Page 58 of Lord of Obsession

His mouth finds mine, stealing the rest of my protests. The kiss is different from our previous encounters. No violence, no power plays, just the slow exploration of new territory. I melt into it despite myself, letting him take what he's already claimed a dozen times in darker ways.

"Beautiful." He breathes the word against my lips. "Finally letting go. Finally being honest about what you need."

Heat floods my face, but I don't deny it. Can't deny it. Not after everything that's passed between us. My hands frame his faceas I deepen the kiss, pouring months of suppressed want into the contact.

He responds with a sound caught between pleasure and pain. The monitors spike, reminding me of his injuries, of the bullets he took that were meant for me. I try to pull back, but his grip tightens.

"Don't you dare." The words ghost across my skin. "Don't retreat behind that careful control. Not now."

"You're hurt." I gesture at the medical equipment surrounding us. "The doctor said?—"

"The doctor doesn't understand what this is." He runs his fingers through my hair, grip tightening just shy of pain. "What we are. What we've always been."

The truth of it burns in my chest as I let him pull me back down. This time when our lips meet, something deeper passes between us—understanding, recognition, and the acknowledgment of chains we've forged in blood and bullets.

His free hand maps my spine as we kiss, learning territory he's already claimed through violence and need. My own fingers trace careful patterns across hisskin, mindful of bandages and stitches that mark where he bled for me.

"Mine." The word vibrates against my mouth as he nips my lower lip. "Say it. Admit what we both know."

I should resist, but instead, I find myself whispering against his skin, "Yours."

His smile carries triumph tinged with tenderness. The expression transforms his face, softening edges honed by years of calculated brutality. For a moment, I glimpse something beneath his predator's mask, something that matches the yearning building in my own chest.

"And you're mine." His voice is rough, scraped raw with honesty. "God help us both."

The monitors track the steady rhythm of our heartbeats as silence stretches between us. Outside, the sun climbs higher, but inside, his hands continue their exploration of my skin, mapping territory claimed first through violence, and now through something deeper.

"We'll burn for this." But I make no move to pull away as his mouth finds my throat. "Both our families, all of Montcove, they'll try to tear us apart."

His laugh rumbles against my pulse. "Letthem try. I didn't take these bullets just to let someone else break what's mine."

I capture his mouth again, pouring everything I can't say into the kiss. His hands tangle in my hair as he responds with equal fervor, mindful of his injuries but unwilling to maintain distance. The monitors track his rising heart rate, but neither of us pays them any mind.

Let the world burn. Let our families rage. Let Montcove's careful power structure crumble.

Some prices are worth paying.

EIGHTEEN

DARIO

Pain greets me as consciousness returns, a dull throb beneath expensive bandages. I reluctantly open my eyes and look around Rafael's apartment, noticing how the light is turning everything soft and unreal. Even the medical equipment beside the bed seems out of place in his carefully ordered sanctuary—much like me, violence wrapped in thread count high enough to make angels weep.

I shift against the silk sheets, testing the limits of my healing flesh. The movement sends fresh fire through my chest, but I refuse to let the grunt of pain escape. Rafael materializes from somewhere to my left, his usual perfect composure cracked by exhaustion andworry. The sight sends satisfaction curling through me despite the agony.

"Stop moving." His hands check monitors with practiced efficiency, the gesture betraying medical knowledge he shouldn't need. "You'll tear the stitches again."

I catch his wrist before he can retreat, my grip still weak but carrying promise. "Worried about me, baby? Your bedside manner's improving."

His pulse jumps beneath my fingers as he tries to maintain his professional distance. But I see the shadows under his eyes and the way his carefully styled hair has started to curl wayward from too many nights spent watching me breathe. He's beautiful in his dishevelment, all that precise control finally starting to fray.

A quiet chime signals movement in the building's lobby. Rafael tenses, but I recognize Marco's footsteps pattern through the security feed displayed on a tablet beside the bed. My people know how to do their jobs maintaining perimeter checks while sourcing black market medical supplies. The sight of Rafael accepting these necessary evils, this return tofamily methods, feeds something hungry inside of me..

"Your uncle's people called again." He tries to pull away, but I tighten my grip. "They're getting closer to tracking us."

"Let them." The words are scratchy in my throat. "Let them all come. You chose this. Chose us."

Color floods his face as truth hits home. He did choose—chose to protect me, to abandon his carefully constructed legitimate life, and to become exactly what I always knew he could be. The realization makes me want to brand him, to leave fresh bruises beside the ones already yellowing on his throat.

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