Page 37 of His Darkest Obsession
Really kiss her.
No soft brushes of lips or chaste pretend kisses to show the world. I want to feel her soft full lips open under the pressure of mine. I want to swallow her whimpers of pleasure while my fist wraps in her blue hair. Wrap my tongue against hers as I taste her mouth, hot and wet. Feel her delicate fingers running down my body.
Blyat…
Heat shoots through my cock, and I feel it getting harder and harder. I clench my jaw and try to force my blood to go somewhere else.
Anywhere else but there.
I might as well be trying to stop the tide from coming in.
The heat around me grows uncomfortably, and I start rolling my sleeves up as the seamstress continues to list out all of the changes that she wants and needs to do to make sure that everything is perfect.
"I trust you know what you're doing," I finally can't hold back anymore. "Stop telling me what you're going to fucking do and go fucking do it."
The seamstress finally stops talking, and she bows her head before she walks away.
Finally.
I suck in another deep breath, feeling my heart thumping in my ear and pounding against my chest. This is something I've never felt before with a woman, and I've had plenty of women in the past. Beautiful women who would do anything I asked without question.
So why am I obsessing over this one who prefers defying me at every turn?
I look over at her, and she's already shrugging into her pants. Her eyes are still downcast, like she's deliberately avoiding my gaze. Then, she takes a deep breath of her own and those soft hazel eyes that I want to see flutters closed.
But my eyes don't leave her.
Slowly, I think about what else I saw.
That crisscrossing web of scars all along the inside of her thighs. My jaw clenches tighter, and I feel like my teeth might shatter any moment from the pressure.
If I hadn't seen those scars, I might have given in to my darker desires. I might've spun her around and claimed that smart mouth with mine. Pressed her against the mirror and showed her exactly what happens when she pushes me too far.
But I hesitated.
I fucking hesitated.
Because I saw those fucking scars.
From the moment I saw those scars, the only thought in my mind is that I want to find the motherfucker who put them there and rip them apart with my bare fucking hands.
And every moment I think about her scars, anger burns just a little hotter inside of me. It goes from a smoldering flame to a raging inferno, filling me with the dangerous thought that I should burn all of New York to the ground just for her.
I run a hand through my hair and exhale slowly as I continue to look at her. Her eyes are closed, and she's taking deep breaths, same as me.
I wonder…
Is she having the same thoughts as me? Is she as bothered and conflicted about what the fuck just happened? Is she also thinking about what I could have done versus what I want to do?
I don't know, but I do know this:
Tomorrow, she becomes my wife. Mine to protect. My secret weapon to put Bennet in my pocket.
She’s going to be the key that lets me control this entire rotten city.
But I have no idea if my control over the city will bring me the control that I need in my life.
Because if I'm being honest with myself, I'm not sure who's truly in control here anymore.
