Page 50 of His Obsession
He nods and backs me toward the bed until my knees hit the mattress and buckle. I fall, pulling him over me. He kisses me so gently, so sweetly, it’s almost reverent.
So I kiss him hard and rough. My hands rake through his hair. It’s the only way I can show him how much I want him. His hands find the hem of my shirt and push the fabric up carefully. Our mouths separate just long enough for him to pull it over my head.
“There you are,” he says, looking down at my breasts. “I wasn’t sure I’d get to see you again.”
I can’t help but laugh, but the laugh turns into a moan when he pulls one of my breasts free of my bra and closes his mouth around my nipple.
As his hot tongue works my sensitive flesh, his other hand slips beneath the waistband of my pants.
“Fuck, you’re already so wet,” he pants.
“I want you,” I murmur, impressed with myself that I can even form coherent words.
Our kisses are hot and slow, and I think I could lie here making out with him for hours if not for the fingers working me into a frenzy. They explore and tease, but I’m so sensitive right now. Every touch feels like it’ll throw me over the edge.
“Stop,” I tell him, and he pulls back looking disappointed. “Wait.”
I can’t find the words, so I show him. I push him back so he’s the one lying down and start working his pants off. He complies easily, his arousal already evident through his boxers.
I stand to pull my pants off before climbing on top of him, straddling him as I kiss him again. His hand gently cups my face before it anchors the back of my head. His hips rise to meet me.
I unhook my bra and let it fall off, so his attention is turned solely to my breasts. His eyes widen and he swallows hard as he just stares at them for a moment.
“God, you’re perfect,” he finally manages.
He flips us back to our original position and hovers over me, studying me as he palms my breast. I can’t contain the moanthat rises from my core. I’m so unbelievably turned on, and he’s barely touching me.
“I’m not going to make it,” I gasp. “I need you inside me.”
He nods, slowly pulling down my underwear and then yanking his own just low enough to free himself. When he enters me, I see galaxies swirling behind my eyelids. Everything about this is perfect. He inches his way in slowly, and every nerve ending is attuned to him.
I grip his shoulders as he moves, setting a slow rhythm that steadies my whole nervous system. It’s perfect. I kiss him again, my only way to thank him for making this moment so special.
We move together in what feels like a perfectly choreographed dance. He’s so attentive, so responsive. When he finds a spot that feels particularly good, he hits it again. I feel the tight coil of pleasure building in my stomach sooner than I want to. I could live in this moment forever.
He doesn’t pick up the pace. He doesn’t rush either of us. He makes it last as long as he possibly can. So when my pleasure finally breaks, it’s low and steady, washing over me gently but staying longer than I’m used to.
When he finishes, he collapses next to me, pulling me against him in a vise grip. He doesn’t want me to run this time. He wants me to still be there when he wakes up. The strangest part is, so do I.
His breathing deepens quickly, and I know he’s asleep.
I let myself relax against him and feel my eyes grow heavy, drifting off to a surprisingly restful slumber.
When I wake up a few hours later, he’s still passed out. It’s not quite light outside yet, so I know it’s early. I find my phone on the floor, where it must have fallen out of my pocket last night, and text Nico.
Can we grab breakfast?
He texts back not long after, surprising me. It’s early, even for him.
Of course. Birdy’s at 8?
I send a heart and get up, showering and dressing while trying to be quiet enough not to wake the man in my bed. By the time I leave, he hasn’t even stirred. It’s almost cute how deeply he sleeps.
An hour later, I’m sitting across from my brother at a quiet café in Beverly Hills with a latte I don’t really want and a knot in my stomach.
“You’ve been friends with Sebastian a really long time, right?” I ask without preamble.
He narrows his eyes at me over his coffee. “A decade now. Why?”
