Page 11 of Charmingly Obsessed
While everyone else in the office used his nickname, I always adhered to the chain of command. But today, believing this is the last time I’ll ever see him, I use the more personal form of his name for the very first time.
He remains frozen, studying me with that calculating, unyielding intensity.
Then, he tilts his head slightly, a subtle shift. And Mykola Frez speaks, transforming this shabby, pothole-ridden courtyard into his own private universe, bending reality with sheer force of will.
“Kiss me.” The command is low, guttural. “Short. Right now. If you can keep it short… you can leave.”
My heart slams against my ribs, a frantic drumbeat of shock, fear, and impossible desire. Logic evaporates. Reason flees.
“I’m ordering you,” he grits out, and the terrifying thing is, maybe hecan. Maybe he holds some invisible leash tied directly to my pulse.
Because I move. One step closer. Then another. Until barely a breath separates us.
My hand trembles as I lift it to his cheek. His skin is warm, slightly rough with stubble. I lean in, pressing a brief, chaste kiss there. His breath hitches, hot and uneven against my ear, whispering wordless promises or threats straight into my soul.
Then, I shift… and touch my lips to his.
He doesn’t spare me for a second.
His reaction is immediate, explosive. He surges forward, closing the minuscule distance, his mouth crashing down onmine. It’s not gentle. It’s possession. His hands are suddenly in my hair, tilting my head back, angling my mouth for his invasion. His other arm snakes around my waist, hauling me flush against his hard body.
This isn’t the hesitant exploration I initiated. This is pure Frez – demanding, consuming, relentless. His tongue sweeps into my mouth, and he kisses me like he’s starving, like he’s trying to devour me whole, brand me as his. Restless fingers stroke my face, trace my jawline, then tangle back in my hair, holding me captive. He deepens the kiss, sucking lightly on my lower lip, then plunging back in, a low groan rumbling in his chest.
It’s madness. He loops us in circles of intensity – gentle nips followed by bruising pressure, slow exploration giving way to frantic claiming. As if he’s decided that if his sanity is lost, we’ll lose it together.
My hand lifts, tracing the hard line of his jaw, and a soft moan escapes me, betraying my body’s unwilling surrender. He responds instantly, cupping my face with both hands, sealing our mouths together, kissing me deeper, slower now, but with an inescapable intensity. He wants fusion. Annihilation.
When he finally, finally breaks the kiss, his breathing is ragged, his eyes blazing down at me, pupils dilated, dark with possessive fire.
His thumbs brush over my kiss-swollen lips, a shockingly intimate gesture that sends another jolt straight to my core.
I stare up at him, dazed, breathless. A man possessed.
“I have a plan too. It’ll be ready soon. You’ll find out tomorrow.”
And then he turns, strides back to the monstrous SUV, yanks the door open, and climbs in, his movements jagged, furious. The engine roars to life.
He doesn’t look back.
I remain frozen on the cracked pavement, the echo of his kiss burning on my lips, the weight of his promise – or threat – settling over me like a shroud. Unable to move. Unable to breathe. Trapped in the altered universe Mykola Frez just created.
5
Chapter 5 Diana
By noon, the apartment smells like butter, sugar, and vanilla – a desperate attempt to bake my way back to normalcy.
Everything is packed, ready. Kozar’s thugs are due at one.
They actually specified the time, which strikes me as darkly hilarious. Might as well have sent a Google Calendar invite:Meeting w/ Goons: Apartment Seizure & Casual Intimidation, 1:00 PM - 2:00 PM.Gotta appreciate ruthless efficiency, I guess.
The fact I can findanythingamusing today is solely thanks to the batch of sweet cheese pastries cooling on the rack. Kneading dough, shaping it, watching it rise – it’s grounding.
My phone has been buzzing intermittently since morning. Albina. I let it go to voicemail twice before finally answering, bracing myself. But she’s a pro – HR director first, eternally kind woman second. The call is civil, concerned.
“Diana,” she sighs, her voice warm but laced with worry as the conversation winds down. “Please tell me this isn’t really about…that day.”
That day.The infamous kitchen incident. ‘Kiss and Burn.’ It’s the blockbuster drama of my tenure at Frez Enterprises, apparently destined for endless reruns. Never mind the sequel that premiered yesterday in the courtyard outside this very building.
