Page 161 of Reckless Obsession

“That’s right.” I groan against his neck, holding him tightly as I empty everything into him. “Take every drop. All of it. Mine.”

He sobs through it, shaking, completely blissed-out, still clenching around me like he never wants to let go. I keep him locked against my chest, cock buried deep, riding out every last pulse until there’s nothing left.

I stay buried inside him for a few more seconds, breathing hard against the back of his neck, feeling the way his body still trembles around me. Then I slowly pull out, watching the mess I left behind slip down his thighs. The sight sends one last possessive pulse through me.

I turn him around and his back hits the counter, bound hands still trapped behind him, breathing ragged. His eyes are glassy, and his face is flushed. He looks completely wrecked.

I don’t give him time to speak. I grab his jaw and kiss him hard.

It’s not soft. It’s deep, claiming, full of the same heat that just tore through both of us. My tongue slides against his, tasting the broken sounds he still can’t hold back. He melts into the kiss almost immediately, body leaning into mine even with his wrists tied, kissing me back like he needs it just as badly.

I press closer, one hand still firm on his jaw, the other gripping his hip hard enough to bruise. The kiss turns slower but no less intense, messy, open-mouthed, and possessive. Every time he tries to pull in a breath, I chase it, keeping him right there against me.

When I finally break the kiss, we’re both breathing hard again. I rest my forehead against his, still holding his face in place so he can’t look away.

“You’re done talking to him,” I murmur against his mouth, my voice low and final. “No more messages. No more soft little check-ins. Nothing.”

His lashes flutter. Still dazed, still pliant in my hands.

“Okay,” he breathes, like he doesn’t have any fight left.

I kiss him once more. Slower this time, but just as claiming, before pulling back just enough to meet his eyes.

“Good.” I say, then start untying him.

Chapter 28

TRISTAN

The elevator doors open onto the executive floor, and Grace is waiting before I have taken a full step into the corridor.

“Good morning, Mr. Sinclair.” She says, already walking beside me. “The Samson’s contracts came back with revisions, Mr. Smith’s office called twice regarding the arbitration schedule, Mr. Langston called about the settlement numbers, and the board wants confirmation on Thursday’s closed session. Also, your ten o’clock meeting with Ms. Oslow moved to ten-thirty, and—”

I let her talk.

Her heels keep pace beside mine down the corridor. On most mornings, the sound would grate—sharp little clicks against marble, punctuated by an assistant who treats silence as a personal failure. Most mornings, I would already be composing the list of reasons I need fifteen uninterrupted minutes before anyone speaks to me.

Today, none of it lands the way it usually does.

“Send the Samson’s revisions to my desk,” I say. “Tell Smith I’ll look at the schedule after lunch. I’ll give Langston a call when I get settled in my office.”

Grace glances at me sideways as we reach my office.

“You answered three things in a row,” she says.

“I’m capable of it.”

“Historically, not before ten a.m.”

I push open the door and shrug out of my jacket, hanging it over the back of my chair with the same order I bring to everything else in this office. My desk is arranged exactly as it should be. Files stacked, dust-free, the city stretched out beyond the window in its usual indifferent sprawl.

Five days.

In five days, Maksim and I will be on a private island off the coast of Italy.

The thought sits in my chest with an ease that still surprises me. I am not a man accustomed to looking forward to things. I plan. I prepare. I anticipate problems before they happen so I am never caught without an answer. Anticipation, in the way most people mean it—warm, uncomplicated, something close to joy—has never been a language I speak fluently.

And yet.