Page 3 of Wicked S.O.B.

She’s so breathtaking. Jesus, her beauty is beyond any words I can find.

“Are you all right?”

“No, I’m not fucking all right.” I turn around on noodle-weak legs. My back crashes against the glass wall as I point a finger at her. “I’m the same as I was when you left on Friday morning. A goddamn fucking mess, Elyse.”

Her caramel-blond hair slides over her shoulders as she shakes her head. “No, you’re not.”

I growl and toss the whiskey glass away. It cracks on impact with the floor. I catch her wince, and I’m not even sorry. The need to fill my hands with something else, withher, is so strong that I jerk back around and brace both hands on the wall.

She steps up to me and lays one hand on my back. My whole body shudders at the power of her touch. It’s a potent flame that fires me back to life, charges every dead thing inside me. My addiction to it, to her, roars into an unquenchable inferno.

Motherfucker.

“Do you want to talk about it?” she ventures.

“Why would I want to do that? It’s your fucking fault. You shouldn’t have let me go. You had the power to stop me from going to see Dr. Freeman. Instead what did you do? You sent me to that quack. And for what? Toheal?”

“Quinn, that’s not fair—”

“Fuck fair. I told you I don’t need another shrink. Especially one who only wants to talk about Maxwell Fucking Blackwood. I only need you! Why can’t you get that through your head?”

Her hand drops from my back. “Okay, you need me? I’m right here,” she murmurs.

My gaze snaps to hers in the glass. She’s holding her arms away from her body. It’s not a fullcome-get-mestance, but there’s a challenge in there, enough to draw my attention from the fight I’m itching to have.

Slowly, I turn around, my cock tenting my sweatpants. My hungry gaze roves over her face. A few drops of the brief April shower outside must have caught her between the street and the foyer. Droplets of moisture cling to her long lashes, a few resting on her cheeks. My tongue thickens with the need to lick them off her. My eyes dip lower to linger on her luscious mouth.

Fuck, her mouth.

Those gorgeous lips have done every depraved sexual act I can think to demand of them, and she’s more than delivered. And yet the craving has never dimmed by even a fraction. It never will. I know that now.

Now fully caught in her spell, my slavish eyes drop farther down her body to her chest. Her full breasts are molded perfectly by the soft cotton, her delicious nipples standing to glorious, defiant attention.

No bra. She probably took it off in the elevator. She knows how much I love her breasts. She also knows just what these past two days without her has done to me.

Sadly, it’s not the first time I’ve allowed my loss of control to manifest itself like this. Good thing I own a lot of real estate and have a few dozen apartments to choose from when the need arises.

Still, I wonder if this is it. Will this latest exhibition of my insanity be the last straw?

My gaze flits past her for a tense second to the chaos behind her. Shit, the baby grand piano she loves is sitting lopsided. One of its graceful, spindly legs is broken.

I return to gauge her reaction. I open my mouth to say fuck-knows-what but she tilts her head, one eyebrow hiked. “I guess you don’t need me that much, huh? Maybe I’ll go take a shower.”

She takes a single backward step.

I lunge, grab her by the waist, and lift her clean off her feet. “Fuck you,” I snarl at her, even as my hands get busy exploring the smooth, warm, naked flesh that is the mere tip of my obsession-iceberg.

She responds with a gratifying, full-body shudder as she wraps her long legs around my waist. “Yes,” she breathes fervently against my mouth.

My hands slide beneath the waistband of her jeans, beneath the straps of her thong to grip her ass. Even as I pull her against me, she’s tightening the vise of her legs, grinding her sweet pussy against my desperate cock.

“Fuck you,” I say again, this time with less venom, more begging.

Her fingers pull at my scalp as her own desperation rages. “Yes. Please. Now, Quinn,” she whispers in my ear.

I give her plump ass another squeeze before I travel upward to attack the zipper of her top. It’s one of those full-length ones that hold the back together. When it parts, I glide my hand down her spine, the feel of her skin like the first hit of a Class A drug.

Her hands release me long enough to lean back and rip the top down her arms, fling it away, and grant me the first glimpse of her tits.

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