The game of Obsession

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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! The author does novel discussion on discord. Join if you want to be apart of the fun.

Romance / Erotica
4.9 28 reviews
Age Rating:

Party time


"I can not believe I'm making you guys drag me to this party," I whined, searching for a parking space along the long line up of vehicles along the road. At this point, it was like finding a needle in a haystack.

Why wouldn't it? This was the party of the year. Everyone was here. It was the first event to kick off the semester after summer. It was the best and most important place to be. An appearance was even more important if the student was a freshman. It was critical to start their college journey on a high.

"Well, yeah. I mean, this is the best party of the freaking year," Stacy beamed and bounced 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.

This was the exact reason why I didn't want to attend this party. Well, it was one of the reasons. This was our junior year in college. I was supposed to be enjoying my quiet time before being bombarded with bookwork. Attending a college party to keep up my social status was the complete opposite of that.

"Totally!" Stacy agreed, a little too loud 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."

"I could not agree with you more. Ah, not about the dull kitty part, but the boring book year. In fact, as soon as I'm there I'm gonna get me laid," Simon chided as he ground in his seat.

I couldn't help but chuckle at his silliness. What could I say? My friends were crazy. We have had a long and difficult journey since freshman year. The three of us met at the freshman seminar and hit it off right away. Simon and Stacy knew each other in high school. I was just an addition to their gang. It was as if we were born to be friends. It was outrageous.

"Don't forget the football players will be there," Simon announced. He wiggled his eyebrows at me through the rearview mirror. "Not to mention Damion Richardson."

Oh, yay! Not! I was over jocks. If there was ever a choice to date an athlete, I would go with hockey. Cornell University had excellent and good-looking players. Footballers were overrated. I had wasted too much of my life on one of them to consider doing it again.

"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 added.

Anyone would have thought she was the one who was drafted with the way she was acting.

"Hmmm." I kept my eyes out of the vehicle. The faster a parking space was found, the sooner their bantering would stop.

Besides, Damion had plenty of time to try something on me but chose not to. He was too busy shagging other girls to notice me.

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.

I was not trying to be a bitch. However, my friends knew the history Damion and I had. Yet, they continued to push the subject. Damion Richardson's face was the first to greet me during my freshman year at campus. He was that knight in shining armor, who aided a poor girl in navigating the school map. In the end, he went back to his friends and left me with a huge crush.

I spent two years trying to get him to notice me. Two years wasted. Anyone who said a book nerd could never be a puck bunny needed a slap across the face.

As if the universe was trying to help me, I glimpsed a narrow parking space between a pick-up and a range rover. No doubt this was the parking spot for the big wigs: the sports guys. If this was any other time, I would have cared. Not tonight, though.

I snatched the space before any of those athletics jerks noticed it. Shutting off the vehicle, I couldn't help but let out, "Anyways, 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 and pressed the key fob to lock the car. It complied with a beep.

My gaze flickered towards my friends. They were bound to catch an eye or two tonight. They often attracted attention, no matter the occasion.

Simon rocked a dark blue shirt paired with black jeans. The blue shirt 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 them to his advantage.

I shook 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. Its red curls cascaded 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 their attention back. "Need I remind you, I've stalked the guy non-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.

Camille and I were social. We had one thing in common: Damion Richardson. We did every and anything that got us close to the football team. She was a cheerleader, my in man. It all ended when Damion slept with her. There was no use in us being allies anymore. She won the prize. I didn't. The curtains were closed.

Frustrated, I followed Stacy and Simon into the frat house. After all, I came here to forget the pathetic mistakes of my old self and just have fun for once. Something I forgot to do.

Therefore, I didn't waste time getting a cup filled with liquor. This was my year to piece my life back together. No more athletic guys. No more obsessive behavior. This was the year to recover what I lost two years ago: myself.

Though the house was filled with college students, it was easy to enjoy oneself. It wasn't complicated once we were well-known.

So, I did what was best for me. I partied like there was 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 have been to find a one-night stand to hook up with.

At that thought, the name Dylan floated across my mind. A smile tugged on my lips as a memory danced 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.

Instead, I hunted for a bathroom at the overwhelming cry from my bladder. Not bothering to join the long line downstairs, I ran upstairs. Lucky for me, the first room was vacant. With a grin on my face, I bounced to the bathroom and freed the good stuff.

Washing up, I smiled at the girl in the mirror. She seemed okay. In no time, I would find myself and laugh at all the silliness from the stressful two years.

"You're doing great," I encouraged her. Then, added more red to my already crimson lips.

At the middle of my bottom lip, I heard a familiar voice. Startled, I almost smudged my face. Noises followed. They sounded more like lips smacking together. Then, there was a thud. After which came a groan.

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

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

A sexy chuckle danced around the room. "I have stomach problems and you think the best medication is a blow job?"

There was no response but more shuffling.

"No, stop," the male voice was a wounded moan.

More shuffling accompanied it. There was a groan. A loud bang. Then…

"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 one's head. Yet, it also had the heart doing cartwheels. 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—

The guy busted in the bathroom. Promptly lifting the toilet seat before puking his heart out. Shocked, I stood frozen in place and sent up a silent prayer 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 was. 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. To be honest, he was the one who got there by himself, I just stayed close by. He washed his hands and rinsed out his mouth with some of the toothpaste found in the cabinet. Then saturated his face.

Somehow, he knew 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 have 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 itself 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. Too bad, 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 them off by each foot. Once he was 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 calmer than how I felt.

"Why?" he questioned.

I arched an eyebrow. "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. This would be a terrible mistake. "Damion Richardson," I teased, "I thought you weren't feeling well."

He didn't respond. He 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.

It was a surprise how strong he was for a sick man.

Damn you, Damion!

When all my strength was drained, I laid limp. "Ugh, fine. I'll stay. Can I at least take my shoes off?"

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