The game of Obsession

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Summary

Emily has always had a crush on Damion, the hot Quarter Back. Sometimes a little obsessed, maybe. When life comes crashing down, she realizes that there's never a happy ever after for their story. She now tries to piece her life together and handle the struggles of college. However, it's not as easy when the Quarter Back finally notices her. Obsession never tasted this good. Warning: Contains sexual contents and harsh language. For mature audience!

Genre:
Romance / Erotica
Author:
Chantie
Status:
Ongoing
Chapters:
6
Rating:
n/a
Age Rating:
18+

Party time

"I can not believe I'm making you guys drag me to this party," I whined as my eyes searched for a parking spot. At this point, it was like finding a needle in a haystack.

"Well yeah, I mean this is the best party of the freaking year," Stacy gleamed, jumping in her seat.

"Plus, we're Juniors for crying out loud! We are entitled to enjoy a party before we get back on the track of nerdville," Simon added, pushing his head between our seats.

"Totally!" Stacy agreed, a little too loudly for my taste. "I don't know about you guys but, if I ever have another boring book year I'm gonna kill somebody. All work and no play makes Stacy's kitty a dull cat."

"Definitely agree, as soon as I'm there I'm gonna get me laid," Simon chided, grinding in his seat.

I couldn't help but chuckle at his silliness. What can I say? My friends are crazy. We've come a long way since freshman year. We all met at the freshman seminar and hit it off right away. It was as if we were born to be friends, it's outrageous.

"Don't forget the football players will be there," Simon announced, wiggling his eyes brows. "Not to mention Damion Richardson!"

"Gosh yes! This is your last chance, Emily. You have to lure him, to at least, fuck your brains out before he graduates. You did hear he got drafted, right?" Stacy beamed.

"Hmmm," I replied, still scanning for a vacant spot.

Ignoring my lack of interest in the subject, Simon continued, "Uh-huh! She's right! You gotta set up that fishing net, girl. I totally agree with Stacy on this one. Fuck his brains out! Before you become the girl that's singing, he's the one that got away."

"You guys always agree," I grumbled, before snatching the parking space I finally found.

I mean, I'm not trying to be a total bitch, they do have a point. But I've had a crush on the guy since freshman year. I was love-struck. He was the guy that helped me navigated the school map. I was practically a clumsy nerd, lost on this vast campus then he came rushing to my rescue. Ever since that day, I became obsessed. The more he ignored me, the more I tried to get his attention. I've wasted two years of my college years running after a guy that forgot about me the minute he left my side.

So I couldn't help but said, "Yeah guys, but if he was interested —"

"he would have asked for your number when you met," they both finished together.

Rolling my eyes I hopped out of the black Civic. Pressing the key fob to lock the car. It happily complied with a beep.

My gaze flickered towards my friends, they both looked extraordinarily hot tonight. In fact, they always seem to catch an eye or two, no matter the occasion. Simon happily rocked a dark blue shirt paired with black jeans. The blue shirt perfectly complimented his sky blue eyes. He kept his blonde hair short giving him a Playboy vibe. He was hot enough to attract both genders. The monster was well aware of his powers and used it to his advantage. I couldn't help but shake my head, turning to Stacy. She wore a matching blue and black dress that hugged her many curves. The top was V cut, exposing most of her creamy breast. Her back was intended to be shown off to the world but her hair had other plans. It's red curls waterfalls over the seemingly exposed skin. It glistened with radiance from the soft moonlight. Oh, how I envied her hair. It spoke volume and health while mine was just straight.

"Plus," I drawled trying to get back their attention. "Need I remind you, I've practically stalked the guy none stop for two years, like a puck bunny. Never once has he made an effort to talk to me after that day. The guy even hooked up with Camille." A shaky laugh slipped out. "Camille people!"

They both shared a glance, deciding to not continue with the sore subject. Frustrated, I quietly followed them in the frat house.

Camille and I were social. We had a thing in common, Damion. Funny thing though, he noticed her instead of me. Rumor has it, he hooked up with her on more than one occasions. After which I went on a downhill spiral. Insecurity became my best pal. I even started to compare myself to her.

I mourned for a whole three months. It affected my self-esteem, my reputation, and almost ventured into my academic life too. I finally decided he already took too much and repaired my life. Still trying to.

So here I am, at the opening party of the academic year, putting my life back together. Partying like there's no tomorrow. Dancing on tabletops. Singing at the top of my lungs. Juggling shots to water, to shots and back. The icing on the cake would be to find a one night hook up. At that thought, the name Dylan floated across my mind. A smile tugged on my lips as a memory dance at the forefront of my brain. I knew exactly where he was. I could go now and say hi but I knew better. He wouldn't want to see me.

I hunted for a bathroom at the overwhelming cry of my bladder. Not bothering to join the long line downstairs, I ran upstairs. Luckily, finding the first room vacant. I happily bounced to the bathroom. Freeing the good stuff, I sighed with relief.

Washing up, I smiled at the girl in the mirror. "You're doing great," I encouraged her. Then added more red to my already crimson lips.

Suddenly, I heard a familiar voice. Startled, I nearly smudged my face. Noises followed. It sounded more like lips smacking together. Then there was a thud. After which came to a groan.

"Camille, stop moving so much." Another groan followed that statement. "I think I wanna throw up."

"No, you're not. I'm just helping you to feel better, " she cooed seductively.

A sexy chuckle dances around the room. "By giving me a blow job?"

There was no response but more shuffling. A groan. "Camille, I mean it. Get the fuck out!"

The voice became more assertive. Commanding. It had the type of tone that set off alarms in your head yet also had your heart doing a cartwheel. Camille must have felt the same way because I heard a loud huffing sound.

"Fine!" She whined. "Until next time."

"There will be no next time," he retorted.

Half of it was drowned out by a loud noise, indicating that the door was opened. Silence soon followed, signaling that Camille was long gone.

I almost sighed in relief but stopped short when a grunt came from the room. A loud thud played along then came stomping. The stomping got louder, nearer as if —

He busted in the bathroom. Promptly lifting the toilet seat before puking his heart out. Shocked, I stood frozen in place. I quickly sent up a silent prayer that the intruder wouldn't see me. A groan was torn from his throat before more vomit rushed through his lips. Watching him, at his weakest, my heart softened. I wouldn't wish this on my worst enemy. In this case, he is practically my worst enemy. Before I knew what I was doing, I was by his side, rubbing his naked back in soothing strokes. Ignoring the nasty aroma that threatened to stifle us both, I mumbled reassuring words in his ear.

When his stomach eventually closed up, a grunt filled its place. Still issuing soothing words, I helped him to the sink. Honestly, he just got himself there, I just stay close by. He washed his hands. Rinsed out his mouth with some of the toothpaste found in the cabinet. Saturate his face.

Somehow, he seems to know where everything was, right off the bat.

"Fucking restaurants and their fucking disgusting food," he cursed.

Plucking the towel from the towel rack, I sniffed it to test if it was clean before tapping the excess water off his face. That must of been when he noticed me.

"Who are you?" he asked.

Huh? Ugh!

A surge of emotions came rushing back.

'So sad, he doesn't even remember you,' a voice in the back of my mind taunted.

'Don't let him get to you again,' another shouted.

Settling with the latter, I shrugged and replied, "Nobody. Don't worry, I'll be leaving shortly."

He must have liked my answer because a curtain of relief fell over his face.

Another pang of sadness coerced around my heart.

When his face was dry, I ushered him inside the room, to the bed. At first, he just stood looking at the mattress then he started unbuckling his belt and struggling to get his jeans off.

At that point, I should have been mesmerized by the way his muscle rippled as he fought the garment. My breath should have hitched when his boxers got exposed. I should have wanted to run my fingers along the lines of where his abs creased. Stroke his thick thighs. Sadly, I didn't want to do all those things. I had a strong urge to be home, in bed. Somewhere quiet, safe, where I could go back to my recovery process.

Taking a deep breath, I gathered courage and took the lead. I gestured for him to lay on the bed. At first, he was stunned by my assistance but later complied, collapsing in the bed. Rolling my eyes at his exaggeration, I tackled the pants, pulling it off by each foot. Finally free of his torture, he crawled deeper in the bed, flopping down with a loud moan.

Pulling the duvet over him, I turned to leave but halted when he asked, "Ah, nobody, where are you going?"

"Home," I abdicated. My voice sounded impressively calmer than how I felt.

"Why?" he questioned.

An eyebrow was raised. "Well for one, I'm not in the mood for a party any longer. Two, these shoes are killing me."

Somehow I was a bit taken aback when he said, "Oh well, I have a better idea. Why don't you take the shoes off and come and lay beside me."

A shy smile tilted my lips, knowing instantly that that would be a terrible mistake. "Damion Richardson," I teased, "I thought you weren't feeling well."

He didn't respond, just stared at me, awaiting a proper response. I scrunch up my nose, pretending to think about it. Pursing my lips, I turned to leave but was hindered from doing so when large hands pulled me onto the bed. I let out a startled squeal, struggling to be freed from the firm grip.

"What are you doing? Let go of me!"

I twisted and tossed to get away but he only pulled me closer to his body. He is surprisingly strong for a sick man. When all my strength was drained, I laid limp.

"Ugh! Fine! I'll stay. Can I at least take off my shoes?"

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