Page 58 of His Darkest Obsession

A pathetic whimper falls from my quivering lips as I lay there, panting from the temporary relief.

But it’s not enough. And until I get the real thing, I don’t think it’lleverbe enough.

By the time my breathing returns to a normal cadence, I feel the familiar tendrils of shame snaking its way through me.

And that’s when I know the terrible truth.

I’ve already given him total control over me.

He’s already fucked me in my head.

And he knows it’s only a matter of time before I confess it.

19

INDIGO

THREE DAYS LATER

I stepout of the shower, and immediately, I know something is different.

Nothing seems out of place at first glance, but I feel like someone was just in here while I was in the shower. Wrapping the towel more closely around my body, I pace around the room and examine the door knob.

It doesn’tlooklike it’s been touched. But then again, what do I know?

Memories of the other night and my private surrender rushes back, and I wonder if maybe Anatolyheardme.

I glance up at the red light blinking on top of the window. Svetlana told me that this was an alarm. But what if it isn’t? What if it’s a camera? What if he was watching me touch myself while thinking of him?

A blush runs up my cheeks, and I find my mind bombarded with images of Anatoly watching me on a screen with his cock in his fist.

Fuck!

I shake my head, take several deep breaths to calm myself, and walk towards the closet.

That’s when I realize that someonewasin here.

Because instead of the panoply of clothes that had been brought up yesterday, everything has been replaced with beautiful dresses.

Onlybeautiful dresses.

Different shade of blues, greens, and reds. And even one black as midnight.

"What the hell is this?" I mutter, tugging at one dress after another.

All in my size. All perfect. All chosen with careful attention to what would flatter me.

For him.

A surge of heat burns through me.

Is this his way of punishing me for dressing up like I did last night? He straight up told me that he noticed me picking the most unflattering outfit. So now is he removing that option for me?

I pick a silky blue dress off the rack and hold it against myself in the mirror. It does look good on me. And Ihatethat it looks so good on me.

"Fuck you, Anatoly," I whisper to my reflection, tossing the dress aside.

I won't be his dress-up doll. I won't be grateful for gilded chains. But as I look at the scattered clothes on my bed, I realize something even more infuriating. I'll have to wear them anyway.