Page 153 of His Darkest Obsession
She presses her body against me, letting her nipples and breast slide against the hard lines of my torso. Tiny moans bubble up from the depth of her throat and I drink them down as soon as I taste them on my lips.
Her hand moves from my shoulder to the back of my neck, and her fingers rake through my wet hair as our tongues slide against each other.
She's perfect. Absolutely perfect. And I'll do whatever it takes to keep her safe.
I know there will be blowback for what happened today.
But right now, none of that matters.
The only thing I care about is this incredible woman in my arms.
I reluctantly break our kiss, pulling back just enough to look at Indigo properly. Her lips are red and quivering, slightly swollen from our kisses. Her soft hazel eyes lock with mine, wide and vulnerable in a way that makes my chest ache.
"Indigo," I whisper, her name a prayer on my lips.
I run my hand down her back, my touch feather-light against her skin. The water creates a slick path for my fingers to follow along the delicate curve of her spine until it rests at the curve of her ass.
She responds by tilting her head back to expose the elegant line of her throat to me.
I can see the traces of what I did to her earlier—small purple bruises blooming like violent flowers against her bronzed caramel skin. Evidence of my anger, my desperation, my need to retake control after she'd ridden me with almost reckless abandon on the floor.
Bending down, I press my lips to the first mark, and then another, and another.
Each kiss is soft and gentle. They're meant to be my own way of trying to erase the evidence of our earlier roughness.
An apology without words.
My other hand roams down her body, cupping her breast and giving it a gentle squeeze. The weight of it fits perfectly in my palm, as if she were made for me. She rewards me with a small moan, and her neck vibrates against my lips as I lick down to the sensitive patch of skin by her collarbone.
That sound tugs deep in my stomach, and sends a wet, warm heat gushing through my core. My cock starts to harden again as blood rushes south with dizzying speed.
Then I feel her delicate fingers sliding down my body, moving slowly along the ridges of my abs before finding the smooth hard shaft. I step forward and she follows my lead back until she's pressed against the wall while warm water pools in the space between us.
"Not yet," I tell her as I resume kissing her.
"Please..." Indigo begs, her voice catching on the word, making it sound more desperate than I think she intended.
I continue working my way down, trailing kisses along the elegant column of her throat, across her collarbone, and downto her chest. The water cascades over us both, making her skin glisten in the soft bathroom light. When
I finally reach her breast and scrape my tongue over her left nipple, feeling it harden in my mouth.
She gasps—a sharp, needy sound—and responds by grasping me firmly by my cock. Her fingers wrap around me with just the right amount of pressure as she slowly strokes up and down.
I'm still sensitive and aching from earlier, and my flesh tender from our rough encounter.
But I let her continue all the same.
This isn't about me anymore. It's about making her feel good.
It's about making her feel loved.
Because that's what I feel about her. I love her.
The realization isn't shocking—it's been building for weeks, and perhaps I knew I was destined to love her from the moment I saw her—but the clarity of it in this moment is overwhelming.
I love this woman with her blue hair and her fierce defiance and her broken pieces that somehow fit so perfectly with mine.
My hand moves away from the irresistible curve of her ass and slips under her thigh. The other hand mirrors the motion.
