The Obsession Between Us (Murderously Romantic #4)

Chapter 1

My Newest Obsession

Emily's Search History: Is it normal to find your patient attractive?

Emily

“—And you understand that while our conversations are confidential, I am duty bound to report if you say anything that suggests you may be at risk of harming yourself or someone else.”

It’s the same speech I give all my new patients and yet, I still get some nut jobs who forget and accidentally spill the beans about something I absolutely will report them to the police for.

The last one was a paedophile who admitted to sexually abusing a seven-year-old boy. Somehow, he was shocked when the police turned up in the middle of our appointment after I’d subtly texted the receptionist.

Some people think therapists can’t disclose anything you say.

That isn’t strictly true. If I believe someone is at risk of harming themself—or someone else—in the future, I’m legally permitted to inform the appropriate authorities.

But historic crimes are different. Someone can confess to murder, and as long as I don’t believe they’ll do it again, I’m required to keep it to myself.

The man on the faded blue sofa opposite me nods and lets out a gruff, “Yes.”

And God that voice. Deep and gravelly baritone. One word and I’m ready to fall to my knees in front of him.

Hello? Professionalism? Ever heard of her?

He smells faintly of cinnamon—it’s comforting in a way that makes absolutely no sense.

“Why don’t you tell me why you’re here?” I ask, forcing myself to focus.

The man shifts in his seat, sitting forwards slightly to rest his hands on his thighs. Thick, muscly thighs that strain against the stiff fabric of his jeans. Powerful thighs that would look good with my own wrap—

What the fuck, Emily?

“I’m a stalker.”

Like a bucket of cold water.

I force my face to remain neutral, my tone soothing. “Why do you believe that?”

His jaw clenches, his hands flex, the veins in his tattooed forearms becoming more prominent.

He stares at the ceiling—probably eyeing the cracks in it—before dragging his gaze back to mine, meeting my eyes with his striking grey ones. Iris’s so pale they almost don’t have a colour. I've never seen eyes so intriguing.

“I get this compulsion. This itch I can’t scratch with anything else. I need to watch them. To follow them. I think about them all the time.”

“Them?”

“Twenty-two.” The words are said casually. So casually you’d think we’re talking about the weather.

It takes everything in me not to react. I should refer him to a specialist in paraphilic disorders immediately with those words. But my ego tells me I can fix him. It’s the oldest trap in the book, and I’m walking into it with my eyes wide open.

“To clarify, you’re currently stalking twenty-two women?”

He shakes his head. “No. Past tense.”

“And presently?”

“Zero.”

“Have you ever hurt them?”

His lips curl in disgust. “Never.”

“Do you think that they feel distressed by you following them?”

“They never know.”

My head bobs up and down mechanically. Then I tilt my head to the side. “So, what is it you would like my help with?”

He runs a hand through his dark hair, exhaling sharply. “I don’t want to be this person.” His gaze locks onto mine, something unreadable in his expression. “But I don’t know how to stop.”

The almost pleading tone to his words gives me pause. He seems genuinely haunted by his actions. There’s something behind his eyes, a pain that’s hard to miss.

“Okay, I think it’s probably best we start at the beginning. When did this… compulsion start?”

He blinks at me. “You’re going to help me?”

My face screws up in confusion, brows knotting. “Of course, that’s what I’m here for.”

His mouth parts, but no words escape. He exhales. Then, he begins to tell me his story.

“Jenny.” He smiles wistfully, and I wonder if he’s picturing her in his head.

“I was seventeen the first time I saw her. She was sitting on a park bench reading a book. People were just walking past her, not noticing her. But I did. She had this way of tucking her blonde hair behind her ear every few seconds, like she was too focused on what she was reading to realise what she was doing.”

He pauses, sharp jaw tightening for a brief moment before he continues. “What really got to me, though, were her eyes—the same piercing green as my mother’s.

“After that I began to notice her a lot.” His gaze flicks up to mine, assessing my reaction. “She went to my school. I’d see her in the corridors, and it would become the highlight of my day.

“At first it was just little things. Sitting near her in the library. Taking the long way to class just to pass her locker. Memorising the routes she took home.

“And, I followed her.”

I keep my expression neutral while my stomach knots.

His voice drops to a whisper. “That’s when I knew I wasn’t normal.”

I don’t speak for a minute, processing his words.

“What happened to Jenny?”

His expression turns sour. “She disappeared.”

A heavy silence settles between us.

I blink. “Disappeared?”

He nods, jaw clenching. “One day, she was just… gone.” His hands flex on his thighs, like he’s trying to hold onto something. “Her parents were crying, their faces crumpled and hollow. Then they left too. It was like she was never there.”

A chill runs through me. “Did you ever find out what happened?”

His throat bobs as he swallows. “No. But I tried. For years.” His gaze locks on mine. “I still do.”

My breath catches. “You still look for her?”

A dark chuckle escapes him. “Of course. Wouldn’t you?”

Eli

She’s not looking at me with disgust.

This doctor.

This woman.

This insanely attractive woman. Christ.

Lustrous thoughts tumble through my brain.

Chocolate brown locks fanned out on my pillow as I drive my cock into her tight wet cunt.

Full, pouty lips wrapped around me, tears spilling from those amber eyes as she takes me deep.

Round ass jiggling as I fuck her from behind, my handprint reddening the globes.

“What happened with the rest of the women?”

I blink, her words snapping me out of my fantasies.

“Women?”

“The other twenty-one?”

Right.

The reason I’m here.

“What about them?” I ask, crossing one of my legs over the other.

It’s not lost on me that her eyes track the movement.

I see the way her tongue darts out to lick her lips, the way her chest is rising and falling in quick succession, the way her thighs are rubbing together to alleviate the ache between them.

I notice things other people might miss.

And what I notice now, is that she’s turned on.

And she hates that.

“Why are you no longer following them?”

“Various reasons.” I shrug, no longer interested in discussing this with her.

“Would you like to share?”

I almost roll my eyes. Of course she won't let this go. This is what I’m paying her for.

“I lost interest in them. They’d move away, get boyfriends, or they just wouldn’t be her.”

“Her, being Jenny?”

I dip my chin.

“And yet, you’re not stalking anyone now, and you’re here asking for help. Why now?”

I frown, hating the way she’s digging. I don’t want to talk about this anymore. But alas, she’s looking at me with big honey-coloured eyes. I have to give her something, make her feel like she’s useful.

“It’s a cycle. One I can’t break. But each time I do, I’m left feeling emptier; they aren’t her. They never will be. But I can’t seem to stop.”

“So, it’s not bringing you joy? There’s no thrill?”

Joy? Is she serious? Of course I feel joy. But that’s not—

“It’s not about the thrill,” I tell her, trying to come up with the words.

“It’s like when I’m not watching, the world is made of glass, ready to shatter at any moment.

There’s this… certainty that if I look away, even for a second, the person I’m following will just evaporate.

Like they were never there at all. If I’m watching they’re safe.

They’re real. But if I close my eyes…” I shudder, unable to finish my sentence.

“But you don’t want to do it anymore?”

I chuckle darkly to myself while keeping my face neutral. “No, I don't want to keep chasing a woman who no longer exists.” It’s not a lie.

The perfectly put together woman in front of me smiles warmly, like I’ve pleased her.

“This is really encouraging, I think we can definitely make some progress with this. Before our next session I want you to—” I tune her out, instead focusing on the way her lips crinkle in the corners as she speaks.

I notice the way a single tendril of hair has come loose from the neat style she wears, curling rebelliously near her temple.

I wonder if she knows how beautiful she is when she’s not trying. When she’s just being.

I bite my lip to contain my groan, shifting myself discreetly to adjust my aching erection.

Doctor Emily Morgan.

You might just be my newest obsession.