Page 18 of Wild Obsession
The groan that came out of me when he caught my lip with his teeth was loud and unfiltered.There was no way to hold back the lust ripping through me.
Except, it was more than lust.More than anything I’d ever experienced.Something without definition or a single shred of sense.
His mouth was still on mine, his arm wound around me with a strength and sureness that made my eyes close and my spine go loose.
I’d done this before.More times than I could count, with people whose names I’d forgotten before morning.It had always been easy and fun, never lasting more than a night or two.
This didn’t feel disposable like that.Nothing about this man did.And instead of backing off, I wanted to crawl inside the feeling and stay there.
I slid my hand inside his jacket, pulled at his shirt, tried to get closer.To feel more of his heat, his commanding presence.Just more of him.
My fumbling grew almost frantic, and he stopped.
He jerked away, and the loss was sudden and absolute.My chest heaved, cock ached, and something deep inside me ripped apart.
Locked in place, I stared as the most intriguing man I’d ever met close himself off again.The wall went up, a look of regret settled over him, and the rejection I’d been battling all night won.
I knew that look.I’d seen versions of it my whole life—teachers, coaches, managers, women, men.A look that saidyou’re too muchwithout a word ever being spoken.It was a look that sent me reaching for another bottle, the next body, the nearest exit.
Fuck.I should’ve said something.Cracked a joke, acted like I didn’t care.That’s what I always did when things got uncomfortable.It was my whole goddamn playbook.
Not this time.
For once in my life, I kept quiet.
He raked a hand through his hair and stared out at the Bay.“I’ll drop you at your hotel.We can pretend this never happened.”
Pain shot through my chest.“Whatever you say, sir.”
He rounded on me with a snarl.“This isn’t going to happen.I already fucking told you all the reasons why.And still, you had to go and pull that move…”
Something desperate cracked through his expression.“I can’t let this happen.”
I continued watching him—jaw tight, hands gripping the wheel, the careful distance he’d put between us that wasn’t nearly enough to undo what had just happened in this car.
“Okay,” I said.
Not a joke or a deflection or any of the other things I’d have reached for an hour ago.Justokay.Simple and quiet and completely unlike me.
I turned back to the window and watched the Bay slide past as he pulled onto the road.
Neither of us spoke.The engine hummed, the tires bumped over uneven pavement, and the space between us filled with everything we weren’t saying.
I could still taste him.Still feel the ghost of his hands on me, his weight against my chest.My body hadn’t caught up to the fact that it was over.
I wanted to say something.Fill the silence, make him laugh again, hear that rough sound one more time.But every line I reached for felt wrong.Too light for what had just happened.Way heavier than anything he’d allow.
So I sat with it.The silence, the ache, the fading warmth on my skin.I sat with all of it, hating every second.
My focus went soft as I tried to locate the version of myself that didn’t give a shit about any of this.The one who shrugged things off, moved on to the next game, the next meaningless encounter, and called it living.
He was still around.I just couldn’t find him right now.
And that scared the hell out of me more than anything Dylan McCoy could’ve said or done.
Still, I’d learned the hard way—more times than I could count—when a man saidI can’t, he almost never meantI won’t.
I could work with that.
