Page 14
Story: Obsessed-
All the letters that I wrote to her. She read them, she even kept them.
The notion makes me so hard, my legs go numb, my muscles straining and my mouth goes dry. But I hide my reaction to her, pretending to be aloof.
“This is what I wanted you to see,” she says, picking up the letters and she spreads them over the table. Her eyes are a little feverish, her hands trembling. “I started getting them a couple of months of ago and they’re pretty...” she bites her lip, “intense.”
My eyes go to hers, her own ones not revealing how she feels about the intensity. “Is that good or bad?” I ask.
“I don’t know,” she whispers, her fingers sliding over one of the envelopes. “The tone in them is so extreme. There’s been times when I’ve read them that I’ve started trembling and then I can’t stop for hours.”
I immediately start imagining her doing that. Reading those letters, then climbing up into her bed, wearing only underwear and riding the waves that my words give her.
“I have no idea who’s writing them, he signs them of sayingThe Admirerand that’s it.”The one who’s writing them is standing in her kitchen. And he was allowed in freely. He was welcomed.
“He sends me roses too. Two dozen, red ones after every concert.”
“And you think it was The Admirer who chased after you in the forest?” I say in a soft voice.
She looks at me helplessly. “I don’t know. Maybe. Do you think that’s farfetched?”
I clear my throat. “I don’t think that whoever wrote those letters would want to scare you.”
“Really?” she shrugs, rubbing her arms, picking up a letter. “But listen to what some of them say.”
Amber reads me a couple of lines and I remember writing them, my need for her putting me in a trance , destroying me and nourishing me at the same time.
When she finishes reading, she looks at me with glassy eyes. “That’s not normal, right? Normal people don’t think like that. They don’t feel those things, The Admirer feels.”
“Maybe not,” is all I reply, my voice strained and she shudders, her lower lip trembling.“I don’t know why I kept them. I shouldn’t have.”
My fists clench. “Why did you? Why didn’t you throw them away?”
Her shoulders shrug frailly. “When I feel bad, I read them. They pull me up. His words nourish me.”
Her eyes fill with tears. “But it feels like they could destroy me too.”
Never! I heatedly yank her to my chest and she bursts out into tears. Never destroy. Only keep. And love and cherish in the only way that I can. Her whole body is on edge, her tears sipping through my clothes and a roaring wave of self-hate that I’ve never felt before, cuts in me.
How the fuck could I have written her those words? I should have taken more care, should have known they were going to be too much for her.
“I will burn those letters for you,” I murmur against her hair, “Rip them in pieces one by one.”
“N...no,” she stutters, sounding a little alarmed, “that’s not why I’m crying.”
I frown, cradling her to let her know she’s beloved. “Then why?”
“It’s just a lot right now. With the concert that’s tomorrow and...”
“You will be fine,” I say, stroking her back. “Don’t worry that pretty, little head. I’m here now.”“You’ll be sitting in the audience tomorrow won’t you? Just like you promised?”
I pull away a little to look at her as she peers up at me. “Wouldn’t miss it for the world.” Our eyes hijack, neither of us blinking. I feel her in every part of me. The good ones, the ugly ones. And they’re all hers.
In her hands they are bearable. She smooths the edges, easing the suffering. When she buries her face against my chest again, the pain in my shaft turns unbearable and I place a tender kiss against her temple.
She tenses but I don’t stop, tracing my mouth down her cheek, jawline, loving the powder soft skin. A pulse flutters on herthroat and I catch it, crushing it like the wings of a butterfly. It’s a warning, a gentle reminder of my true nature.
To my relief she responds, tilting her head to the side, voluntarily giving me more access.
My eyes flare.All mine, you don’t even know what you’re doing.
The notion makes me so hard, my legs go numb, my muscles straining and my mouth goes dry. But I hide my reaction to her, pretending to be aloof.
“This is what I wanted you to see,” she says, picking up the letters and she spreads them over the table. Her eyes are a little feverish, her hands trembling. “I started getting them a couple of months of ago and they’re pretty...” she bites her lip, “intense.”
My eyes go to hers, her own ones not revealing how she feels about the intensity. “Is that good or bad?” I ask.
“I don’t know,” she whispers, her fingers sliding over one of the envelopes. “The tone in them is so extreme. There’s been times when I’ve read them that I’ve started trembling and then I can’t stop for hours.”
I immediately start imagining her doing that. Reading those letters, then climbing up into her bed, wearing only underwear and riding the waves that my words give her.
“I have no idea who’s writing them, he signs them of sayingThe Admirerand that’s it.”The one who’s writing them is standing in her kitchen. And he was allowed in freely. He was welcomed.
“He sends me roses too. Two dozen, red ones after every concert.”
“And you think it was The Admirer who chased after you in the forest?” I say in a soft voice.
She looks at me helplessly. “I don’t know. Maybe. Do you think that’s farfetched?”
I clear my throat. “I don’t think that whoever wrote those letters would want to scare you.”
“Really?” she shrugs, rubbing her arms, picking up a letter. “But listen to what some of them say.”
Amber reads me a couple of lines and I remember writing them, my need for her putting me in a trance , destroying me and nourishing me at the same time.
When she finishes reading, she looks at me with glassy eyes. “That’s not normal, right? Normal people don’t think like that. They don’t feel those things, The Admirer feels.”
“Maybe not,” is all I reply, my voice strained and she shudders, her lower lip trembling.“I don’t know why I kept them. I shouldn’t have.”
My fists clench. “Why did you? Why didn’t you throw them away?”
Her shoulders shrug frailly. “When I feel bad, I read them. They pull me up. His words nourish me.”
Her eyes fill with tears. “But it feels like they could destroy me too.”
Never! I heatedly yank her to my chest and she bursts out into tears. Never destroy. Only keep. And love and cherish in the only way that I can. Her whole body is on edge, her tears sipping through my clothes and a roaring wave of self-hate that I’ve never felt before, cuts in me.
How the fuck could I have written her those words? I should have taken more care, should have known they were going to be too much for her.
“I will burn those letters for you,” I murmur against her hair, “Rip them in pieces one by one.”
“N...no,” she stutters, sounding a little alarmed, “that’s not why I’m crying.”
I frown, cradling her to let her know she’s beloved. “Then why?”
“It’s just a lot right now. With the concert that’s tomorrow and...”
“You will be fine,” I say, stroking her back. “Don’t worry that pretty, little head. I’m here now.”“You’ll be sitting in the audience tomorrow won’t you? Just like you promised?”
I pull away a little to look at her as she peers up at me. “Wouldn’t miss it for the world.” Our eyes hijack, neither of us blinking. I feel her in every part of me. The good ones, the ugly ones. And they’re all hers.
In her hands they are bearable. She smooths the edges, easing the suffering. When she buries her face against my chest again, the pain in my shaft turns unbearable and I place a tender kiss against her temple.
She tenses but I don’t stop, tracing my mouth down her cheek, jawline, loving the powder soft skin. A pulse flutters on herthroat and I catch it, crushing it like the wings of a butterfly. It’s a warning, a gentle reminder of my true nature.
To my relief she responds, tilting her head to the side, voluntarily giving me more access.
My eyes flare.All mine, you don’t even know what you’re doing.