His Devious Love✓(Book 1)

His POV

Annie—her name alone evoked a surge of possessiveness that bordered on obsession

From the moment I laid eyes on her, I knew she was different. Not just another fan or admirer, but someone I needed to have, to control.

It started innocently enough, or so I told myself. I approached her with the confidence of someone accustomed to getting what they desired.

When she slapped me, the sting was unexpected, yet exhilarating. She wasn't like the others who threw themselves at me. Her defiance ignited something primal within me—a determination to make her mine.

Every interaction became a calculated move, designed to draw her closer while tightening my grip.

I showered her with gifts, attention, anything to keep her tethered to me. I watched her closely, studied her likes and dislikes, learning how to manipulate her emotions like a maestro conducting an orchestra.

my mind involuntarily wandered to the image of Annie's tear-stained face, her eyes glistening with unshed tears. In that vulnerable moment, she looked so achingly beautiful, her sadness highlighting the delicate curve of her lips, the intensity in her gaze, and the contours of her figure that I had grown to obsess over.

It wasn't just her physical beauty that drew me in—though it was undeniable. It was the raw emotion she displayed, the way her vulnerability heightened my desire to possess her.

Her tears seemed to call out to me, stirring a primal urge to claim her as my own.Her distress tugged at something deep within me, a mixture of empathy and possessiveness that I struggled to reconcile.

Part of me wanted to hold her close, Another part, darker and more selfish, reveled in the sight of her vulnerability, fueling my desire to dominate and control every aspect of her life.

I found myself fixating on every detail—the soft curve of her cheeks, the way her lashes glistened with tears, the slight quiver of her lips. Each feature seemed to beckon me closer, tempting me to claim her completely, to make her mine in every sense of the word.

I was wrong when i said one taste of her won't hurt because it's hurting now,i want more and more and can't help it.

I tried to run away from that moment, i even started my car but fuck the taste of her lips pulled me back.

That rainy day when I kissed her, it wasn't just passion—it was possession. The taste of her lips, the feel of her body pressed against mine, fueled my insatiable hunger for her.

In that moment, I marked her as mine, bound to me in ways she couldn't comprehend.But now, as the car whisked me away from her for seven agonizing days, I felt a gnawing emptiness. The thought of her slipping from my grasp tormented me.

She couldn't leave me, not now, not ever. She was like a rare treasure I had unearthed, and I would guard her fiercely against anyone who dared to covet what was mine.

I knew my obsession was consuming, controlling, but I couldn't stop. The idea of her with someone else ignited a rage within me that was as terrifying as it was intoxicating.

She belonged to me, body and soul. Like a possession—an extension of myself—I couldn't fathom a world where she wasn't mine to command.

As the city lights blurred past, I wrestled with the conflicting emotions swirling inside me. I craved her presence, her touch, her submission to my will. She was everything i wanted, and I would stop at nothing to ensure she remained by my side, bound to me in a way that transcended mere affection.

For me, she was more than just a person; she was my property, my obsession, and I would never let her go.

The bracelet!!