The Broken Obsession part 7

 The Broken Obsession

Part 7

Daniel’s hand is at my back, protective, firm. “Christy, we’re leaving,” he says, his jaw set, his eyes fierce. For a moment, I want to surrender to his certainty, to let him sweep me away from the golden-lit dining room where every whisper seems to follow me.

But my phone buzzes again. The words cut through me like a blade:

“If you leave, someone gets hurt.”

My stomach knots, yet my body hums with heat. I rise from the chair, my skirt clinging to my thighs as I grip my crutches. The pink cast drags like a second body, stiff and merciless, my heel clicking sharp on the polished floor as I move. Daniel looks at me.

“Easy, love,” he whispers. “I’ve got you.”

The air outside is cooler, biting against my bare leg. The silk blouse shivers against my skin. Daniel guides me toward the car, but every step feels choreographed by unseen eyes. My crutches thump, my cast gleams under the streetlights. They’re watching me. They see it all.

At the car, Daniel helps me lower myself into the seat. The skirt rides high, tight across my thighs. He grabs my crutches them and tucks them in the trunk. He’s gentle, but his gaze lingers, devouring the sight of me, one leg very alive and strong, the other stretched out stiff and gleaming pink, toes painted to match.

The phone buzzes again. I can’t ignore it.

Christy lifts her cast carefully, sliding it into the car. Her skirt pulls, showing the shape of her thighs. She leans on Daniel too long, lips parted, breath shaky. She likes it.

I gasp, my hand trembling around the phone. “Daniel… they’re writing it as it happens. Every move. Every touch.”

He curses under his breath, leaning close, brushing my cheek with his lips to calm me. “Let them watch. Let them choke on it. You’re mine tonight, Christy.”

But my pulse races faster, caught between two fires, his heat and their shadow. My cast lies across the seat, heavy and helpless, a constant reminder of how vulnerable I really am. And yet, when Daniel’s fingers trace the fiberglass shell, slow and reverent, sexual desire burns through me just as fiercely as fear.

I don’t know if I want to hide, or be seen and exposed.

The door slams, and Daniel starts the engine. I shift in the seat, my long pink cast stretched while my good leg bends elegantly, skirt sliding higher.

 

The phone buzzes again.

Oh Christy… you look amazing in that cast and the contrast, one strong leg, one helpless. Maybe Daniel is already hard again for you.

“Daniel… they’re writing things no one could know except you.”

He glances at me, jaw tight. For a half beat I think he’s angry—then I see something else flicker in his eyes. He is hard. His knuckles whiten on the wheel.

Another buzz.

I see you bite your lips. You want him to touch you between that cast and leg, to slide his hand up the pink fiberglass and stop just at the edge of your thigh.

My fingers curl in my lap. I whisper, trembling, “They’re inside my head.”

Daniel leans closer, voice low and rough. “Or maybe they just see what I see.” His hand hovers over my thigh, breath hot against my ear, and for a breath I forget fear and only feel heat. Then his fingers move, toward his face, and he fumbles at the arm of his Ray-Ban AI glasses, palms clumsy, like a man trying not to be found out.

“Oh shit,” I say before I know I’m saying it. The word trips out of me loud and small in the dark car.

He freezes, the movement halting. The glasses gleam for a second, tiny LEDs like eyes. He taps them, face going white. 

“They’re not—Christy, I—”

The phone buzzes again and the message is cruelly precise.

He wears them. He records. He streams. I see him now, fingers trembling over the glass, wanting more than to watch.

Part 8 to come