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His name alone triggers my possessiveness. I can hardly see straight.
I take a step back, dragging her right along with me to the floor. “On your knees.”
“I’ve never touched him,” Leighton argues, but gets on her knees anyway. “Never ever wanted him. I’ve only kissed a boy in ninth grade. That’s how pathetic I am. I’ve never wanted anyone but you, you asshole.”
She doesn’t add that she doesn’t want me anymore. She just ends the sentence, glaring at me from the floor. Turned-on and angry. Begging to be subdued.
And I’m the man who’s desperate to be inside her. The sight of her kneeling for me—of my fingers laced in her pink locks—is hotter than any fantasy I’ve ever jacked off to.
But I have to make sure first. “You rubbed your pussy in my doorway for years. Am I supposed to believe that with all this sexual energy, you haven’t sucked another man’s cock, little doll?”
“I told you,” she whispers, somewhat defeated. “Pathetic. That’s what I am.”
The loss of her fight does it for me. It’s the proof I’ve needed to know she’s telling the truth.
“I haven’t been with anyone for the last five years, either.”
I could’ve had one-night stands without endangering them. I haven’t.
No one could compare to Leighton. My woman. My beautiful doll who stares at me from below.
“That’s how badly I want you, Leighton. The rest of them have been less than.” Deliberately slow, I slide my hand across her jaw to her mouth. I grip her bottom lip, pressing her plump flesh between my fingers. “The days when Rylan snuck out were the best of them all. You know why?”
Leighton gasps. “You knew?”
“Of course. I knew you slept over to cover for her. I heard her climbing out the window even though I warned her she shouldn’t have.”
Leighton’s mouth relaxes, and her eyes widen a fraction. I caught her off guard. The shock has her softening for me. It’s loosening her resistance.
She and Rylan had hardly ever slept at the Irvines’ home. Leighton’s parents weren’t bad people. They’re great.
It’s Rylan. I’m sure she hasn’t wanted to let me out of her sight. I suspect Leighton—who’s as in love with me as I am with her—has agreed willingly to sleep over at our home. Any excuse to spend more time around me.
Leighton was always a welcome guest.
Always.
“After you turned eighteen, I’d stay up. Wait for Ry to drive off.” Leighton’s bottom lip lowers when I pull it down some more. “Those nights, I pretended to sleep while you fucked your hand outside my bedroom. Then I’d wait two, three hours until you fell asleep. Fuck, Leighton, I used to be so fucking hard during these hours. Until I’d finally come into Ry’s room…”
“You’re sick.” Her accusation carries much less conviction than before.
Because of how I grip her lip, saliva dribbles down her chin when she speaks. So goddamn hot.
“Obsessed.” I release her. With Leighton’s spit on my fingers, I flick the button of my slacks. “I’d been obsessed when I moved my hard cock on your cheeks while you slept alone in that room. When I squeezed and stroked myself while you breathed on my throbbing head. When I came between your lips.”
As soon as the confession comes out of my mouth, Leighton’s reflexes react. She raises her hand to her lips. I shake my head slowly, and my obedient woman drops them.
“I haven’t stopped obsessing over you, Leighton. Not for a second.” I tug on her hair for emphasis. “I never will.”
“Obsessed in a crazy way,” she murmurs.
“Enough with this word.” My eyes narrow. “Neither of us is crazy.”
“You ki—ugh, took me, Marcus.” Her rage turns me even more feral. “That’s psychotic. At least tell me you’re aware of that.”
Saltwater cascades down her soft, pretty cheeks. I fucking love that I’m the one to put those tears there.
“Why would I?” I yank her hair again, smirking at the sound of her cry. “So you can tell yourself there’s something wrong with you? So you can hate how wet you are for me? You think it’s a sickness, Leighton? Something to be cured? Is that it?”
