Page 17 of His Ruthless Obsession

With him gone, I know I need to get Jazz alone. I need to soothe the anger in my blood, to see that she is unharmed.

Coming around the bar, I rest my hand against the small of Jazz's back, feeling the warmth of her skin through the silk of her top. "Come with me."

"I have work to do." But she doesn't pull away.

"It can wait." I guide her through the crowd, past the VIP section toward my office. Her steps match mine, that familiar tension crackling between us.

The thrum of bass fades as we reach the hallway. Jazz's breath catches when my thumb traces small circles against her spine. I unlock my office door, ushering her inside before following and turning the deadbolt with a decisive click.

"Nerio..." She crosses her arms, but I catch how her pupils dilate in the dim light.

"That wasn't the first time he's bothered you." I step closer, backing her against my desk. "I've seen him watching you all week."

"I told you, I can handle-"

"I know you can handle yourself." My hands grip the edge of the desk on either side of her hips, caging her in. "That's not why we're here."

She tilts her chin up, defiant even as her body sways toward mine. "Then why are we here?"

"Because I'm tired of watching other men think they have the right to touch what's mine."

Her eyes flash. "I'm not yours."

"No?" I lean in, close enough to feel her sharp intake of breath as my hand slides across her hip. "Then explain why when I touch you, you don't snap like that."

"You can't keep doing this." Jazz plants her hands on my chest, pushing back just enough to meet my eyes. But I capture her hands, keeping them planted there so she can't go too far. "This is the third time you've scared off a customer because they dared to talk to me."

I move closer, my legs straddling hers and our hips nearly flush. "He was touching you."

"I'm the manager. Dealing with drunk idiots is part of the job." Her fingers curl against my shirt. "You're going to run out of customers if you keep threatening every man who looks my way."

"Let them look. They touch you again, they answer to me."

She huffs out a frustrated breath, but I don't think she realizes that when she tugs, she pulls me closer. "I handled worse than him before you ever showed up. I don't need you playing protective-"

I can't take it anymore. I've been out of my fucking mind for so long and seeing someone else touch her has me on edge. But my hand on her hip and her grip on my shirt and the lack of space between our bodies muddles everything else until all I can think is taking what I want.

I capture her mouth with mine, swallowing her protests. Her lips are soft, tasting of mint and defiance. For a heartbeat she stays rigid, hands still fisted in my shirt. And then she melts against me with a quiet moan that sets my blood on fire.

I slide one hand into her hair, angling her head to deepen the kiss. Her tongue meets mine, challenging, exploring. She tastes like everything I've been craving. My other hand grips her hip, pulling her flush against me as I devour her mouth.

Jazz arches into me, her curves fitting perfectly against my body. Her hands slide up my chest to my shoulders, nails digging in through my shirt. I growl low in my throat, nipping at her bottom lip before soothing the sting with my tongue.

The kiss turns desperate, months of tension exploding between us. And I refuse to let her back out now as I kiss and suck and claim.

She is fucking mine, and now that she is surrendering to me, letting me take what I should have so long ago, I know that I will never let her go again.

8

JAZZ

His kiss consumes me, a dizzying mix of fear and desire flooding my senses. I can't breathe, can't think, can't do anything but feel the power behind his lips as they claim mine. A part of me screams to push him away, to run from the danger that radiates off him like a dark aura. But another part, a primal, hungry part, wants to pull him closer, to surrender to this intoxicating insanity.

"What are you doing to me?" I whisper against his mouth, a feeble protest that dies as he deepens the kiss.

His hands grip my waist, lifting me effortlessly onto his desk. The cold wood against my back is a stark contrast to the heat of his body as he steps between my legs, pressing closer.

"Whatever I want, little dove." His voice is a low growl, a sound that vibrates through me, igniting a fire in my belly.

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