Page 47 of The Dark Obsession

I’m too stunned to speak when Tyson sets me down on the counter next to the sink before retrieving a first aid kit from the cabinet.

Thinking back to our first night, this position feels a bit too familiar.

This time he’s not the one bleeding though.

Laying everything out, the man takes my hand in his much larger one, carefully cleaning the tiny wound.

His thumb stroking the back of my hand in a soothing motion, with such gentleness that my breath gets caught in my throat.

“I’m sorry, little one.” Tyson says softly as he wraps my finger in a lot more gauze than would be necessary.

“It’s not your fault.”

“It is.” He counters, making it clear that he’s aware that it was his mere touch that got me distracted, that my body’s reaction betrayed the unspoken between us.

For the rest of the evening, Tyson doesn’t allow me to lift a finger, no pun intended.

That’s how I end up being stuck in my seat at the kitchen island, watching his broad back while he goes about the recipe, his muscles rippling with every move. Since when has cooking become this attractive.

There’s something incredibly alluring about the way he confidently handles everything he sets out to do.

So much strength and dominance bottled up in one man, without any trace of weaknesses.

Well except for that one moment down by the creek when I’m almost certain I saw genuine panic brimming in his wild eyes.

Never before has another person’s distress triggered my own so powerfully, fueling my need to comfort him.

In a way, we did find comfort in each other’s arms in the end.And so much more.

It’s completely dark outside when we finish our meal and Tyson leads me to the couch before lighting the fireplace, adding to the ambiance.

We’ve watched a few movies together despite me being barely able to pay attention to the plot with him right next to me, touching my thigh or holding my hand in his.

Tonight though, instead of sitting down beside me as usual, the man suddenly hauls me onto his lap, pulling me close against his chest.

My weak attempt at wiggling out of hold only causing his arms to tighten around me, making it impossible to move.

All too soon, my struggle ceases and I settle against his hard body without further protest.

Admittedly, it’s nice to be held by him.

His warmth making me feel safe and protected. Even cherished.

Which is ironic given he’s the most dangerous person I know.

But maybe that’s exactly what makes him so different. I doubt any other man could measure up to the way his dominance makes my insides clench in need.

Call me sheltered, but I’ve never felt this comfortable to allow this sort of intimacy with anyone.

Maybe I’m not entirely willing but that’s the thing, he doesn’t give me the choice.

The confidence in his touch leaving no room for argument, no room for me to overthink, to let my anxiety get the better of me.

I’d never confess this aloud but the way he takes control, I like it.

I like it a lot.

Relaxing further into his embrace, I rest my head on his shoulder, letting out a soft sigh. This feels nice.

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