3. Oliver

His Isobel

Oliver unclenched his hands from his pants as Isobel shut the door behind her when she left. He already texted Maddox to let him know her condition and that she would be on the way after she drank that second glass of alcohol.

It was almost time. He would have his Isobel soon. He had watched over her for years and kept his distance for her own sake. But now? After another easy-to-sway man, Oliver recognized it was doing more damage than good. He would open her eyes to what she really needed. To be his.

Because that's what Isobel was and always had been. His.

He had allowed her to explore and find herself, but he had run out of patience. He tugged out his phone and glanced at the notification; she was calling Yara.

He didn't like that, Isobel should only talk to him about her problems, but anything to keep her happy. He supposed.

He still remembered when he first met her.

She was new to his town. She was gloriously beautiful in a way he wasn't used to.

She was also standing on his father's grave. Again.

What the fuck?

"What are you doing?" After a week of watching her, he finally had enough of her disrespect. He walked out of the woods and approached the woman. From a distance, he thought she was older than him, her tempting curves pushing out her clothing in an intoxicating way, but upon his approach, he stiffened.

She turned fully towards him and their close proximity allowed him to observe the roundness of her cheeks, the innocence in her eyes, the tears that rolled down her face.

She was young. Too young. Why was she in this cemetery all alone for the fifth time this week? It wasn't safe. There were bad men in this town.

What the fuck?

She wiped her face with the back of her hand and hardened her shoulders. "What do you want, can't you see I'm mourning?" Her voice came out soft and sweet, even with her evident annoyance.

Oliver felt uncomfortable; was he lusting over not only an underage girl, but a long lost relative he didn't know about?

"You knew my dad?" He finally met her eyes and his breath caught.

They were iridescent, the shade brightened by the sheen from her tears.

"What? No. You idiot. I'm mourning my dad. James."

James? That wasn't his dad's name. Okay, so she was insane. That made more sense.

The strange girl tucked a piece of her long silky hair behind her ear. His eyes focused on her ear. It was cute, freckled, and poking out just a bit.

"Mine isn't buried here; he's buried somewhere in California. Or so my mother says." She appraised him guardedly. "Wait, your dad? Our dads died on the same day. Well, yours died two years prior, but the date was the same."

The statement caught Oliver off-guard, and ice slipped into his veins. Nobody talked to him about his dad's death. The suicide had made public news, but nobody spoke a word to him about it.

Instead, his ‘friends' just wanted to party and drink and fuck. They were plastic and fake and boring.

He wasn't interested in any of that, but he was doing what he thought the world preferred. Golden boys stayed out of trouble. They could easily hide in the shadows. They could get away with more.

The girl fell down onto the ground dramatically on top of where his father was buried. "Sit with me?"

Her complete disregard of his presence had him smiling genuinely for the first time in years. He gently placed himself next to her, accepting that she had zero etiquette when it came to gravesites.

"I never got to mourn my dad. I get the feeling you didn't either." Her voice was laced in understanding.

He couldn't keep the shock off his face as he turned to look at her again.

She grinned up at him; even sitting, she was much smaller than him. She reminded him of his collection of butterflies. Fragile, beautiful, bright. Except she still had her wings.

He could fix that.

"I can see it in your eyes, the hurt and mistrust. You need to let it out. That's what my dad used to say."

He was curious what else she could glimpse in him. Could she perceive the darkness that threatened to take hold? The anger he held deep in his heart? The need to be in control?

Before he knew what she was doing, she leaned forward abruptly and started hitting his father's gravestone. Beating it over and over again as she screamed profanities. He jerked out of his paralysis and took her hands in his. They were soft, small, and bloodied.

"Stop it," he murmured softly. He didn't think, he simply acted. He softly tugged the girl into his lap and held onto her. Comforting her. He had never been this intimately close to another person. Her face fell into the crook of his neck. He leaned down, breathing her in. Sweet. Floral. Delicious.

Oliver knew he wasn't normal, and he hid that from the world, but he wondered if she could be different. If she was just crazy enough to understand him. To not run away. He felt her shake as she began to sob into his shoulder.

"I miss him so much. And nobody is here to talk to. No one has even told me they're sorry he died. My mother simply shoved it under 50mg antidepressants and a new husband."

He felt an incredibly foreign feeling bubble into his gut. One that took him several moments to truly process.

He was protective over the stranger. He inexplicably cared about her feelings. He undeniably wanted to know more about her.

He had always felt closed off from the world as if a thin filament stood between him and any living being. But sitting here? With this girl in his lap? He could really feel her. He didn't sense that separation.

He didn't believe in love at first sight. But obsession? That was something he was intimately familiar with.

After that encounter, Oliver found himself hyper-fixating on her. He would continue to "accidentally" run into her. He found out she was a freshman and transferred to her school as a senior. He kept everyone else away from her. Except the gremlin named Yara.

He and his Isobel became incredibly close until one day it got to a point where he almost crossed the line. It was a jarring encounter, and it became clear he needed to leave. She was too pure for him. She deserved better, and he would break her.

He enlisted in the military and did his best not to look back; it was the most difficult and selfless decision he ever made. He forced himself to believe he wouldn't return. It was a lie.

When he visited home during his last year of service, Isobel found him and begged him to help her get out of their town. He could tell something bad had happened, but no matter how much he tried to find out, she never told him.

It still drove him crazy to think about it. His mind swirling at the what ifs.

He recalculated his choice. He would never be letting her go. He would always watch over her and keep her safe. And one day when she was ready?

She would be his.

His throbbing cock brought him back to the present.

Without further delay, he wrenched open his pants and pulled out his dick. It was immediately hard the moment she was even within his sight. The instant he thought of her.

Every part of her was a temptation. The freckles that covered only her ears and nowhere else. Her voice that always came out a soothing lilt, even in her rage. Her silky soft skin that he wished to stroke for hours as he watched her come undone.

Her stupidly sweet soul that attracted the worst kinds of monsters. Her insanity that threatened even his own. Her fiery passion for anything she decided she wanted.

It was all of that and more that saved her from him all those years ago. What made him decide to let her keep his wings. Why he wanted to give her a choice, let her choose when she was ready for every twisted part of his soul. He had never been obsessed with a girl before her. It had always been items, things, those who did him wrong.

She installed those cameras to catch Harry. She had asked for Oliver's help. He was more than happy to set them up for her. Happier still when she didn't remove them. They made her feel safe.

Oliver watched her on them every evening as she went to sleep. That was if he couldn't make it to her house. Which he did most nights. He had a key, so he was basically invited inside. She just didn't know about his nightly visits. Yet.

Oliver discerned she was slowly gaining a romantic interest in him. Over the years he went from her protector to her best friend and now it was time for the next step.

He called Maddox as he fisted his cock, checking to ensure his door was still fully shut. "News?"

"Target has arrived home. Friend might be a problem. Touched base with Milo for an update on the other situation."

Oliver cursed under his breath as he stroked his length up and down. Her smell still saturated his office. Honeysuckles. That's the closest way he could describe it. It intoxicated him more than any drink could, and he desperately wanted a taste.

He didn't disconnect the call as he opened his computer screen, flipped to her camera feed, and watched her undress. He continued his frantic stroke up and down his dick. The tension began to coil tightly.

"Two weeks until our trip. It's time."

Maddox grunted. "You sure she's ready?"

Oliver's face twisted into a dark shape reminiscent of a grin. He watched on his monitor as Isobel began her own ministrations. He yanked his dick hard as she lathered lube and pushed her double-sided dildo deep into her body.

"Yes," he confirmed, ending the call.

He continued to watch through the screen as she rubbed furious circles on her clit while she pushed her toy in and out of her pliable body. The toy she thought she had drunkenly bought. The one he had actually purchased for her. Did her subconscious know to prepare her for what was to come? Oliver's grip on his dick tightened, until it was just on the edge of pain, as he continued his furious strokes. Her build up was clear even through the screen and her pumps increased as his did.

He lifted off of the seat, pushing into his hand, and came with a grunt as her mouth opened in ecstasy.

His patience had just run out.

Even if she wasn't, he would make her ready.