Forbidden Obsessions (Deviant Desires of Bennington University #2)

Chapter Sixteen

Olivia

“ C an I come in?” I ask sheepishly.

Mom pats the mattress next to her, ecstatic to see me. That easily, some of my fear, shame, and sorrow dissipate. “I was hoping you’d come back today.” I sit, cozying up to the crook of her arm.

‘‘I’m so sorry, Mom. You deserve a better daughter.” A daughter who can stomach and tackle problems instead of running from them.

“Nonsense. You feel how you feel, and cope however that may be, as long as it isn’t self-destructive.” How she knows exactly what I need to hear, when I need to hear it, is beyond me. Mother’s intuition, I guess.

“Are you sure about stopping treatment, Mom? I don’t know how to live without you. I’m scared. You must be, too.”

“I am, and it’s okay. We tend to overcomplicate hard things until we have to face them head-on. Seeing this affect you is one of the hardest things I’ve had to do. Going through treatment is another. I’ve realized, at the end of the day, it’s a Band-Aid over a gaping wound. It’s not going to get any better. I’ve made peace, Olivia. You need to find a way forward to do the same.”

Be strong. Don’t cry. “I don’t want you to live in pain, but I don’t want to lose you.”

“I know, baby. I know,” she says, stroking my hair.

“Is there anything you really want to do, like skydiving or anything?”

“No, I definitely don’t want to go skydiving,” she says, shaking her head. “But there is something you can do. Only if you want to.”

“Anything,” I assure her.

“I want to watch you marry Tomas, but like I said, only if you want to.”

I rear back so quickly I fall off the bed, smacking my mangled face on the cold tile floor. “Goddamnit.” I sigh. “It might be a little too late.”

“Why would it be too late?”

“He asked me weeks ago, before I knew you were sick. I said no,” I admit.

“So?” She acts like I didn’t shatter him, like I can go to him and just say, Oops, my bad.

“I wounded him. He won’t ask again anytime soon.”

“I’m gonna ask you again. So what?” She shrugs.

“He just tried to break up with me.”

Mom barks a laugh. “Good one. The pair of you wouldn’t last more than a week without each other. Propose to him,” she says matter-of-factly.

She continues when I don’t respond. “Have you noticed the way that man looks at you?”

“Actually, not really,” I admit.

“He orbits around you like you’re the sun.”

There are a million and one reasons that is a terrible idea, but there are two very good reasons it isn’t: it’s mom’s dying wish, and I love Tomas.

“Yeah, okay. I’ll do it. I’ll ask him to consider it,” I relent. Her smile could light up the whole fucking city.

“It’d be an honor to watch the two of you get married, but like I said, only if you want to,” she warns sternly. She knows how caught up in worrying about everyone else I get.

“Mom, how long do they think you have without treatment?”

“They don’t know. Maybe a few months. Maybe more. Maybe less.” She squeezes my hand, telling me she’s okay with whatever time she can get.

“However long it is, it’ll never be enough time.”

“I know. Take Grandma's ring.” I’ve always loved the princess cut design of the ring. No matter what type of lighting, the ring always sparkled. The ways I imagined my mom giving it to me were much happier.

“I love you, Mom.”

“I love you, too. I can’t wait for you to get your prince charming.” Her words hit me like a ton of bricks, pulling me back into the cabin the night Tomas proposed. I need Mia’s help. I have a proposal and a wedding to plan.

“Mia, I’m getting married,” I practically yell as I burst into the living room.

“What? That’s g-gre-great,” she stammers.

“I need help planning the proposal and the wedding,” I say, throwing my bags on the kitchen table.

I know that stammer . I shield my eyes. “Mia, should I go?” Just as I question, Matt emerges, saliva and God only knows what else dripping from his chin.

“Um, oh my God. Didn’t know I was interrupting something. You kids carry on. Have a great time. Love you. Bye,” I call, shutting the door, and heading back out to my car.

I’m a few minutes from Tomas’ when Mia calls. “Can you help me with a surprise proposal?” I ask, hopeful.

“Absolutely,” Mia sings, piercing my eardrums.

“Can you round-about-ly ask Tomas who to contact about renting the cabin? He keeps it locked down at all times, and well, that’s our spot, you know?”

“I’ll find out,” Mia promises. “How soon?”

“Soon, like, tomorrow? My mom is stopping treatment.”

“Oh, Liv. I’m sorry,” Mia sighs.

“Me, too. Well, I gotta go. Tomas tried to break up with me earlier, and I need to convince him it’s a really stupid idea. I think we’re okay now, but I don’t know.”

“Go suck that man’s soul out of his dick, friend.”

“Yeah, likewise. Good to hear you’re back.” I laugh, shaking my head. I’m so happy she and Matt came back to their senses.

“Gotta go. Love you,” I say, hanging up as I pull into the driveway.

“Hi,” Tomas says as I climb the porch stairs. He looks more like himself, trading his recently grown beard for stubble.

“Whatcha doing?” I take the rocking chair next to him, opting to enjoy the beautiful weather. It seems as good of a time as any to clear the air between us, too.

“Waiting for you.” He studies my reaction carefully. A wide grin plays on my face. Waiting for me on the front porch. Suddenly, I can see it: Tomas and I are sitting out here, sipping our coffee, watching the neighborhood, and reading our books—smut for me, peer-reviewed nonsense for him.

“Not to break up with me again, right?” I ask, pretending to be horrified. His eyes widen.

“That isn’t happening any longer, right? Like you came to your senses and realize you didn’t and do not take advantage of me, yes?”

“Yeah, I realize you take advantage of me, actually.”

“Tell that to my bruised pharynx.”

“Actually, I’d love to have a little chat with it,” he smirks.

“Right now?” I ask, surprised.

“Mhm. I’ve missed you,” he muses. Tomas stands, pulling me into his arms. His familiar scent of sandalwood and musk engulf me, like an old friend whispering reassurance in the darkest of nights.

Tomas ushers us into the living room and gives me a small kiss like he’s testing the waters. “I tried to do what I felt was the right thing, Liv. Give you space to breathe and process. Sometime over the course of the week, I started getting caught up in the belief that you would be better off without me.”

“That wasn’t true then, and it’s not true now. Would you ever let me say that about you?”

“Absolutely not,” he agrees. Caging me against the wall, he brings his lips to mine again. There’s no asking or hesitation this time. Our mouths crash together in a frenzied dance, giving and taking.

Tomas pulls away suddenly. “I’m sorry,” he rasps against my lips. Sorrow grips me for the umpteenth time today. “I’m sorry for hiding the information about your mom from you. I promise I’ll never keep anything from you again.” His head falls to my shoulder.

Cupping his jaw, I force Tomas to look at me.

“I don’t want to talk right now.” Rich caramel eyes drag over me. My body is an inferno, alight with nerves and anticipation under his gaze. Featherlight fingertips snake down my arms and waist, raising goosebumps in their wake.

“We won’t talk, then.” The warmth of his breath tickles against my ear. I’m antsy, waiting for his fingers to brush lower and lower. My hands grasp at the hem of his shirt, silently urging him to pull it overhead. I certainly missed the hard, sculpted lines of his body this week.

While I spent this week cooling off, coming to terms with my mom’s diagnosis, Tomas’ omission, and the unexpected horror that unfolded with Nathan, there were so many spontaneous things I missed about him. His infectious laugh, his dark, honeyed brown eyes, his deep, soft voice—rich and seductive. What I missed the most were his hands. A simple palm on my back or my knee, reassuringly steady and present, or fingers drawing circles on my knuckles, soothing my anxious soul with a single touch.

“What are you thinking about?” he rasps against me, tugging the waistband of my sweatpants and panties down in a single swipe.

“Your hands,” I admit, unable to bite back my smile.

“Ahh. I’m glad to see you’re still a needy little thing after a week apart,” he taunts, cupping my pussy with his palm. My head tips back at the sensation.

His gaze drags over my bandaged face and bruised neck. Under normal circumstances, I’d be self-conscious, but I’m comfortable with Tomas. I know he’s counting my wounds toward his short-comings. They aren’t a reflection of his failures, just like my sometimes debilitating anxiety isn’t a reflection of mine.

“Not like that. Well, maybe like that, too, but I didn’t mean just in that context,” I clarify.

He plunges a finger into my wetness. My hips instinctively buck, trying to force friction. The more he teases me, the more shameless I become. I cry in protest as he draws the finger out, bringing it to my lips instead. I suck, my body turning to putty beneath his heated gaze.

“You’re not convincing me, Olivia,” he tsks.

“I meant the amount of contentment your hands bring me, not necessarily the number of orgasms. You should test that, though. For science, I mean.”

He grips my ass, lifting me. My legs wrap around him as he carries us to the bedroom. I laugh as he throws me to the bed and parts my thighs. His hand works my clit immediately, sending electricity through me from head to toe.

“Come here. I want to play, too,” I tell him, trying to reach for his belt buckle. He shifts, giving me some purchase. God, how I’ve missed his cock, too. As he continues pulling pleasure from the depths within me, I stroke him languidly. I need him in me, and he needs it, too.

“Please fuck me,” I grovel, pushing him back on his heels. He climbs up my body until we’re face-to-face and his thick, rigid cock is lined up with my waiting pussy. We moan in unison as he sinks into me, our hips finding a matching rhythm, somewhere between tenderness and all-consuming.

“As you wish, Olivia,” he says through a ragged breath.

“I love you, Tomas. I really don’t want to spend a week apart again, be it self-inflicted or otherwise.”

“Me, neither,” he groans. His hands grip my wrists, pinning them above my head as he continues thrusting.

Between the pleasure humming through my body, the heart-to-heart conversation with Mom, and the encouraging development with Mia, I haven’t felt this content in weeks. Leaning into the pleasure, I let myself drift away in the sensations. If there was ever such a thing called apathetic contentment, that would be me. I don’t like to use sex to dissociate, but it’s been a hard few weeks. Tomas tenses with a grunt, spilling himself deep within me.

After a minute of panting breaths, he pulls back and studies me blankly. “You didn’t climax,” he states objectively. There’s no judgment or accusation—just fact, like he’s interpreting data from a science experiment.

“Sorry. I enjoyed it. I’m just a little lost in my head currently. It wasn’t you,” I say honestly. My cheeks redden a bit, but the shame and embarrassment that used to grip me before Tomas doesn’t surface.

“You don’t owe me anything, Olivia. I just want to make sure you get what you need from me,” he says, stroking my hair.

I smile, because I did. I got that and more.