Obsessive Control ( Under publishing contract )

Someone

Listen - Billie Eilish - My Boy
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His face moves closer to mine, his eyes burning with a ravenous desire, and I feel his uneven breath mingling with my own. Why am I not trying to resist? After everything he's done to me, I should push him away, scream at him, even hit him. But I stay there, frozen, heart racing, unable to move or say no. His lips, hot and hungry, meet mine, pulling a breath from me I didn't realize I was holding. They capture mine with such force that I feel almost pulled in, caught in a whirlpool of desire and disgust.

His tongue, swift, caresses mine, and despite myself, I return his kiss. Each movement of his mouth against mine, each pressure of his lips, makes me a little more captive. My body responds instinctively, reacting to his touches while my mind struggles to regain some semblance of control. I feel the heat flooding my being, my breath becoming erratic, but deep down, a part of me revolts, hates itself for giving in so easily.

I'm out of breath, my thoughts blurring, when his powerful hands grab my thighs. In an instant, I'm lifted, my body pressed against his as if I weighed nothing. This brute force, this dominance, terrifies me as much as it attracts me. My fingers cling to his shoulders with a desperate tenacity, seeking an anchor in this turmoil of emotions. I realize I am welcoming him, accepting him, this intense kiss, this anger that seems to mix with desire. A part of me knows I should run, but another, much darker part, revels in this pain, this consuming passion.

I hate myself for giving in so easily. Every fiber of my being screams that I'm weak, incapable of resisting this man who has so much power over me. But it's stronger than me, as if I no longer have any will, as if every caress from him erases a little more of my resistance. Is this karma? Is this the price for all the atrocities I may have committed? Maybe I deserve this suffering, this torment that hides beneath his passionate gestures.

- My love...

His voice seeps into my mind, soft and possessive, and I shiver hearing these words that once made me melt. Now they are just another chain binding me to him, keeping me from escaping. His lips are so soft, so sweet, and his scent... My God, that scent drives me mad. It's as if it penetrates every part of my being, obliterating all rational thought, plunging me into a state where I am nothing but desire.

When my back meets the cold, rough fabric of the sofa, I am jolted back to reality by the harsh contrast. His lips continue to roam my skin, leaving behind a trail of warm moisture that makes uncontrollable shivers rise in me. His hands slide under my t-shirt, lifting it with a calculated slowness, as if he's savoring each moment, each reaction of my body. Soon, my chest is exposed, and I feel the cool air against my skin, a sensation that elicits a new moan from me.

I close my eyes, trying to cut myself off from what I'm feeling, but it's impossible. When his tongue makes contact with my nipples, a wave of guilty pleasure washes over me, and my moans become louder, almost desperate. I know I should tell him to stop, that I should push him away, but the words die on my lips before they are even spoken. All I can do is endure this avalanche of sensations, this internal battle between the desire and hatred I feel for him, for myself.

- Lov...

His name escapes my lips unwillingly, like a confession of my weakness, my inability to resist. His eyes meet mine, and I see a glimmer of triumph, as if he already knows I am lost, that I belong to him completely. He continues to toy with my nipples, his tongue tracing slow, torturous circles, while I get lost in this tide of contradictory sensations.

- Admit that you missed this, my little pup...

His voice is a whisper, a venom spreading through my mind, and I feel my last defenses crumbling. He knows exactly how to manipulate my body, how to break my will. And yet, despite it all, a part of me cannot deny the truth in his words. The consuming need he has cultivated in me, the toxic desire that drives me mad, he knows it better than anyone. He takes off his sweatshirt, dropping it on the floor, and I watch, hypnotized, unable to think clearly. His words echo in my head, distant, muffled by confusion and shame.