Sweet Obsession (Ruthless Games 1)

“Thanks.”

I duck into the back and grab my jacket, slinging it over one arm. When I re-emerge, I find Greg among the remaining patrons and catch his gaze. Letting a slow smile cross my face, I tug my bottom lip between my teeth, then jerk my head subtly toward the back doors down the hall.

He jerks in surprise, but he clearly gets the message. He scrambles off his bar stool and follows me through the crowd as I head toward the back.

A strange feeling twists in my stomach. Nerves? Fear? Guilt?

I don’t know what it is, but instead of examining it further, I shove it down as deep as I can and push open the heavy metal door that leads to the alley out back.

Generally speaking, I don’t like coming out here. The smell of burnt oil and asphalt sometimes brings back visceral, unpleasant memories. But tonight, I need to just suck it up and push through.

It needs to be here.

I’m almost positive either Marcus or one of his friends—or even all three—are keeping an eye on me even now. They probably know I stayed in my apartment all day, and although I didn’t see them inside the bar, they have to be nearby. I’m sure of it.

And if I’m wrong, and they’re not? Well, then, I guess this lesson will just be for myself.

A reminder not to let myself get attached to anyone.

Least of all my fucking stalkers.

Greg catches the heavy door before it swings shut and steps out of the bar behind me.

“Holy shit,” he mutters, his voice slurring a little. Fuck. I hope he’s not too drunk to get it up. “I didn’t think you’d ever go for me. Damn, you look fine tonight. Those legs…”

Those legs are covered in goose bumps, just like the rest of me is. I try to tell myself it’s from the cold, but I know that’s a lie. I try to tell myself the heavy churning feeling in my stomach is from eating a full meal for the first time in days.

But that’s a lie too.

Fucking hell, Ayla. Just do it. You’ve done this before. Just close your eyes, and it’ll be over quick.

Another memory of my fifteen-year-old self bubbles up in my mind, but I push it away. If I let my foster father invade my thoughts, there’s no fucking way I’ll get through this. And I need to get through it. I have to do it.

The truth is, I haven’t wanted to have sex, or even to be touched by another person, for years.

Something changed when Marcus and his two friends burst into my life. Something fundamental shifted inside me.

And I’m desperate to prove to myself that it’s not because of them.

“Yeah, well.” My voice sounds thin and reedy as I drop my coat and turn around to grab the lapels of Greg’s jacket, pulling him toward me as I back up against the brick wall of the alley. “What can I say? I’m having a weird night.”

“Oh, baby, I’m sorry.” He grins down at me, not looking very sorry at all. He’s a good-looking guy, but his smile does nothing for me. “Let me see if I can make it better.”

One hand comes up to grip the back of my neck, his other sliding over the tattoos on my right arm, inching toward the place where it was amputated. I shiver but pull him closer.

Just do it.

He lowers his head toward mine, and I close my eyes. He smells like some kind of citrusy cologne, and while the scent isn’t bad, it makes my throat tighten anyway.

When I feel the tickle of his breath against my lips, my whole body jerks, my muscles going involuntarily rigid.

“Baby,” he murmurs, his hand sliding down my chest to cup my breast. “I’m about to rock your world.”

I don’t need you to rock it. I just need you to break it.

Shoving myself away from the wall, I press into him, desperate to just fucking get this over with already.

But before my lips have a chance to do anything more than brush against his, he’s ripped away from me.