made? That’s it? I stand frozen, staring at the spot he just vacated, my chest tight and my pulse thrumming in my ears. A thousand things I should’ve said, could’ve said, race through my head, but nothing came out when he clearly needed to hear them.

I feel a warm hand settle on my shoulder—Axel, always grounding me—but even his touch can’t ease the ache clawing at me. Dax is on my other side, quiet as usual, his easy going grin replaced by a somber frown.

“He didn’t mean it. He’s just stressed.” Axel’s voice is soft, his concern clear, but all I can do is shake my head. Because no, it’s not just stress. We’re all freaking stressed here, and no one else is cutting themselves off. Quite the opposite in our search for reasons to keep living and laughing. In terms of excuses, I do not accept Huxley’s. If he’s so concerned with keeping me safe, he should start with protecting my heart, not leaving it as an open fissure bleeding out. The man who has always had my back, who’s taken a bullet for me, has decided we’re no longer worth fighting for, and didn’t even give me a chance to tell him he’s wrong. Or perhaps he did and I’ve just held my tongue for too long.

Garrett whistles low from his position on the sofa. I half-turn, seeing how he’s finished his doughnut and is pushed up against Meg, sharing her ice cream one spoonful at a time. “What crawled up Hux’s butt and convinced him to become a martyr?”

I bite down on my lip, hard enough to draw blood, but it’s nothing compared to the pain coursing through me. Huxley has been my rock. And now, he’s bashing about upstairs, slipping further from my grasp with every passing second. The last man who was slamming around on the floor above appeared with a bag in hand and walked out of my life for good. I felt Wyatt’s loss like a knife to the gut and silently cried myself to sleep that night. So why aren’t my feet moving to run upstairs and insist Huxley talks to me, that we work this thing out before it gets worse?

Because I’m stubborn and I’m fucking furious with his sudden change of heart, that’s why.

Snatching a bottle of pink gin, I twist off the cap and take a long swig, feeling the burn spread through my chest. Dax raises a brow but doesn’t comment, his arms hanging loose by his sides as he watches me. Axel, too, stays silent, his hand still resting on my shoulder, his thumb brushing soothing circles that do nothing to quell the storm inside me.

“That’s one way to deal with it,” Garrett mutters, his mouth half-full of ice cream. Meg elbows him sharply, sending him a glare. He shrugs, unbothered.

“I’m not dealing with it,” I snap, wiping my mouth with the back of my hand. “I’m actually going to do what it takes to not deal with any of this shit right now. Especially not trying to figure out when exactly Huxley decided we weren’t worth the risk anymore.”

Axel’s hand tenses on my shoulder. “You know that’s not what he meant.” I turn to face him, the heat in my chest spreading like wildfire.

“Then why did he say it? Why is he pushing me away? I can’t—” My voice cracks, and I hate it. I hate how vulnerable I feel, how raw I’ve become. “I can’t keep losing people like this.” For a moment, no one says anything. The room feels suffocating, the silence thick and heavy. I stare at a spot over Axel’s shoulder, my eyes unfocused and my throat tight with unshed tears. “Leave Huxley for a while,” Axel says softly, though the tightness in his voice betrays his own frustration. “He’ll come around. He always does.” I’m not so sure this time.

“Fuck this,” I mutter harshly. Crossing the room, I hand the bottle of gin to Meg. “Get drunk with me.” She doesn’t need to be told twice.

***

Fun fact, pink gin gives me the giggles. Another fun fact, I’m terrible at Monopoly at the best of times, and this is the worst I’ve ever played. Somehow, I’m three million paper dollars in debt, trading favors and dares just to see myself pass Go one more time. I should give up, but then I wouldn’t have a focus. Well, not one that isn’t my festering anger with the blond broody bastard upstairs.

The dynamic between Meg and the guys is steadily becoming easier to navigate. Alcohol helps, loosening lips. Some conversations are uncomfortable, like Garrett telling Meg how I left teeth marks all over Wyatt’s dick. I really shouldn’t have gone into detail with him about that.

Logically, I now know Wyatt is not related to me. Physically, my body can’t deny its reaction when thinking about that evening during the showcase interval. I felt something that night which has been denied to me for so long, and Wyatt didn’t willingly give it. I took it. That night, I felt like I was in control.

With those flashbacks vivid in my mind, I grab Garrett’s hand and lead him to the back porch. It’s dark out, the only light coming from the soft glow of the moon reflecting off the rolling waves. The air is cool and salty, goosebumps breaking across my arms. The sound of the sea laps against the shore, filling the quiet space between us.

I release Garrett’s hand as we step onto the wooden boards, turning to face him. His eyes, dark and intense, catch mine. For a second, we just stand there, the breeze brushing against my skin, his presence anchoring me in a way that’s comforting yet electrifying.

“You need something from me, don’t you Peach?”

I bite my lip, shame washing over me. Attempting to step away, Garrett grips my arms to hold me in place.

“Ask and it’s yours.” Garrett murmurs, his voice low and soothing as he steps closer. His floppy dark hair hides his forehead and brows. I tiptoe to brush it back, smoothing the straight lengths into a different style. One he would never wear by choice, but seems only too happy to keep for now.

“I shouldn’t,” I turn my head away. This thought, this stupid tiny thought that crept up on me, is so incredibly selfish when sober me knows Garrett’s struggles with his own insecurities. I shouldn’t ask this of him, but he’s staring at me so openly, coaxing me to speak. I let out a shaky breath, feeling the tension still coiled tight in my chest. He reaches up, cupping my cheek and causing the world to fade, leaving only the two of us and the quiet rhythm of the ocean.

“I need you to be him for a while,” I admit, my voice barely a whisper, but he hears me.

“Who exactly?” Garrett asks, his thumb brushing against my lower lip. A hint of a smirk lifts his mouth. He knows who. “Say his name out loud.” Something about his tone, so easy, so accepting, makes the last bit of my restraint snap.

“Wyatt,” I breathe, swaying slightly from the alcohol I’ve consumed. The smile on Garrett’s face deepens.

“Finally,” he breathes as if a weight has been lifted from his shoulders. As if he’s wanted to do this for the longest time. Before I can second-guess myself, I rise on my toes, pulling his mouth down to mine.

The kiss is slow at first, tentative, a testing of boundaries. Giving me a chance to back out, I reckon. But when Garrett groans softly against my lips, his hands sliding down to grip my waist, something inside me ignites. The heat flares, and suddenly, I’m pressing myself closer to him, deepening the kiss, desperate for more.

His body responds immediately, his grip tightening as he pulls me flush against him. His tongue teases mine, the kiss growing hotter, more insistent. Everything from Huxley’s declaration to my confusion disappears in the heat of the moment. There’s only him, or rather, who he’s pretending to be. My mind slips too easily, conjuring the scent of expensive cologne, reliving his warmth, the way his hands explore my body and sends shivers racing down my spine.

I gasp when his lips leave mine, trailing hot, open-mouthed kisses down the side of my neck. My hands tangle in his hair as he nips at my skin, his breath ragged against my throat. He lifts his head, his eyes dark and filled with a hunger that mirrors my own.

“Use me, Peach. That’s what I’m here for,” he whispers, his voice rough, his forehead resting against mine as he catches his breath.

“No,” I shake my head. “He wouldn’t call me that.” For some reason, it has to be right. My mind needs to believe it’s real, because this is the closest I’ll ever come. Garrett is the only one who can give this to me. Without a trace of hesitation or uncertainty, Garrett’s hand slips into my hair and he pulls back roughly.

“Strip, Little Sis. Show me how fucking beautiful that pussy is.” My heart skips a beat. With trembling hands, I lift my sweater over my head, unclasp my bra and push down my cycling shorts and panties together. A smile tugs at his lips before he kisses me again, harder this time, deeper. The lust between us is a living entity, taking on its own lifeforce. The more wrong it should be, the hotter the fire within me burns. I’m ill, sick in the head, and horny as fuck.

Walking me backwards, my thighs touch the porch swing. Using his tight grip on my hair, he lowers me down onto it, nudging my thighs apart with his knee. There’s a slow, assessing tilt of his head, which is so typically Wyatt. I bite down on my bottom lip, heart pounding in my chest. He doesn’t comment, but I can feel his stare lingering, his dark eyes roving over me in the moonlight, memorizing every inch of my body.

His fingers slide gently along the line of my jaw before trailing down to my collarbone, leaving a heated path in their wake. The intensity between us is thick, almost tangible, as he watches me with a predatory focus. Then his hands are on his waistband. My breath comes in short, uneven bursts as a hard, thick cock juts out in front of my face.

“I’m going to feed you my cock. Don’t forget how I like it.” The hand at my jaw clenches tightly, tugging my mouth wide. I don’t get a moment to prepare myself as his smooth length glides over my tongue. Desire already pools at his tip, the taste causing me to groan. Opening my throat, I permit him full access. Thrusting in deeply, a frustrated huff comes on his next withdrawal.

“Where are those teeth? Show me how much you hate me.” Oh. Oh . That’s right. This is Wyatt. The man who’s hated me for as long as he’s known me. Who stole my therapy transcripts and used them against me. Who stuck me in a bird’s cage because he thought it would trigger a panic attack, and who thought I’d come running when he decided he wanted me.

Flaring my nostrils, I grab the base of his shaft and squeeze hard. My nails dig into his flesh where his body meets his cock, my mouth tightening around his girth. Pulling back, I drag my teeth upwards until I reach the tip. “That’s better,” he hisses. I do this several times over, steadying myself on his thighs. Taking his plump head between my lips, I suck hard. Hollowing out my cheeks, I prepare to suck the soul from his body when he pushes me off with a pop.

“Bitch,” he groans, the desire thick in his voice. Shoving me to sit back in the porch swing, he sinks onto his knees and leans in, gently inhaling my pussy. “My turn.” Delving his tongue into me, I arch and stifle a groan. The kitchen window is closed but not too far away. Anyone could watch on, but this time, I don’t want an audience. This is private between me and Wyatt. A hidden fantasy that will never see the light of day.

That devilish tongue is quickly replaced by two fingers, his lips finding my clit instantly. Every sensation is sharp, hateful and filled with spite. He plays his role perfectly. I let go of all inhibitions, grinding into his face, the roughness of his stubble grazing my skin. Ripples of heat course through my veins. One strong hand grips my hip, tilting me further into his assault. I’m kept on the precarious edge of pleasure and pain, just enough to remind me of his control. His rules.

I can’t help the way my body responds, arching and squirming for release, my fingers threading through his hair, tugging as he sucks and drags his tongue firmly over my clit. The rhythm of his fingers increases, pumping in and out of me in sharp, short thrusts. There’s no gentleness. Each movement is precise, calculated to draw me in, higher and higher. It’s maddening and intoxicating how much I want this. The sound of the waves lapping against the shore is distant, drowned out by the rhythm of my own heartbeat pounding in my ears.

I can’t take it anymore. I tug at his hair again, drawing his gaze up to my flushed face. His shimmering eyes are dark with focus, catching the light just enough to be believable. My heart races as I picture the face to match those eyes, that swept back hair. The intensity between us climbs to its peak, a quiet storm in the night.

And then, when I think I can’t hold on any longer, he pulls back slightly, just enough to whisper against my skin, “Cum for me, Little Sis.” His voice is low, rough, and it undoes me completely. Curling his fingers inside of me, I clench around him, convulsing as his lips close around my clit once more. He draws wave after wave of pleasure through my body, the sound that escapes me slicing through the night. There’s no denying him.

As soon as I come down, blinking away the spots covering my vision, I’m twisted and lowered onto the sand. A heavy body lowers onto me, his mouth hovering just over mine. There’s a delicious pause, a quiet moment where our breaths mingle. Then, like a dam breaking, his mouth crashes onto mine, punctuated by the taste of my own desire.

His kiss is demanding, his tongue teasing mine, his grip in my hair tightening as he presses me down into the swing. I gasp against his lips, my hands finding his shoulders, pulling him closer as I arch into him, my thighs parting further beneath the pressure of his knee. He breaks the kiss, his lips trailing fire down my neck as his hands roam lower, fingers tracing the curve of my hips. His breath is hot against my skin, and every nerve in my body is on high alert, aching for more, for him.

“You drive me insane, you know that?” he growls softly against my ear, his voice thick with need. I let out a soft moan, threading my fingers through his hair.

“Good,” I breathe, the word barely more than a whisper as I tug him closer. I want to lose myself. I want to forget our troubled past and see what we could be if he let us. But to my dismay, he pulls back. The coldness that hits my body is a sudden shock, embarrassment coating my cheeks. In true Wyatt fashion, he takes what he wants and then stands to leave. I know in reality, this is all a game. A new form of role play we shouldn’t make a habit of, but the rejection hits all the same. I lie naked, exposed, filled with desperation and self-loathing. Can’t we play for a little longer?

Rolling his head, his neck cracks and a shudder rolls down his spine. I make a feeble attempt to cover myself when he suddenly swoops down, lifting me with ease. I swallow hard, my frown evident.

“Where are we going?” I ask. Long strides carrying us down the few steps onto the beach, further into the darkness.

“I’m sorry,” Garrett kisses my temple. I search his face for answers, an unfamiliar tremor beating within.

“What for?” I frown.

“I’m a selfish bastard. Being Wyatt is fun, but when I fuck you, it’s my name I want to hear you scream.” Garrett lowers us onto the sand, me straddling his lap as he sinks his cock into me. I gasp at the sensation of being stretched and filled, clinging to his neck tightly.

“Oh Gare,” I groan against his skin, peppering him with kisses. “You’d better earn it then.” A smile graces my lips as Garrett barks a sharp laugh. He twists me in an instant, flattening me on my back.

“Challenge accepted, Peach.”