The Obsession Trilogy #1
Joe’s controversial approach to life is fuelled by his fixation on Abbie, and a beautiful wedding offers the perfect opportunity for him to seduce her – everyone loves a wedding, don’t they? The only hurdle is Eddie – Abbie’s son and Joe’s best friend – but inebriated and forcing an end to the evening, he inadvertently assists Joe’s quest and a suitably indulgent night beckons. But what should have been a culmination of Joe’s eleven-year obsession descends into chaos and devastation, wrenching Joe from all he’s known for the majority of his life. Accustomed to getting what he wants, it’s not until he really gets what he wants that his world unravels and his control slips away. Be careful what you wish for, be careful who you wish for, for obsession comes with a price… but is it a price worth paying?
Explicit – strictly 18+
Extract
The suite was stunning; beautifully decorated with sumptuous furnishings in a mix of traditional and contemporary styles, with black and white photographs of the Manor, its occupants and staff performing their various tasks, both inside and out, framing a large monochrome image of the entire estate, taken in 1885. To the right were what appeared to be the original plans for the building, with quotes and invoices from the architect, Samuel Ferris, and to the left were various letters written by the male residents to their loved ones during the Crimean War, but in particular, from John Hayward- Smythe, during the First World War. Touching them softly, Abbie was reluctant to read their contents for fear of intruding or identifying a little too closely with their sentiments and reliving the pain of the weekend. Despite her familiarity with the suite, she wondered who would have used these rooms and if they would have been employed for the kind of entertainment they would see today.
The breath-taking view of the grounds was more vivid at this time of year, with a sea of lush green interspersed with ancient trees – proud and undeterred by the swarm of schoolchildren clambering indiscriminately over low-slung branches, reaching ever-higher, impervious to their legacy – bordered by clumps of delicate yet robust wild flowers in soft pinks, vibrant yellows and pure whites, dancing elegantly to the will of the breeze, and even with the windows closed, it was almost possible to smell the honeysuckles and lavenders in the carefully designed courtyard, gently bowing their heads as the bees left their evolutionary mark. Abbie wanted to stay here, right here, in this particular moment forever, filled with anticipation for what would unfold and hold on to it, surrounded by the splendour both inside and out.
Jesse handed her a glass of wine, having selected some appropriate music. He lived and breathed music, couldn’t be without it, and Abbie knew he chose his restaurants by what they played and, if he recognised the beat of one of his own intros, he would beam, though ever so slightly self-consciously. He would interrupt conversations to write notes that he would later convert to lyrics and if Abbie commented on a particular favourite song, he would question her to determine why it was so important. When he wasn’t touring or writing, he would frequent many bars and clubs seeking new talent that he could promote as opening acts for his own shows and often performed at charity functions to raise much-needed awareness and funds which only added to his charm.
Abbie looked at him as she sipped her wine. He remained unspoiled by fame; unpretentious, subtly coy and overtly courteous, yet he exuded an inherent sexuality that contradicted his innocent manner and enhanced the beauty of his face. She could keep him here, lock him up and use him at her leisure, feel his hands on and in her body and feel his breath on her face as he came inside her, submit to his tongue as it gently explored her pussy and encourage the twitching of his cock as she sucked it hard…
Abandoning her glass, she pulled Jesse towards her. He finished his wine and smiled wickedly, perspicaciously intent on fostering her discomposure, for he knew that one simple act could make her come if she thought about it long enough, and as she kissed him passionately he responded intensely, fuelled by the deprivation of their last encounter, engendered by the presence and intentions of Joe. As Abbie walked Jesse carefully towards the sofa, her hand wandered tentatively down his body to his belt, tracing its edge before eagerly reconnoitring his crotch. She pulled away and smiled seductively, examining the source of her proposed profligacy and the results of her propinquity, and as her eyes devoured the vision before her, they rested on Jesse’s groin, meeting his approval. She sighed deeply. “There’s something about a hard-on in a suit…” Moving close, she unbuttoned his shirt and kissed his chest, licking each nipple tenderly before biting a little too hard whilst her hand gently groped the tumescence she craved, but her impetuous beneficiary removed her hand and placed it on his belt, keen to precipitate momentum. Willingly obedient, Abbie dropped to her knees, but intensified Jesse’s frustration by undressing him slowly, watching his face as her tongue lightly caressed his cock. Closing his eyes, Jesse breathed deeply, savouring the munificence of her mouth, excruciatingly superlative though long overdue, and whilst he’d happily come in her mouth later, now he wanted to fuck her and he gently pulled her up to face him, kissing her hard and tugging at her dress. Pushing him down to the sofa, Abbie straddled him, rolling her hips and grinding hard on his dick, holding his gaze as she kept his hands at bay. His smile reflected his aspirations and she enjoyed his appreciation as she slowly removed her dress and dropped it to the floor, writhing around, denying his urgency, but struggling with her restraints, Jesse’s smile wavered and he repudiated her command, pushing her down and forcing himself inside her. Gasping as he pushed harder, Abbie’s body ached for the atavistic, almost brutal side to Jesse
that emerged only when he fucked her, and acceding to his visceral volition, she held him tight, searching for his mouth to taste the sweetness of his exigency, but he refused her, watching her face instead as his jaw tightened. Piercing the skin of his lower back with her nails, endeavouring to provoke a fierce corollary, she studied his face, her breathing controlled by his movements and ferocity, her body alive with the sensations generated by the force of his, and when his climax took hold and he held his breath, she filled his mouth with her tongue, welcoming the aggression he returned. Closing her eyes as Jesse collapsed on top of her, Abbie stroked his exquisite body, enjoying his weight and the delicate sweat on his skin.
Thank you, Cheryl Butler and Damp Pebbles Book Tours
About the author
Having worked in a variety of industries, Cheryl has met many interesting people and, with a profound interest in what makes them tick, she has spent a lifetime of asking ‘What would I do in that situation?’ and ‘What if things happened this way?’, creating a multitude of plots and twists that she had always dismissed until one storyline nagged her constantly and she decided to alleviate herself of the burden, committing her ideas to virtual paper. Assuming she would run out of steam five chapters or so in, she amazed herself by writing two novels within a year and A Proclivity To Prurience was born. It was difficult to write, given the themes, but Cheryl felt it was a story that would resonate in the current climate. Writing between a part-time job and raising two young children was a task in itself, but, every spare minute was spent doing so or thinking about doing so and her characters took on a life of their own.
Cheryl loves character-driven tales with a psychological edge and aims to produce that kind of work herself, and she’s not afraid to tackle issues that some may find difficult… other than horror – she can’t read or write horror as she scares far too easily!
Aside from writing and her family, Cheryl’s greatest passion is music and she can easily lose herself in a favourite album or song, rather like she does within a book she’s writing or reading, and a musician’s ability to move you on any level is pure genius.
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