Page 34 of Lord of Obsession

A few minutes later, I can feel him tensing, his dick pulsing as he comes, his cum splattering against the damp ground. I follow suit, my orgasm crashing over me like a wave, my cum filling him up.

I pull out, my dick stillhard, slick, and throbbing. I turn him around, pushing him down to his knees.

"Now you fucking clean it,” I whisper, a wicked grin spreading across my face.

His eyes widen and his mouth opens. My head tips back and my eyes close to the sweet pleasure of his tongue and mouth.

ELEVEN

RAFAEL

Fluorescent lights buzz overhead, a grating counterpoint to the thoughts swirling in my head. The legal brief blurs before my eyes, the words losing meaning as my mind wanders back to the alley, to Dario, to the heat of his mouth and the bruising grip of his hands on my hips as he fucked my ass. I blink hard, trying to dispel the vivid sensations lodged in my memory, but they cling like cobwebs, distracting and persistent.

My ass still hurts, as does my throat. I can still feel him inside me and I like it.

My office feels too small suddenly, the walls pressing in as if to trap me with my own circling thoughts. I push back from my desk,the wheels of my chair unnaturally loud on the tile floor. Restless energy hums beneath my skin, a live wire of unresolved tension and warring impulses.

I should be focused on work, on the cases piling up and the research that needs completing. But every time I try to concentrate, flashes of last night intrude—the slick slide of sweat-damp skin, the coppery tang of blood on my tongue, the raw hunger in Dario's eyes as he stripped me bare in every possible sense.

Shame wars with a darker thrill in my gut. I scrub a hand over my face, feeling the rasp of stubble against my palm. The slight sting serves as a reminder of the other aches lingering in my body, a roadmap of the violence Dario and I wrought on each other. On ourselves.

My reflection in the office window is a stranger: hair mussed, eyes shadowed, mouth still swollen from brutal kisses. I look wrecked, undone. Nothing like the poised, controlled veneer I've worked so hard to maintain. A hysterical laugh bubbles up my throat, tasting of bitterness and a vicious kind of glee.

Dario was right. The mask is slipping, fracturing under the weight of the uglinessI've tried to outrun. Years of careful self-control and ruthless denial are crumbling, the monster underneath stretching its claws and sizing its shackles.

A knock at the door jolts me from my spiraling thoughts. I straighten automatically, years of training snapping my spine into perfect posture, my expression into one of cool professionalism. "Come in."

The door opens to reveal one of my study group members, her brow furrowed with concern as she takes in my appearance. "Rafael, we were supposed to meet in the library ten minutes ago to go over the Martinez case. Is everything okay?"

I reach for my tie, straightening the Balthus knot with hands that tremble only slightly. "Yes, sorry. I lost track of time. Give me a moment to gather my notes, and I'll be right there."

She nods, but the worried crease between her eyebrows doesn't smooth out completely as she backs out of the doorway. "Sure. We'll be at our usual table."

The door closes with a soft click, leaving me once again alone with my chaotic thoughts. I draw in a deep breath, holding itfor a count of three before exhaling slowly. Control. I need to regain control. I can't let one moment of weakness unravel everything I've built, everything I've worked for.

But even as I gather the scattered pieces of my composure, I can feel Dario's presence like a physical weight, a shadow lurking in the corners of my mind. His taunts echo in my ears, insidious whispers promising ruin and rapture in equal measure.

This isn't over. I know that with a bone-deep certainty. Last night was just the beginning, a tipping point in the game he's been playing since that first charged encounter in the library. And now that I've shown my hand and revealed the ugly truths I've been so desperate to hide...

I close my eyes briefly, steeling myself against the rising tide of fear, of hunger, of sickening want. I can't afford to lose focus, not now. Not with so much at stake. I have to be stronger than the darkness clawing at my insides. I have to be better than the brutal legacy encoded in my DNA.

The alternative is unthinkable.

I smooth a hand down my chest, feeling the expensive fabric of my suit, the armor I'vedonned to face the world. It feels thinner now, more fragile in the harsh light of day. But it's all I have, this costume of civility and control. I have to make it be enough.

With one last deep breath, I turn to face the door, squaring my shoulders and lifting my chin. My mask slips back into place, a little more battered, a little less stable, but holding. For now.

A shadow blocks my office doorway before the knock comes. Not a question, but a statement of presence.

Dario leans against the frame, impossibly large in the confined space. His designer jacket is purposefully rumpled, showing just enough of the weapon holstered at his hip to make my pulse jump. How he bypassed building security is a question I already know the answer to: he goes wherever he wants.

"Heading somewhere?" His eyes drag across my carefully arranged workspace, taking in every detail with a hunter's precision.

I continue packing, refusing to let him see how his appearance disrupts my carefully maintained rhythm. "I have a study group at the library."

His laugh carries an edge sharp enough to slice. "A study group. Of course you do."

The last file slides into my briefcase with a soft click. I turn, knowing escape means moving past him, through the narrow doorway where our bodies will inevitably brush. Each step becomes a calculated dance of avoidance and confrontation.

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