Unholy Obsession – A Dark Priest Romance Read Online Stasia Black

Categories Genre: Alpha Male, Billionaire, Dark, Suspense, Taboo Tags Authors: Stasia Black Advertisement

Advertisement

So he gave me what I needed. Because Bane? He’s always doing little things for me. Finding new ways to take care of me. Making sure I eat. Making sure I get out of bed. Making sure I live.

And what do I give him?

I stare up at the ceiling, chewing my lip.

I give him crazy.

I give him problems he didn’t have before.

I give him too much.

I am too much.

I always have been. Too much for Mam. Too much for Domhnall. Too much for my first boyfriend. Too much for everyone who ever got too close.

And yeah, that’s the entire fucking list.

Even Quinn, my closest friend, looks at me like I’m exhausting sometimes. Like she wants to ask, Could you just not?

She and everyone else manage to keep their shit together just fine. Meanwhile, I can’t hold down a job to save my fucking life. She works two jobs, and here I am, falling apart because I woke up alone.

But Bane is different.

He loves me.

Well. He thinks he does.

He loved me enough to marry me.

Except… he had to. If he didn’t, he would’ve lost everything.

I squeeze my eyes shut, shoving those thoughts away, forcing myself to focus on last night instead. He was gentle and then rough and then⁠—

Fuck, I came so many times I lost count.

My fingers slip between my legs before I even think about it. I’m already wet, already aching, already needing. I bite my lip, thighs clenching around my hand as I let the memory take over.

And then I freeze.

Bane wouldn’t like this. His stupid rules. His obsession with control. His belief that I should wait for pleasure.

I groan, pressing my forehead into his pillow.

But what he doesn’t know won’t hurt him. It’s not a lie if I just don’t tell him, right?

I barely have time to make up my mind before my orgasm rips through me, fast and hard. My body curls around my own hand, my free hand gripping his pillow so tight my knuckles ache.

And then it’s over.

And I feel guilty.

But the damage is already done, so what does it matter if I do it again?

And again?

And again?

By the time I hit my tenth orgasm, my body starts to betray me. The pleasure dulls, my clit going rubbery and numb. No, no, no. I rub harder, but it just makes things worse.

And then I’m crying.

I flop back on the bed, yanking the blankets over my head, my chest heaving, tears leaking into the pillowcase that still smells like him.

There was never any point in getting out of bed today, anyway.

FORTY

BANE

I wake to the feeling of something—someone—prodding my chest. Rhythmic, insistent. A warm weight is sprawled over me, curls tickling my jaw, breath puffing against my collarbone. Moira.

My wife.

The word still feels foreign, like boots I haven’t broken in yet.

But when I open my eyes and find her grinning down at me, it doesn’t feel wrong. Just… improbable. Like she’s something out of a dream I never dared to have.

“Oh my god, finally,” she drawls, draping herself across me like she belongs there. Because, apparently, she does.

My chest gets tight at the sight of her there smiling and rolling her eyes at me. “I’ve been lying here forever, bored, waiting for you to wake up. I even had a whole conversation with you in your sleep. Did you know dolphins are the ocean’s perverts?”

I exhale slowly, rubbing a hand down my face. “Good morning to you, too.”

She gasps theatrically. “It is a good morning! Look at you! Awake and brooding and all mine.” She nuzzles against me, sighing happily. “Do you think we could get a pet goat?”

“Absolutely not.”

“Ugh, but you’d look so hot feeding a little goat in your priestly garb. Father Bane, tending to his flock⁠—”

I roll, pinning her under me before she can say anything else. Her laugh bubbles up, bright and untamed, as she fists her hands in my shirt like she means to keep me here forever.

And the sight of her, happy and underneath me, frees the weight that’s been suffocating me with terror lately.

Last week, she could barely get out of bed.

Last week, I could hardly get her to eat, much less talk. There was nothing theatrical in her voice then. No teasing, no sharp wit, no Moira filling the space with the color and chaos she carries with her everywhere.

Just silence and exhaustion. She was curled in on herself. Unreachable.

Yeah, I knew that times like that would be part of what I suspect is her condition, but seeing it firsthand was something else. I couldn’t help wondering—had I brought it on? Could I have prevented it? Brought her out of it sooner?

For all my fucking discipline and control, there was nothing I could do, and it made me want to tear my hair out or find somebody else to go punch.


Advertisement

Advertisement