Page 72 of Fame and Obsession

I could be someone completely different.

Reaching a hand out, I’m shocked to see it’s not shaking. Emboldened, I trail my fingers down his stomach and a sharp puff of air escapes from his chest as I reach for the button on his pants. There’s no hesitation before the zipper follows. Glancing up at him through my lashes, I dive my hand inside his boxers and free his cock.

Holy.

Fucking.

Shit.

Even Gage’s wildest fantasy has nothing on the reality.

Julian lets out a low, guttural groan as I stroke his hard length. “Phoebe, you don’t…fuck! You don’t have to—”

“No talking.” Bending, I trail my tongue over the outline of the eagle tattoo on his ribcage. Under the pressure of my mouth, his heart races, and it spurs me on. Moving lower, I open my mouth and drag my tongue across the swollen head of his cock.

The sound he makes is inhuman.

Winding his fingers around my hair, he pulls my head back with a deep growl. “Enough!” With his other hand, he frantically pushes his pants down his legs.

Once he’s freed himself, he tightens his hold on my hair, pulling me back across his lap. I gasp as he sits up, his cock sliding between my folds and grazing my clit.

The only thing between us now is movement.

“Last chance,” he warns, his voice rough and gravelly. “Tell me to stop, or I’m fucking you, Phoebe—how I want to.”

I shake my head because I don’t trust my voice.

Digging his fingers into my hips, he lifts me up, positioning me inches above his rock hard cock. I glance down, both mesmerized and terrified of what’s about to happen.

“Eyes up here.”

Just as I meet his volatile gaze, he impales me, simultaneously pulling my hips downward while giving a sharp upward thrust of his hips.

I cry out at the impact, digging my nails into his skin so hard, I wouldn’t be surprised if I drew blood.

Julian sucks air through his teeth. “Jesus Christ!” He gives me a moment to adjust to his possession. “You okay?”

Squeezing my eyes shut, I nod. I can’t look at him—it’s too much. He’s too much, and I don’t know if I can handle it.

He shifts his hips…then stills. “Shit!”

I open my eyes. “What?”

“Condom,” he hisses, his jaw tight. “Forgot...condom.”

“Covered and clean,” I say, undeterred.

Please say the same.

“Me too.” He doesn’t wait for a second approval—he drives into me, setting a confusing and punishing rhythm. Alternating between torturously slow and furiously vicious, he holds onto me, claiming my mouth as he possesses my body.

I can barely remember my own name. Right now, the only ones I know are his and God’s, and I repeat them both until my voice shatters. Surrendering, I close my eyes and cry out his name again before collapsing against his chest.

“Look at me,” Julian says roughly.

I can’t deny him. Opening my eyes, I take in his dampened hair and swollen lips. His half-lidded eyes spark to life as he lowers his hand, rubbing my clit mercilessly.

With a bruising hold on my hip, he delivers two more powerful thrusts, then throws his head back, roaring out his release. “Fuck! Phoebe!”

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