Page 49 of The Rival's Obsession
Ding.
The elevator opens.
I turn her, lift her, her legs wrapping around my waist like muscle memory. Our mouths crash together again—messy and hungry.
Behind us, the elevator doors close—and with them, Eve’s discarded skirt.
Her hair falls around us in a curtain—soft and wild—but I don’t break stride. I know every inch of this place.
We move straight to the bedroom—because I’m nowhere near done.
Her feet hit the floor for only a second. Just long enough to kick off her shoes and yank her shirt over her head.
She’s hungry for this. Clawing for it.
And for some reason, that keeps the fury from today simmering at the surface instead of fading. It sharpens it. Makes it useful.
Eve doesn’t wait. She grabs my shirt and rips it open, buttons scattering across the hardwood like shell casings. Her mouth is on me in the next breath—hot, open, biting down around my nipple.
She’s not gentle. And good. I don’t fucking want gentle.
I growl low in my throat as I hook my arms under her thighs and lift her. Her body wraps around me like silk on fire.
I latch onto her breast, biting her until she calls out, back arching, nails scoring my shoulders.
Then I drop her—unapologetically—onto the edge of my bed. The mattress dips under her weight, the dark sheets catching the sheen of her skin in the low light.
“Lean back.” My voice is gravel. “Feet at the edge.”
She does—no hesitation.
The position spreads her wide. Puts her on full display. I step closer and reach for my belt, sliding it slowly through the loops with a hiss of leather.
Her eyes find mine—molten heat behind long lashes, her chest rising and falling with anticipation.
“Boundaries,” I murmur, wrapping the belt around my fist.
She grins like the predator she is.
“You want to know what I won’t do? Not much,” she says, voice like honey over a blade. “So, tell me what you’re into, and I’ll tell you when to stop.”
Goddamn.
This woman’s going to get me in trouble.
And I’m going to let her.
I take a moment just to look at her. Laid out across my bed. Legs spread, waiting. Every inch of her daring me to push.
“I’ve got something I think’ll look beautiful on you,” I murmur.
She doesn’t answer—just watches me as I head for the bar built into the corner of the room. I pour myself a bourbon—two cubes. Let them clink against crystal before taking a slow sip. Let it burn on the way down.
I open the drawer beside it, metal whispering against velvet as I pull out a chain. The sound it makes—sharp, deliberate—echoes behind me as I walk back.
Eve sees it.
Her eyes flick from the collar to my face. She reads me. Doesn’t even think it through. She just tilts her chin up and says softly, “Do the honors.”
