Compulsive Fascinations Read online

  Compulsive Fascinations

  Published by Malfunction Erotica.

  Copyright © 2014 by N. Isabelle Blanco.

  Edited By: Elena M. Reyes & Jacqueline Noir

  Cover Art By: N. Isabelle Blanco

  Photo credit: 123rf/@Cathy Yeulet

  He owns her—Every. Single. Breath. She just doesn't want to admit it. To him, or herself. . .

  You get hurt once; you assume that’s the norm. You see others suffer; you assume that’s the norm, too.

  At least, that’s what Livana once did. One rough go-around was enough for her. After that, she kept it simple, no strings attached. It was just easier that way. Even necessary.

  Until she went out one night and met Calum Alexander, a man whose intensity broke through each of her defenses, leaving her vulnerable.

  Afraid to fall in love, she tries to keep some of her walls up around herself, even though Calum is determined not to let her.

  Faced with a man that seems intent on possessing her, Liv knows it’s a mere matter of time before she no longer has a choice.

  That is. . .until Calum's own insecurities come to the fore, throwing their new, fragile relationship into a tailspin.

  Will the feelings between them be strong enough to keep them together, or will their issues get in the way of what they had just started to build?

  1

  “Livana, seriously. Are you going to act like you don't recognize me?”

  Oh, holy motherfuck. That couldn't have been happening to me right then.

  Women liked to complain about men and their tendencies. Yes, I agreed, men were usually impulsive, childish assholes. It was why I had my strict “No Boyfriends” rule.

  However, there was one thing I agreed with that men usually adhered to, and it was a very simple fact of life.

  If, at the time of sex, both parties discussed and agreed that it was going to be just sex and nothing more, then that was where it ended.

  Once the orgasms had been achieved and the clothes were back on, game over. Finished. The book closed, locked, and thrown in an impenetrable safe deposit box.

  Fi-ni-to.

  Acting like friends when all was said and done wasn't just pointless—it was downright stupid.

  And, I'd admit, I was usually one of those uber-assholes that took it one step further. For me, once the sex finished, so was the association. I didn't know him; he didn't know me. It was why I rarely gave a guy my name.

  Or, at least, that's how the game used to go. Unfortunately, every once in a while, there came along that guy that I had never met before, but turned out to be a part of my social circle.

  And that was when he found out my name, who I was. Then he began to hound me so we could further our “acquaintance”.

  Whatever-his-name-was next to me was one of those. A bonafide “Liv Rocked My World for One Night and Now I'm Stalking Her” group member.

  The guy sidled up next to me, but I didn't look at him. I stared at the flat screen hanging above the drink rack and took small sips of my beer.

  “Livana, it's me. Don't you recognize me?”

  Funny, I didn't remember ever giving the “me” over there my name, nor had I asked for his. Sure, I recognized his face—sort of—but wasn't interested.

  To be honest, I wasn't at that bar just to hang. I was waiting for someone. Because I, Livana Payne, male-heartbreaker-extraordinaire (according to my best friends), had been breaking every damn rule in my book. I, the wham-bam-thank-you Madame . . . had been seeing someone.

  Sigh.

  Every one of my survival instincts screeched at that but it was true.

  Calum Alexander came into my life like a whirlwind of pure sex. The absolute best sex, I swear to you. Amazing sex and goodness all wrapped up in a 6’2”, rock-hard, well-endowed body.

  He was a good man, as I said. The best. You wouldn't expect a man like him—sexy, rich, on top of his world—to be one of the mythical nice-guys. But so far, it seemed like he was.

  That combined with the clit wrecking, body-shocking sex was why I hadn't let him go yet. Why I couldn't, even though every bit of my common sense told me to do so before it was too late.

  That was why I needed Mr. Dip-Shit to get away from me and stop staring at me with that gleam in his eyes that said he'd had sex with me and he knew what my pussy looked like.

  I didn't want what Calum thought about me to matter, but it did. So much. Imagining him seeing that expression on the asshole’s face next to me made me want to start throwing punches.

  Calum meant something to me, whether I liked it or not. Or, whether I understood what that something was.

  A one-night stand from a year ago was not going to fuck that up for me. No fucking way.

  Slowly, I placed my bottle back on the bar, and then turned to address the ass next to me. “I barely remember you. It happened a year ago; maybe more? Point is that I made it very clear it was a one-time thing. And, I never gave you my name. I don't care who you work for that knows someone I work with—or however the hell you got my info—but this shit is creepy. Did it never occur to you that this is all on the stalker-ish side? I don't care how amazing the sex might have been, I don't know you. Never did. Nor am I interested in doing so.”

  Jesus. What a bitch. Sometimes I wondered why a man like Calum would want to be with me.

  I saw the change in Mr. Suave next to me instantly. Saw the moment he went from casual, charming, and “I'm half in love” to “how the fuck dare you turn me down?”

  Wait for it . . .

  “You little bitch.”

  Yup. See how most men are? You deny them a second round of pussy, even a year after round one, and they downgrade into misogynistic, verbally abusive, infantile pieces of shit.

  No finesse when it comes to handling rejection. None whatsoever.

  I'd already dealt with so many of them in my life. It was no wonder that I still had a hard time believing Calum was real.

  I said nothing to the fool next to me. Just drank my beer and continued focusing on the game.

  “I don't remember you being this much of a bitch when my dick was inside you.”

  I barely remembered what douche-bag's dick looked like, let alone having it inside me. Thinking back on it now made me feel . . . gross. Dirty.

  I used to sleep with someone every five or six months, whenever the itch got too bad. It'd only been going on for four years—that's how long it had been since my last relationship—so I hadn't slept with as many guys as a lot of girls my age had.

  One would think that would help spare me the clingy assholes, no?

  I moved my hands off the bar to avoid the temptation of flinging the bottle at that asshole's face. “Honestly, dickwad, I don't remember what your junk looks like. A fact I'm grateful for. And I'm not interested in getting reacquainted with it. So do us both a favor. Stop with the drama and get lost.”

  “What the fuck is your problem? You had enough fun when we were fucking—”

  “She told you she's not interested. Now are you going to move or am I going to have to make you?”

  I jerked so violently at the sound of Calum's voice that my hand connected with the beer bottle, sending it flying across the bar—and right into douche nozzle’s chest.

  Beer shot out onto his chest right before the bottle crashed to the floor, shattering and spilling more beer all over his feet.

  I watched as he stared at his shirt, the bottle on the floor, then that nasty glare turned in my direction. His eyes said it all: this was all my fault.

  Um, really? Since when? He was the one that did not move when I first told him to.

  “I asked you a question.”

  I pressed my lips together and clo
sed my eyes. Mother of God, I was trembling. Straight-up tremors were going through my limbs.

  I’d recognize that voice in my freaking sleep. No need to turn around and confirm that it was Calum.

  Shit, shit, shit.

  Had he heard what the beer-covered asshole had said?

  Out of the corner of my eye, I saw the asshole shake his head and scoff. With one last glare at us, he stormed away, leaving me to deal with the mess we’d both created.

  Calum fucking knew I’d slept with that jackass.

  No, he didn’t expect a virgin when he met me—I'm sure—but this was wrong. Disrespectful to him. He might not be my boyfriend, but fuck me; he'd just gotten one of my past “conquests” practically thrown in his face.

  I wouldn't be able to stand for it. Wouldn't be able to handle it if had it been the other way around. If I ever had to deal with any of his exes coming onto him that way . . .

  His heat blanketed my back, his scent overpowering the air.

  I couldn't turn to him and face him.

  God, I was shaking so hard at that point that my teeth were snapping against each other in my mouth.

  I'd never been so embarrassed.

  I'd never been so afraid.

  It's freaky when you go your whole life—or at least a good portion of it—not caring what anyone thinks of you. Then suddenly, wham, you realize you do care and it's like being slapped in the face.

  What must have been going through his head? I know what would've been going through mine.

  Damn it. I cared. His opinion of me freaking mattered.

  One word whispered evilly through my mind, setting my trembling-dial to the highest level possible.

  Whore.

  I was twenty-two years old now. Had been for two months. Men slept with whomever they wanted; a lot of girls younger than me did as well. There was no reason for me to be ashamed.

  For the first time ever, I was regretting the single lifestyle I’d chosen over the last four years.

  Large hands cupped my shoulders, the feel of them permeating right through my skin.

  “Baby. You're shaking.”

  I almost whimpered at the tone of his voice. Last second, I clamped my lips shut, clamped my eyelids shut, and began praying with all I was worth.

  I cared. I cared. I cared.

  And if I didn't get my shit together in the next second, before I faced him, he was going to see it written all over me.

  Calum turned me on the barstool.

  Like the pussy I'd morphed into, I stared at my lap instead of staring at him.

  “Livana.” That sexy, raspy voice of his always wrapped around my name just right, and that time was no exception. His thumb came up under my chin, tilting my head up toward him.

  I stared at his shoulder instead.

  “Livana, look at me,” Calum urged gently, his thumb caressing the side of my jaw.

  I mewled quietly at his touch, suddenly starving for him. As always. He knew just how to touch me, just how to talk to me, to drive me wild.

  Not that it helped me find the courage that had so thoroughly abandoned me. My eyes remained on his shoulder. The fear of seeing any censure in his eyes suffocated me.

  When did it start to matter so much to me?

  Did it mean that he'd started to matter too much to me?

  I literally saw the word duh flashing before my eyes.

  “Livana, baby, you're being a little—”

  “Don't you dare finish that sentence, Calum Alexander,” I snapped. “I'm trying to get over it.”

  His low chuckle made me clench my fists. Then, his hands were on my hips, fingertips sliding back to lie on my ass. He urged my knees apart with his body then pressed his hips against my own.

  Warm breath ghosted across my mouth a split second before his lips lightly brushed mine.

  My lips parted on a gasp.

  “Kiss me, baby,” he murmured against them.

  Instinct snapped free, drowning everything out. My hands fisted his shirt, pulling him even closer, and I blindly sought out his mouth.

  Dizzying heat. The firmness of his lips. Drugging sweeps of his tongue as it slid into my mouth.

  I'd experienced it maybe a thousand times or more in the last four months.

  I had already realized that I'd never get enough. Trust me.

  Calum groaned when I whimpered, slanting his head to get deeper into my mouth. My legs went weak, but I barely noticed as he flattened his hand on my lower back. His other hand squeezed my ass, kneading it in time to the thrusts of his tongue.

  In and out. A perfect reminder. Then he pressed into me, fully, and I didn't need a reminder. God, no. He was right there, where I needed him most, so damn hard and large that it still managed to surprise me.

  Clothes. They needed to be gone. Now. My pussy tightened, seeking out his length, demanding what she had already claimed as hers, despite my attempts to stay emotionally separated from the situation.

  He bit my bottom lip, panting hard. I moaned low at the taste of him, shifting to wrap my legs around his hips—

  He pulled back, eyes hooded.

  “Calum, please.” Damn, had that needy whine come out of me?

  Of course it had.

  He never failed to drive me to that point. Never.

  “Baby.” Calum wiped the corner of his lip with his thumb. I followed the movement with my eyes, fucking starving. He caught where I was staring and smirked ruefully.

  Jesus. I needed to fuck him. Now.

  “We're still at the bar, baby.” Those words hit my like ice-cold water. With a gasp, I straightened, eyes darting around. Yup. People had been looking. A few were smirking. Some bitches near the front were busy staring at us with clear envy all over their faces.

  Shame vanished immediately. Smugness took its place. Hormones flared harder than before.

  That's my man, skanks. Look away.

  That type of thinking was going to get me into deep shit.

  “We need to move somewhere more private.” He moved around me, waving the bartender over.

  I took a second to take him in—and almost jumped him all over again right there.

  We'd agreed to meet there tonight, at this specific bar, the place where we'd met exactly four months ago.

  It had been his idea to hang out there.

  Warmth spread through me, setting off more impulses in my mind.

  Calum's back flexed under the black t-shirt he was wearing as he reached for his wallet and told the waiter that someone had to clean up the broken beer bottle on the floor. His ass was fucking amazing in his dark blue jeans.

  A man couldn't take care of himself the way he did and not end up with a gorgeous ass.

  He'd toned down his wardrobe since we'd started dating, and I'd definitely seen him wear a black t-shirt on more than one occasion, but for him to decide to do so today was . . .

  Fuck. It was adorable.

  The fact that he'd wear an outfit almost identical to the one he'd worn the night we met meant something. Whether I wanted it to or not.

  And, as screwed up as my female instincts were thanks to him, it only made me want to drag him somewhere private so I could suck his cock.

  You're so depraved, Livana.

  When it came to him? Hell yes. Any woman would be.

  Calum turned his head to stare at me over his shoulder. “Same as always?”

  I nodded mutely, not trusting my voice.

  He ordered our drinks then waited, back still facing me, for the bartender to bring them over.

  The tension in him hadn't been lost on me. No way. But that's when it hit me that something was wrong. Really wrong. The kiss we'd shared had been as intense as always, but his demeanor now left no doubt.

  I didn't have to even guess as to why.

  He paid for our drinks and turned to me. When he saw that I remained sitting on the stool, both his eyebrows rose.

  “Are you sure you're not . . . mad?” I hated the weak tone of my voice
. At that moment, I hated him for putting it and the emotions behind it there.

  Most of all, I hated the fact that I was losing the strong, confident Livana that I had worked so hard to build. All because of him.

  Something flashed in Calum's eyes. “Livana . . . do you still want to sleep with him?”

  That question almost made me fall off the damned stool. Incredulous, I blurted out the first thought that shot through my head. “Are you crazy? I barely even remember him!”

  I should've slapped myself. Nice. Real nice. Great work admitting that to him.

  Had Calum been like every other man I'd ever met, I wouldn't have cared that I'd pretty much divulged that I'd slept with someone I hadn't really known. But he wasn't like every other man—not that I had seen anyway—and horror filled me once more as I stared into his eyes.

  Slowly, he placed both our drinks back down on the bar and reached for my face. “You're so pale,” he murmured, caressing my cheek.

  That's because I've just admitted to you that I've behaved like what you would consider a whore in the past.

  With a sigh, he pinched my chin and held my stare. “Do you want to fuck anyone else?”

  His expression was stoic, but there was no mistaking what I saw in his eyes then.

  My chest felt like it cracked open and I lost another little piece of myself to him right there. I couldn't describe what seeing him being possessive over me did to me. “No, Calum. God, no.”

  He nodded, seemingly satisfied. When he leaned in to kiss me again, his jaw remained clenched, and the kiss was hard. Short. Almost brutal. Anger pulsated through every inch of him.

  Pulling away, he nodded one more time and grabbed our drinks. “Good. Then we have nothing to worry about and there's no need to discuss it anymore. It's over and done with.”

  His words meant one thing; his eyes said another. The anxiety coursing through me skyrocketed to another level.

  This wasn't over and done with. It was only just beginning.

  I had no idea how to fix the damage—how large or how small it was—but one thing was for sure: I was determined to find a way.