A Lovely Obsession: The Complete Debt of Passion Duet

by Coralee June

  The moment I stood up, Roxanne slid in my seat and gave me the sort of fake, forced smile you tossed strangers out of obligation. “It was…meeting you,” she said with a grin.

  “I’ll walk you out,” Hunter growled while wrapping his hand around my bicep and squeezing. I barely had time to grab my purse before he was dragging me through the bar. I didn’t want to be in the parking lot alone with him, so I jerked out of his grip and jogged toward a side hallway leading to a back room. Hunter was hot on my heels, so I opened the door and slipped inside, thanking the small town gods for trustworthy bar owners.

  It was a small room surrounded by bottles of liquor and cases of beer. I searched for an exit, and the moment I found it, the door to the stock room opened and Hunter stalked through the threshold. I tugged at the doorknob, but it didn’t budge. I guess the bar owner wasn’t that trusting.

  I faced the door and steadied my breathing, curling my rough hands into fists so I could protect myself. I didn’t have but a moment before he was shoving me against the door. My cheek dug into the wood, and his hot breath traveled down my neck. I refused to grunt or whimper. Though I felt at the mercy of Hunter’s anger, it wasn’t something I wasn’t used to. “Pretty Debt, I told you to leave,” he said in a deadly calm voice. It was so controlled that I was caught off guard.

  His hand gripped my shoulder, and he spun me around, slamming my back into the door. A searing shock spiked my skull as pain reverberated through my brain at the impact. His hand wrapped around my neck, and he squeezed.

  Hunter was no longer affected by my pain. In fact, now he wanted to cause it.

  “I told you to leave,” he said again. “What the fuck are you wearing? Were you hoping to entice me?” He ran his finger under the strap of my bralette.

  “Hardly. I’m not some weak child you can intimidate anymore, Hunter.” I was proud of myself for keeping my voice so steady. “A lot can happen in five years. I might have been a scared little girl when you left, but I’m now a woman that knows what she wants.”

  Hunter laughed as if I had said the funniest thing he’d ever heard. “Do you know what I think? I think you’re too stupid to be scared. I think I did you a disservice by making your life easier. I think your mom sheltered you—”

  “Don’t you fucking talk about my mother,” I interrupted. His face froze for a fraction of a second, and I watched an indescribable expression cross his features. As quickly as it came, it disappeared.

  “I’ll say whatever the fuck I want,” Hunter yelled before rearing back and punching the door. I let out a yelp when I heard his fist connect with the wood. And when he pulled back, there was blood seeping from his knuckles. I couldn’t get my breathing under control, and I stared up at Hunter with fear in my soul. Maybe he was right. Maybe I took his protectiveness for granted all those years ago. Hunter Hammond was a seasoned killer, and I was no longer on his good side.

  “Why are you here? Are you trying to fuck with me?” he asked before slapping the sides of his head with both his palms. I flinched at the loud smacking sounds and threw my hands up to protect my face. Hunter stopped hitting himself and grabbed my wrists. “Was this morning not enough for you? Do you need to get off? Is that what’s keeping you here?”

  Hunter slammed my wrists against the door and shoved his knee between my legs. “You dick!” I shouted.

  Hunter started moving his leg against my sex. Up and down. Up and down. “No panties? You’re soaking wet,” he stated. It somehow sounded like a deranged insult.

  “Get off of me,” I said while squirming against his strong hold. I didn’t want him off of me. I wanted him to keep going. Every movement made my clit throb against his leg. I felt trapped and embarrassed and yet somehow turned on. I looked around, as if searching for someone to intervene. But we were locked and alone in the liquor storage closet.

  “Is that what you really want?” Hunter asked in a low voice.

  I kept my mouth closed to keep the shameful truth from escaping. Yes. I really wanted him. I wanted this. All of this.

  Hunter pulled me away from the door and dragged me over to a desk on the opposite side of the room. With his palm on my back, he slammed me down until my cheek hit the tabletop. I was staring back in shock when he placed his gun beside my head on the table. With one hand, he pinned my arms behind my back. His boots kicked my legs into a wide stance, and I whimpered. “Fuck you,” I growled. It wasn’t that I didn’t want him to touch me. I craved him on a visceral level. I didn’t care that he was using my body against me. I cared that I could feel the hate in his touch and hear his anger in every word. I cared that this wasn’t an expression of long-lost love. Hunter fucked me like it was revenge.

  “Look at those long, shaky legs,” Hunter said before sliding his free hand up my inner thigh. I quivered at the touch. “Did you miss my hands on you?” He didn’t wait for me to respond, though we both knew the answer was yes. “I’m gonna give you what you want. Then you’re gonna get the fuck out of here. I’m not the sort of man to repeat myself.”

  I tried to disassociate the man cupping my cunt from the man that protected me my entire life. I breathed in and out, focusing on the dusty air and the buzz in my veins instead of the way his fingers circled my clit. My legs shook.

  “I’m not going anywhere,” I asserted. He plunged his index finger inside of me and curled it until it was stroking that special spot within me that bloomed with pleasure.

  “Yes, you are,” Hunter growled. He slipped another finger inside of me and started fucking me relentlessly. He was harsh and fast, pinning me down with one hand and ruining me with the other. My legs were like jelly, and if it weren’t for his heavy body weighing me against the tabletop, I would’ve collapsed on the ground.

  “I’m not leaving,” I said, my voice strong and lusty.

  I was so fucking close; my body betrayed me in a way. Hunter could command my pleasure like no other. Even when I was mad at him. Even when I was scared of him. There was no one that could touch me like he could. He snapped his hand away.

  “Is this not enough?” he asked. I heard the distinct sound of his zipper lowering.

  “You can fuck me all you want, Hunter Hammond. But it’s not going to scare me out of your life. Go ahead and convince yourself that you’re doing this to push me away, because I know the truth. You’ve been craving me just as much as I’ve been craving you,” I snapped.

  “Fuckkk,” Hunter whispered before slamming inside of me. “I love it when you get angry. Scream at me again, Pretty Debt. It makes fucking you so much more fun.” My cheek scraped against the top of the desk as he pounded my body. My skirt was lifted well above my waist, and I could hear the filthy sounds of our skin slapping with every quick, hard thrust. “I’ll clean my dick with your tears when I’m done.”

  “Go ahead and break me, Hunter. I want it,” I replied. I wasn’t the helpless girl he left five years ago. I wasn’t intimidated by his hold over me. It was like each painful thrust was reminding me that I was a strong capable woman. I wanted this. He might be okay with lying to himself, but I owned his cock and mind.

  “Why can’t I get rid of you?” Hunter asked between grunts. I wasn’t sure what he meant. He’d gotten rid of me for five fucking years.

  His hands dug into my hips, squeezing so hard that I felt my bones ache. My legs trembled, and whimpers escaped my lips. This felt too familiar, like the time he fucked me before running away. But I wasn’t the same girl. I didn’t silently accept his goodbye. “Wherever you go,” I began. He slapped my ass, his open palm leaving a red stain against my cheek that I reveled in. “I will find you. I will chase you down. You can never escape me.”

  Hunter moaned and groaned as he punished me with every thrust. He wasn’t worried about equal play. He didn’t care if I got off. He was punishing me and using me, and I let him. I wanted him to. “Why do you have to feel so perfect?” he grunted. “You’re clenching my cock so good, Pretty Debt.”

  My ears perke
d up, and I looked at him over my shoulder. His face had turned tender. His movements, more languid and rhythmic.

  “You missed me,” I whispered, too afraid to speak it out loud and ruin our moment.

  “Why can’t I get you out of my fucking head?” he asked. I wasn’t even sure if he knew he was saying this out loud. “Why was I fucking thrilled when you showed up, huh? How come your name makes my heart pound?”

  The moment he came and I felt his body go stiff behind me, I took advantage of his pleasure, stood up, and spun around. He wasn’t done yet, so I was gifted with the view of him finishing his load on the concrete floor, with his face relaxed and blissed out. “Because this means something,” I said, answering his questions. “Because you and I are fucking inevitable. No matter what guilt you’re still harboring. No matter the age difference, our past, our future, and your job. This”—I gestured between us—”fucking means something. Obsessions have purpose.”

  Hunter looked stunned, with his dick hanging out and his mouth propped open. His eyes were heavy with lust, but he also was filled with dangerous anger. I watched his hand tremble like he wanted to reach for a gun. “No. This can’t happen. I’m going to make you regret coming here,” he said before putting his dick away and buckling his pants. Running a hand through his hair, he looked me up and down before continuing, “I’m gonna make you wish you had forgotten about me. I’m going to ruin you and send you running home.”

  “I look forward to it,” I replied.

  ROE

  I spent most of the night tossing and turning at the motel. I only had one more day to convince Hunter to go back to Gavriel, and I had no idea how I was going to do that. My head was a mess of options. Last night felt like a declaration, but it felt like nothing, too. I felt like one of the girls he picked up from the bar and used to forget for a while. Why was Hunter so determined to forget me? Did something else happen? Maybe there was more to the story he wasn’t telling me.

  “You look well-rested. Your svadhisthana chakra is practically glowing!” Butterfly sang. Every time she spoke, it was like a melodic song of happiness. I didn’t know what a svadhisthana chakra was, but the mischievous look the blond-headed hippie was giving me gave me a bit of an idea. I had the post-hate-sex glow, and Butterfly knew it.

  Sunrise yoga on the compound wasn’t exactly my idea of fun, but I wanted to prove a point to Hunter. I also needed the time to clear my mind and figure out what the fuck I was going to do. And a small part of me wanted to see what I was asking Hunter to give up.

  The compound where Hunter worked was one hundred acres of beautiful wilderness with sporadic oases strategically placed on various trails. The main house was an all-glass, air-conditioned building surrounded by succulents and cacti. The multipurpose room was currently covered in yoga mats, and Reiki music was playing on a Bluetooth speaker.

  It was beautiful. I understood why people spent ridiculous amounts of money to be here. It was calm and quiet. The world seemed to move slower here. The air was dry and crisp. The sand painted a beautiful landscape with curled Joshua trees planted proudly everywhere. It felt secluded and picturesque. No wonder he put roots here.

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I said while wiping my face with a towel. Butterfly had three students in her sunrise class, two of them were an older lesbian couple named Eileen and Kaylee. They were staying in one of the tents on the compound for their second anniversary and talked a lot about being one with nature but also complained about the lack of cell phone signal. Butterfly took her job very seriously. One hour was spent in meditation, and the rest of the time we all attempted to mimic her difficult moves. She was the only one who could successfully achieve the side plank, and I spent more time laughing with Kaylee and Eileen and trying not to fall over than anything else.

  It was just what I needed. I felt lighter and free. The heaviness of the last few days and the stress of Gavriel’s threats were weighing me down. I felt bad for relaxing when I should have been figuring out a way to get Hunter to work again, but I needed to clear my head.

  “Hunter had that freshly fucked look about him when he came back to our table last night,” Butterfly prodded. I grabbed the water bottle and took a swig, swishing it around my mouth and swallowing before thinking about how to answer her. Luna had said they’d both slept with him, and I wasn’t sure if Butterfly would be jealous or not. I already knew Roxanne was the territorial one of the bunch.

  “Did he give you angry sex? God, I love Hunter’s angry sex. He has such a red aura, and it just comes alive in the bedroom—or in the horse stalls,” she said before nudging me with a giggle. She started walking outside, and I followed after her, letting out a sigh when the warm sun hit my shoulders. I refused to feel jealous, though that green envious feeling still burst with an electric shock through my chest. I wasn’t saving myself for him and had a few romps of my own, but it still hurt.

  “Do you sleep together often?” I asked. My voice sounded forced.

  “When he first moved here, yes. He just seemed so angry and alone. I’m an empath, so I sensed his need for intimacy and human connection,” Butterfly explained. She sounded like sex with Hunter was a selfless mission, and the idea made me want to laugh. Sex with Hunter made me selfish. All I could think of was more, more, more.

  “But I stopped sleeping with him when I realized he was just trying to forget someone…” I listened to the way her voice trailed off, and slumped my shoulders. “Hunter came here damaged, and he’ll continue to be damaged until he fills that void,” Butterfly then explained. “He has so much guilt.”

  I let out a slow exhale and turned to face her. Butterfly was ridiculously gorgeous. In the early morning light, her pale blond hair practically glowed. She had crystals around her neck and wore a burnt orange sports bra and tight yoga pants. Sex last night was rough and violent, but it left me feeling so empty and devoid of satisfaction. I didn’t come. I felt used. My standards where Hunter was concerned always seemed to falter. The only enjoyment I got out of it was his confessions at the end.

  “Last night was the most alive I’ve seen him in ages. His aura was very confusing, but I saw healing lavender. Who are you, Roe Palmer?” she asked with a teasing grin.

  I decided right then to trust Butterfly. “I think I’m the girl Hunter was running from. I think I’m the void he’s been trying to fill.”

  Butterfly tilted her head back and laughed, the sound like wind chimes. “Oh, I already knew that,” she said with a giggle. “My spirit guides visited me last night and informed me all about your history. You’ll be able to celebrate your birthday again. I promise. Don’t let your mother’s death stop you from enjoying life.”

  I dropped my mouth open in shock. Butterfly was legit. “Seems like you already know who I am.”

  Butterfly let out a sigh, then wrapped her arm around me. I felt self-conscious from all the sweat from our morning workout. She guided me over to a picnic table overlooking the desert landscape, with a gazebo blocking the sun, and sat me down. “You’ve been chasing Hunter for five years. You came here looking for him, but maybe you really do need to find yourself. So I’ll ask again, who are you, Roe Palmer?”

  “I-I don’t know. Somewhere I started wrapping my identity up in my obsession,” I whispered. Butterfly nodded politely, encouraging me to continue. “How can I find out who I am when he’s been a part of my life since the day I was born? Even if I didn’t know it, his presence was still there.”

  In many ways, I felt like I had found myself. I was stronger. More determined. The girl Hunter knew would’ve never fought back the way I did last night. And yet I still felt lost. I went to college because it just felt like something to do. I moved in with Nicole because I have no one else. My only unique and defining quality was that I could write, but even that was something I didn’t know what I would do with. I lost myself during the time I was supposed to be free.

  “Last night you said you are a poet,” Butterfly said while
digging through her backpack. “Why don’t you just sit here and write? A lot has happened since you arrived. Take some time to process.”

  I took the notepad and pen from her hands and placed it on the picnic table. “Thank you,” I replied lamely.

  “See that trail over there,” Butterfly said while nodding in the distance. I followed her line of sight and stared at a path of sand. “Hunter takes the horses there every day at noon. If you wait here, you’ll see him. He’s really good with the horses,” she added in a dreamy voice.

  Butterfly squeezed my shoulder and spun around to head back toward one of the main buildings. I watched her back for a moment, then drug my eyes to the notepad she’d handed me. She was right. It was time I found myself.

  Citrine

  Abundance.

  Your heart is like a muddy puddle drought, and I’m drowning in the idea that a little more rain could clear the dirt away.

  I’ll sell self-respect for a kiss,

  My life for a quick fuck in a public parking lot.

  You’ll toss threats in my outstretched palm.

  More, please.

  My sense of self is like a foggy night with bright headlights reflecting off the water molecules in the air.

  I’m just trying to see. Trying to drive my car to wherever you are.

  With your muddy puddles and your more.

  And when I get there? I’ll wear a necklace of citrine so I can tell you how a rock brought us together. How I manifested

  an ocean with a pulse by casting a single stone. I’ll be so fucking proud.

  And you’ll look at me, frown, and shake your head.

  More, please.

  You need more than me.

  ROE

  “What are you writing?” a gruff voice asked at my back. I was so lost in my words and the beautiful setting surrounding me that I hadn’t noticed Hunter strutting over to me. I covered the lined paper, filled to the brim with my scrawled words, with my sweaty palm and turned around to face him, a blush of embarrassment coating my cheeks. Despite group critiques and getting a degree in English, I still turned bashful any time someone read my work. Especially when that someone was the subject of most of my poems. Hunter was the most devastating muse. They say artists have to experience pain in order to be profound, and there’s something to be said for the dozens of notebooks filled with his name.