#OBSESSED

by Frankie Love

  “I’m a virgin,” she says. Then she presses a hand to her forehead. “I cannot believe I’m telling you all this, a virtual stranger.”

  “What if I wasn’t a stranger?” I ask, leaning in, close enough to kiss her.

  She licks her lips, wanting what I want. “Then I would ask where you’ve been all my life.”

  Chapter Three

  Aubrey

  We ease off the sexual tension by ordering a few appetizers. I may have squeezed into a skin-tight costume, but it doesn’t mean I’m not going to carb-load on my vacation.

  “We’ll have the flank steak crostini,” Nero tells the waiter.

  “Oh, and mozzarella sticks. And...” I look over the bar menu, debating. “And how about the Gorgonzola flatbread and the chicken skewers.”

  The waiter nods, leaving us be, and Nero smiles. “Good choices. I hate it when girls are too nervous to order what they actually want around a guy.”

  I lift my eyebrows. “Do girls usually get nervous around you?”

  Nero shrugs in such a nonchalant way, I know he knows how handsome he is. Not in a try-hard way that reads as confident. In a way that is unassuming, yet obvious. Nero may have a mask on, but those lips of his look very kissable, and his hands are big, which makes me think...

  God, I fan myself with my hand, knowing I’ve lost complete control. Why was I telling this hottie that I am a virgin? It’s obscene. Just because he has a mask on, I start treating him like a he’s a priest and I’m at confession.

  “What were you saying?” I ask, clearing my throat and reaching for my glass of ice water. I need to cool the eff off. Stat.

  “So, you don’t come to this Con for the celebrities?”

  I shake my head. “No, like I said, it’s all about the fantasy.” I feel my cheeks redden at the word. I wave my hands around. “You know, like, the environment.”

  The food is delivered, and we dive in, both of us clearly hungry. For me, I’m a nervous ball of energy, I’m not as sure about him. He doesn’t seem the type to be nervous.

  “So, the celebrities that come, you don’t stand in line for their autograph?”

  I feel myself flutter my eyelashes exaggeratedly. I need to stop being obnoxious but I can’t help myself when it comes to Braden Bentley. “There is only one celebrity I’d wait in line for, but he never comes to this convention.”

  “Who is that?”

  I feel myself blush. I shake my head and drop my gaze, knowing I am going to tell this guy the truth. It’s not like I’ve held anything back thus far, I think with a snort. “Well, Braden Bentley. Of course.”

  He laughs. “Right, of course. So, does your obsession go deeper than Space Battles? What came first, Nero or Braden?”

  “Hmmm.” I tap my pointer finger to my lip considering the answer. “That’s a super hard question.”

  “How so?”

  “Well, I mean, I’m obsessed with them both.”

  “When you say obsessed...?”

  I notice Nero shift in his seat and I wonder if my admission makes him uncomfortable.

  “I figure it’s not stalking if it’s love.” I laugh, resting my hand on his forearm. “I’m joking. Look, half the women at this convention have a hardcore thing for the man, so don’t take it personally. When Nero pulls out his glowing sword in the movie, he means business. I think lots of women crave that kinda intensity. That sort of intent.” I pause and give him a shrug, “even if it’s all just all part of the fantasy.”

  He seems to grow stiff at my words. “So, for you, is it just a fantasy--not something you’d actually want? A man like that?”

  I laugh nervously, remembering how I already told him I wished I had a man who could read my mind. “I guess there is no such thing as too personal now, is there?”

  He runs his hand over my thigh beneath the table. “Oh, I’m ready to get all kinds of personal with you, Starla.”

  I let out the tiniest moan that tells him I want this. “Did you get me drunk so you could have your way with me?”

  “You aren’t drunk, Starla. Not even a little. Don’t use that as an excuse to back out of what you crave.”

  A visible shudder rolls over me as his hand cups my pussy. “Oh,” I whisper.

  “You want me to be your Nero tonight?” he asks, pressing his mouth to my ear. “To take control, to give you the intention and intensity you fantasize about?”

  “You’d do that for me?” I ask, my words catching as my breathing grows shallow. “Roleplay my fantasy?”

  “Oh, Starla, it’s my fantasy too,” he says, turning my face toward his, his lips so close. I breathe him in and know that after tonight there will be no going back. I’ve always wanted a man like him. One who unabashedly knows what he wants.

  Me.

  He kisses me, hard. I feel my body give into what we both want in return. Everything. I whimper beneath the kiss and I open my mouth, as his tongue finds mine. He is making it clear exactly what he plans on doing tonight. Ravishing me.

  We pull away from the kiss-- I need to, otherwise, I’ll melt in a puddle right here in this booth.

  “What happens next?” I ask breathlessly.

  He traces a fingertip over my lips and then cups my cheek with his palm. “I take you to your room and I show you my sword.”

  It’s absurd, obviously.

  But also... is it?

  I mean, I want it. Him. This. Tonight.

  I excuse myself for a moment as we leave the bar, and beeline it to the restroom.

  Once I’ve locked a door behind me, I call Jenna.

  She picks up right away and I put her on FaceTime. She is in her living room, with her banshee of a two-year-old running around in the background. “Um. I think I’m gonna have hotel sex. Like, now.”

  She laughs. “That was fast.”

  Cringing, I explain. “I know. It’s a Nero. And he has the mask and it’s like... fate?”

  She looks right at me. “You want this?

  “It’s like I’ve been waiting for this forever.”

  She twists her lips. “Not waiting for Braden Bentley?”

  I roll my eyes. “I can’t live my life in a fantasy world when a real-life fantasy is being offered.”

  “But he’s a stranger.”

  I nod. “I know. This is probably stupid. We haven’t even exchanged names. But maybe it doesn’t matter? Maybe sex with a stranger at a convention center is exactly the sort of thing I need to experience.”

  “It might be going from zero to one hundred a little fast, sweetie.”

  God knows I’m behind on the sexual exploits train. Sure, I’ve considered handing my ticket to the conductor of the gravy train a few times, but I’ve never thoroughly enjoyed the rides leading up to the final destination, so I’ve backed out. Let’s just say they’ve always tried to go way too fast. I’ve never been able to sit back and enjoy the ride if you will.

  But this feels different. Right now, it feels like I am in control just as much as Nero is.

  I blink, realizing my train metaphors are bizarre, but what is even more cray-cray is the fact that Nero took me by the hand and led me out of the bar. He wants this too.

  “Uh, I think I lost you,” Jenna says into the phone. “The connection bad?”

  “Yeah, I should probably go.”

  “Hey, Aubrey,” she says. “Go with your gut. Trust yourself. And use protection.”

  “Of course,” I say, appreciating her looking out for me.

  “And... it’s your first time. Ask him to go slow.”

  I nod, my mind returning to the train metaphor. Because the way this Nero looks at me it, touches me, kissed me--slow and with all kinds of intent--I have a feeling he might know a thing or two about taking the scenic route.

  Chapter Four

  Braden

  I wait for her outside the restroom--part of me wanted to follow her in, back her against the wall, and fuck her then and there.

  But it’s her first time. She may have
enough sass to tell me she wants this, but she is still a sweet little virgin.

  I want to make her beg.

  She comes out of the bathroom with an apprehensive smile, waving her iPhone. “My best friend Jenna just gave me a pep talk.”

  I scowl beneath my mask, putting my arm around her shoulder and pulling her close. I lean down, whispering in her ear. “You needed a second opinion on whether or not this was a good idea?”

  She laughs. “No. That isn’t it. I just needed someone I trust to reassure me.”

  “And did Jenna do that?”

  Starla nods, looking up at me as we step into an empty elevator. “Yes. She told me to trust my gut.”

  “And what does your gut say?” I ask as the doors close.

  “My gut says you should come up to my room and make good on your promise.”

  “What promise is that?” I ask, my cock growing with each word that comes from her pink lips.

  “That you have a sword I might like to use.” She presses her finger to floor number six and up we go. Part of me wants to take her to the penthouse... but another part of me wants to wait. I don’t want her to know who I am. I just want to give her a night she will remember. If I told her the truth right now she would get all self-conscious; she wouldn’t be as relaxed.

  And I might just miss out on the best night of my life.

  In the elevator, I pull out my phone and ask to take a photo with her. The walls of the elevator are red, just like they are in the iconic scene in Space Battles. She claps when I point that out, pleased that I am aware of such details.

  She seems too good to be true--and I want proof that this woman exists. When I express this, she laughs, but obliges, using her phone to take another one of us. I’m in the mask of course, but the effect is there. Nero and Starla, in the red room, together.

  “Why are you smirking?” she asks as the door slides open. She reaches in her purse for a key card, flashing it to me.

  “Because I love how into Space Battles you are. How good you look in that costume. How honest you are about everything. I’m just confused about one little thing.”

  “What’s that?” she asks as we walk down the hall. We stop outside of room 604.

  “How in the hell you are still a virgin.”

  She shakes her head, lowering her chin. “I just kinda get... nervous. And honestly, I’m starting to get jittery right now.”

  “You haven’t seemed nervous with me at all.”

  “Yeah, well you’re in a mask. It feels less intimidating.”

  “I can keep it on if it will make it less nerve-wracking.”

  Her eyebrows lift. “You’d do that?”

  “For you? Anything.”

  “This feels... too good to be true. You, here as Nero, me here as Starla--”

  I press my thumb to her lips. “Us, here together.”

  She lets out a soft moan, her hand on the doorknob. She pushes open the hotel room door and in seconds I have my lips on her lips. God, they are so fucking soft and ripe.

  “I need to taste all of you,” I tell her between kisses and she nods, knowing just how right I am.

  “Do you always role-play with the girls you meet in bars?” she asks. Her eyes are closed, lips parted.

  “Never,” I tell her. I lift her chin with the crook of my finger. “You are the only one.”

  She opens her eyes, the flutter of her long lashes sending a ripple of desire through me. “Truly?”

  “Truly.”

  “Good.” She smiles, and her eyes brighten. And even though she’s wearing a badass costume, skin-tight everything, her tits pushed together, her ass on display--I can see in her eyes that there is more to her than being strong. She is soft too, craving a tender touch to guide her home.

  “Come here,” I tell her, pulling her by the hand to the bed. “And lie down.”

  “Or what?”

  “Or you’ll never get your pussy licked.”

  Her mouth drops open into a perfect O. “Who are you even?”

  I reach for her belt. “I’m your Nero. And you are my prize.”

  I undo it and toss the belt aside, taking a moment to appreciate that her costume truly is impeccable. “You really made this outfit?”

  She nods. “Yes, and I know I’m meticulous, but whoever made yours is really talented too. It looks identical to the costume from the film.”

  I swallow. This costume was from the movie. “Why don’t you work for the movies?”

  “Who said I didn’t?” she asks, smirking.

  “Touché.” I bite my bottom lip, ready to slide down her pants and take a look at her creamy cunt. “So, do you?”

  She sighs. “Not yet. I work at a television studio right now. But hopefully, someday I’ll be working as a costume designer for major films. A girl can dream.”

  “So, you’re ambitious. I like that.”

  “What about you?”

  “I thought we were gonna fuck, not talk about our hopes and dreams?” I say, wanting to edge her off of me. I hate this kind of thing--opening up. Sharing parts of who I am. Beyond my face, I’m nothing but a whole lot of heartbreak.

  But maybe this seamstress can patch me back together.

  She laughs playfully. “Oh, poor Nero, doesn’t wanna get personal. Just like Braden Bentley. Are you a wounded hero too?”

  I swallow, running my hands over the waistband of her skin-tight leggings. “Yes.”

  She props herself up on her elbows, looking at me. For split second, I think she’s figured it out. Knows who I am. But if she does, she doesn’t mention it.

  “I’m sorry,” she says softly. “I’m sorry you’ve been through shit.”

  I exhale, not expecting this. To be heard. Maybe that’s what happens when people can’t see your eyes--they start listening to your heart.

  “What happened?” she asks, taking my hand and lacing her fingers through mine. She pulls me to her, onto the bed beside her.

  Lying next to her in an unexpectedly intimate way, I realize I never do this with women. I never want to do this with women.

  This woman is different though. I run my other hand over her belly, her skin is so soft, her crop top revealing a flat stomach, and I have the insane desire to get her pregnant; for her belly to swell, for her to carry my child. I haven’t even slept with her and already I am dreaming of a life together.

  “My childhood was messed up. My parents abandoned me, and I was shuffled around to various foster homes. And I’m sure there are good foster parents out there, but I never met them.” I tense, wondering just how many details to share, but the truth is, Braden Bentley has never told the press the gritty details of his childhood. Just that it was fucked up and off the table.

  “That’s awful,” she says, running her hand over my chest.

  “Yeah, lots of people have shitty pasts though.”

  “Sure, but that doesn’t take away from yours.”

  I want to pull off my mask, want her to see me for me, but as I consider this, I realize maybe I’m the same as her. She wanted the mask on to lessen her nerves about having sex for the first time, and I need the mask to give me the courage to open up.

  “Eventually, I got out,” I tell her. “Aged out of a system and had nothing but a backpack and a fragile dream.”

  “What was that?”

  “To have a place of my own, a door I could shut and lock to keep the bad guys away.”

  “Oh, Nero,” she says, her eyes glistening with tears. “That’s so sad.”

  I brush away the tear that falls down her porcelain cheek. “I was a kid, barely eighteen without a family. I wanted to create my own world; my own fortress.”

  “That’s why you love Space Battles, isn’t it? Nero was a kid from the streets, who rose up from nothing and became a powerful warrior. Defending honor and keeping those who are weak safe.”

  I feel so damn exposed when she says it like that. “Is that ridiculous? To relate to a character from a movie?”

>   “No.” She sighs. “I like Starla because I relate to her. My parents are really well off, just like in the movie, and I don’t have to work. In fact, my mom hates that I live in a crappy LA apartment. But I choose to because I want to make my own life. On my own terms. They don’t understand, but they don’t have to. It’s my life, right?”

  I smile, tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear, admiring her for the woman she is. “It is.”

  “So, did you?” she asks softly, her fingers tracing my abs.

  “Did I what?” I ask, wanting to pull her to me and never let her go.

  “Get your door?” Her words are barely more than a whisper.

  I nod, my throat dry. “I did.”

  “I’m glad.”

  I look at her behind the mask, knowing she accepts me for who I am. “I’ve made mistakes,” I tell her, cupping my hands around her back and drawing her to me.

  “We all have,” she says, her heart pounding against my own.

  “You’re perfect, Starla.”

  “No. I’m insecure and have bad taste in music and never wake up in a good mood.”

  “That’s the worst you can do?” I ask my hand under her shirt, her nipples hard beneath her lacy bra.

  She laughs, her body pressing against me. “My credit card is maxed out, I never have food in my fridge and I met my best friend in line at Disneyland.”

  “I love Disney,” I say, laughing at her confession. Her tits are round and full and fit perfectly in my hand.

  “Right, but Jenna was there with her two-year-old,” she says, arching her back. “I was there all by myself.”

  “There are worse things than liking theme parks so much you’ll go to them solo.”

  “Yeah? Like what?”

  I still, my voice low, my mouth on her ear. “Being ashamed of where you come from. Hurting people who get close because you don’t trust that they will come through. Doubting people’s intentions, constantly.”

  She rolls on top of me, straddling me. It’s both erotic and absolutely tender at the exact same time. “Don’t doubt mine,” she says.