An Obsessed Novella
Genre: Contemporary, Erotic Romance/Erotica, BDSM, M/F
Series: The Obsessed Novellas
The books in this series are all standalones
This isn’t just a love story, it’s an obsession…
Never in my life did I think my high school obsession would move right next door. I’ve never wanted anyone but him. Reid Turner is my ultimate fantasy. And I still want him. Badly. When he watches me through my bedroom window taking matters into my own hands, things suddenly take a turn…
And now that I have him, I’m not letting him go.
I never knew she existed and now I can’t get enough of her. She consumes me. When this night ends, there may not be anything left of me. She may own me completely. She my master and I her slave. In one way or another I will atone for never noticing her all throughout high school. I will gladly grovel at her feet to make up for what a fool I was.
Besides, who can turn down that luscious body of hers? Curves in all the right places, a mouth that could make a grown man cry. Super responsive during sex, and none of my twisted desires so far have made her bat an eye. And did I mention? She lives right next door. She may be the perfect woman for me.
Note: All books in the Obsessed series are stand-alone novellas. It is intended for audiences over 18 years of age since it includes explicit sexual situations, including BDSM.
The pounding on my front door makes my heart jump like it’s just been zapped with an AED. I can’t say I’m not panicking, because I am fucking panicking. I don’t want to answer the door, but he knows I’m home.
Holy hell, does he know.
I didn’t leave both the curtains and window open on purpose. Unless I did subconsciously. Maybe deep down inside I wanted him to watch me.
But I certainly didn’t expect him to show up at my front door to confront me. I snag my black satin robe off the back of the bathroom door and wrap it around me, pulling the sash tight.
I don’t know if I should go downstairs and answer it, or hide and hope he goes away until we both forget about what just happened.
As the pounding continues, I realize he won’t forget anything at all. And neither will I.
“Open the fucking door!” His deep voice easily rises to the second floor, and he doesn’t sound happy. Not. At. All.
If I don’t answer the door, the neighbors will peek out of their windows, wondering what the ruckus is about.
And I’m already embarrassed enough.
I run down the stairs and skid to a stop at the front door, unlatching the dead bolt. As soon as I turn the knob, the door shoves open and I fall back from the force. He pushes into the foyer and slams the door behind him. His eyes look wild, but the anger behind them is unmistakable.
He leans back against the door and his chest heaves like he’s out of breath. “What the fuck. How do you know my name?”
I open my mouth, but nothing comes out but a squeak.
If I thought he looked hot this afternoon from a distance, he’s blazing just feet from me. Especially with the cords of muscle and veins popping out in his neck. Anger becomes him.
“How do you know my name?” He pronounces each word slowly and carefully like he’s talking to an obstinate child. “Fuck!” He drags a hand over his short hair and narrows his gaze in my direction. He pushes off the door and takes two steps toward me. “Answer me.”
I’m sure I look like a fish out of water with my mouth opening and closing and no sound escaping. “I…” I clear my throat. “Why do you think I know your name?”
“Because you screamed it out when you came.”
Heat rushes up my chest into my cheeks, partly from embarrassment and partly from irritation. His anger fuels my own. “Why were you watching me come?”
Now he’s the fish out of water. I watch with satisfaction as he tries to formulate a reasonable answer. He has none.
“Your window was open,” he shouts, like it’s a valid answer.
“So was yours,” I shout back.
“You should close your curtains,” he says, more quietly.
“So should you,” I answer, also losing some steam. I watch his anger suddenly dissipate into thin air.
He rubs a hand across his forehead. “That was fucking hot.”
“It would have been better for me if I realized you were watching.”
His expression tells me he can’t believe I just said that. That makes two of us.
His hand scrubs his short hair again, this time faster, and he abruptly drops his hand and makes a fist when he realizes what he’s doing. “Who are you?”
“I’m your neighbor.”
He takes a menacing step closer. “Bullshit. How do you know who I am?”
I stand my ground, grabbing the ends of my sash and pulling it tighter. “Maybe I don’t.”
“You know my name.”
“Maybe it’s just a coincidence.”
He hesitates and I can see the wheels spinning in his head. Then he shakes it and says, “No.”
I arch an eyebrow. “You sure?”
He nods and steps close enough that I can smell a faint odor of beer on his breath. “Yes.”
Unfortunately, I hate beer. But I love Reid Fucking Turner. So, you take the good with the bad. “It doesn’t surprise me you don’t know who I am.”
© Jeanne St. James