Page 7 of Grave Obsession
“I can’t,” she drops her face into her hands in an attempt to hide her societal-induced shame. “It’s morbid.”
And I’m so fucking intrigued…
“I can’t fulfill your fantasies if I don’t know what they are, cinnamon.”
“I’m pretty sure that you pay me to fulfill your fantasies,” she quips.
“Pleasing you is my fantasy,” I retort, immediately enjoying the defeated pout of her slightly protruding lower lip. Deepening my tone, I gravelly whisper, “Tell me.”
Kayce diverts her eyes from the screen and quietly mumbles, “A cemetery.”
“Speak up,” I correct her. “Use your words and look at me when you tell me about the morbid and depraved place you want to be fucked like a dirty little whore.”
She slowly turns her gaze back toward the camera. Her eyes stare unwaveringly into it, and for the first time, it feels like she actuallyseesme. Her tits heave with her deep, sputtered breaths, her hands still fidgeting as she finds the confidence to answer. When she’s ready, andwith her eyes boring into my soul, she confesses, “I want you to fuck me in a cemetery.”
A smile pulls at my lips, spreading wide and broad beneath my mask. “You really are a dirty girl, aren’t you?”
Relief visibly washes over her upon finding that I am not the least bit appalled at her divulgence. “You aren’t disgusted?”
I shake my head in response to her question. “I’d fuck you anywhere you asked me to if it meant I got to be inside of you.”
“I want that,” she exhales between her rapidly increasing breaths. “I want you inside me.”
Don’t fucking tempt me, cinnamon.
“Does that mean you’re already wet for me?” I inquire. She nods, confirming what I already knew. We’ve never had a call where she wasn’t as eager to play for me as I was to watch her. Shifting in my seat, I adjust the hardening length growing against my zipper. “Show me.”
She slips her fingers beneath the lace of her panties. Chewing her bottom lip and trying to stifle her moan, she slips them into her cunt. She takes her time, pulling them from beneath the lace and presenting them to me as she rubs the glistening arousal coating her index and middle fingers against her thumb.
Instead of her slick fingers, my eyes are drawn to the small honeybee tattoo on her inner wrist.
That beautiful fucking bee.
One night when I was lonely and horny as fuck, I stumbled onto a site for cam girls. Pure happenstance put me in a room with Kayce. I was immediately infatuated with her beauty and ample curves, particularly her thick thighs and the cute little tummy pouch she tried so desperately to hide from me. But it was her sharp wit and closeted depravity that truly drew me in and made me want—no, need—to see her again.
I just never expected I would see her in Wheaton Hall. Waiting in line at the Latte Lounge to order a black coffee; I spotted that unmistakable bee before I realized it was her.
Coincidence put us in that chat room together, but fate put her within arm’s reach. With my ability to get more of her no longer confined to scheduled appointments online, my need for more became all-consuming.Obsessive.
Flipping off my video, I pull out my cock and begin lightly fisting over my length. My hand feels good, but I would much rather take her up on the offer to stretch out her cunt. I rub through the bead of precum dripping off my tip and drag it down my shaft, instructing, “Show meexactlyhow you dream about getting fucked in the cemetery.”
CHAPTER EIGHT
KAYCE
Spending my Saturday night at the Alpha Iota Xi annual Halloween party was not on my to-do list. I went to enough frat parties for a lifetime during my freshman year, back when I hadn’t yet gained my freshman fifteen—or thirty—and was still pretty enough to date the now the AIX President. The possibility of running into Jackson nearly convinced me to forgo this party.
Unfortunately, it’s the social event of the fall and not attending essentially turns you into a social pariah. The girls in my dorm all but forced me to come with them after demanding I change out of my skinny jeans and Oakridge hoodie. I stupidly listened and am now traipsing through the Oakridge Cemetery wearing nothing more than a strapless black mini-dress, a pair of Vans—after fighting hard about refusing to wear stilettos—and kitten ears during late Fall in New England.
Just rolling with the great life choices, Kayce…
Thankfully, the party is in full swing, with the warmth of bonfires scattered throughout the portion of the cemetery being used for the party. I make my way through the sea of ghouls, goblins, zombies, ghost faces, and skeletons as I walk deeper into the party.
This place is a dark romance reading girly’s wet dream.
Top Fifty hits through speakers at a volume more than sufficient to rouse the dead as people congregate around kegs of—probably warm—beer. I join them to fill my plastic cup because a little flat, stale beer is the only way I’m going to successfully suffer through this evening.
Wedged between a group of other partygoers, I wait my turn to fill my cup. It might be my self-conscious screaming from being out in this tiny dress, but I can’t shake the feeling that someone is watching me.