Page 37 of Lord of Obsession

His hand settles beside my head, boxing me in. "We're just getting started." His other hand finds my tie, fingers sliding along silk. "Tell me to stop. Tell me you don't want this. Tell me you don't dream about letting the monster out to play."

I could break his hold and turn this into the kind of fight these offices haven't seen since their construction. The knowledge sits heavy in my chest, mixing with darker impulses as his grip tightens.

"I spent years," I grit out, "building this life. Creating something separate from the family's legacy. From the violence. From everything you represent."

"And how's that working out?" His thumb traces my pulse, reading the chaos in my heartbeat. "How many hours do you spend maintaining that perfect mask? Hiding the killer instincts beneath designer suits and legal briefs?"

"I am more than my heritage."

"You're exactly your heritage." He presses closer, heat radiating through layers of expensive fabric. "You're a Valenti playing dress-up, pretending these books and degrees can change what runs in your veins."

My hands curl into fists at my sides. "Then what's your excuse? Why spend so much time pursuing someone you claim is just another pampered heir?"

Something flashes in his eyes, something akin to hunger and recognition twined into aweapon. "Because you're the first one I've met who cages the darkness instead of embracing it. The first one who denies their nature so completely." His grip shifts to my throat, thumb finding my racing pulse. "It makes me want to shatter every wall you've built. Makes me want to drag that monster into the light and watch it devour your precious control."

The overhead lights flicker again, casting strange shadows across his features. My breath comes faster as his fingers apply precise pressure—not quite enough to choke, just enough to remind me of his power and violence and everything I've tried to escape.

"Last chance," he murmurs, voice pitched low and dangerous. "Tell me to stop. Tell me you don't want to see what happens when you finally surrender to what you are."

My carefully ordered world balances on a knife's edge, everything I've built threatening to crumble under the weight of his presence. Time crystallizes into this singular moment: his hand at my throat, my pulse thundering against his palm, and the inevitable gravity drawing us toward something I can't deny any longer.

His grip shifts from my throat to my jaw,turning my face toward the city lights beyond the glass. "Look at it. Your uncle owns half those buildings. Your family's power runs through every street." His breath burns against my ear. "You can't escape what you are by hiding in this office."

The heat of him bleeds through my suit, transforming expensive wool into an unbearable constraint. My carefully maintained space feels foreign now, professional distance dissolving under the weight of his presence.

"I chose this life." The words catch in my throat as his fingers trace patterns across my skin.

"No." He spins me to face him, backing me against the cool glass. "You chose a cage. Built it yourself with paper walls and legal precedents." His hand slides into my hair, grip tightening. "But I see how it suffocates you. How desperately you need to break free."

My hands find his chest, caught between pushing him away and pulling him closer. The expensive fabric of his jacket bunches beneath my fingers as electricity arcs between us.

"Last chance to maintain that perfect facade." His voice drops to a whisper against myskin. "Last chance to keep pretending you don't burn for this."

My response comes in action rather than words as I drag him down to my mouth, destroying the final barrier between resistance and need. The kiss burns away pretense, igniting something primal that can't be contained by suits and citations. His groan vibrates through my chest as he responds, turning the exchange brutal and claiming.

Papers scatter as he lifts me onto my desk, legal briefs and case files spilling across the floor. Months of meticulous work destroyed in seconds. I should care. I should stop this destruction of my carefully ordered world.

I don't.

His teeth find my throat as his hands make quick work of my tie, silk sliding free. Each touch strips away another layer of control, of civility, of the lies I've told myself about who and what I am.

"Beautiful." He breathes the word against my skin between biting kisses. "Finally letting go. Finally embracing what lives inside you."

My head falls back as his mouth traces fire down my neck. Professional boundaries shatter like safety glass, leaving sharp edgesthat cut through years of careful denial. His hands push beneath my shirt, mapping territory I've tried to keep separate from this pristine space.

Beyond the glass windows, Montcove's nights pulses with electric life, indifferent to this moment of surrender. In the maze of streets below, my study group has given up waiting. My carefully maintained schedule lies in ruins, just like the papers scattered across the floor.

"Say it." His demand carries steel as he pins my wrists above my head. "Tell me what you need."

Pride wars with desperation as he holds me there, suspended between who I pretend to be and what claws beneath my skin. His grip tightens, drawing the truth from my lips.

"You." The confession tears free, destroying the last walls between us. "I need you to make me stop thinking. Stop pretending. Stop?—"

His mouth captures mine, swallowing the rest of my words. The kiss turns savage as he releases my wrists, hands moving to rid me of my suit jacket. The expensive garment joinsthe chaos on the floor, another piece of my costume discarded.

I attack his clothes with equal fervor, needing to feel skin against skin. Each layer we shed reveals more truth, more hunger, more evidence of the monster I've tried to cage. His hands leave marks I'll find tomorrow, claiming me in ways that can't be hidden by tailored suits.

The desk creaks beneath us as he presses closer, situating himself between my thighs. The position should feel degrading, a respected law student rutting like an animal in his professional space. Instead, it feels like liberation.

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