The Obsession (Filthy Rich Americans Book 2)

by Nikki Sloane

  His fingers scored down my back and skimmed around my body, flowing over the waistband of my pants until he found the snap at the top of my fly. It popped open with a soft crack, followed by the vrip of my zipper, and his deft hand shoved down the front of my panties.

  “Oh,” I whispered.

  My fingers squealed against the glass as I tightened my hands into fists. His touch lit me up, made pleasure burst inside my core. The rough, mean stroke of his fingers over such a delicate part of me felt good. Dirty. Deserved.

  Our hurried breaths competed with the sound of the water beating down on us.

  I tipped my head forward, resting it against the glass, and although the shower was steamy, I could make us out in the mirror across the room. Me, topless and slumped over, him behind me, one white-sleeved arm cutting across my body as his hand disappeared into my pants. They were so drenched they almost looked black.

  His stirring hand made me mindless. I moaned and sighed in bliss, rocking back against his hips to try to signal what I wanted.

  He straightened and withdrew from me. “Get those pants off,” he ordered. “Show me your ass.”

  It was strange how I welcomed his control when any other time I would’ve hated it. His commands set my blood on fire and made my fingers clumsy with lust, but I was able to work the tight, wet pants down over my hips, one side and then the other until they were bunched at my knees.

  Threads ripped as he hurried to undo his cuffs and then the buttons of his shirt before flinging it to the floor. It made a wet slap against the tile. I closed my eyes in a slow blink, caught under his spell as his large palm wandered appreciatively over my backside. He squeezed the round globe of one ass cheek and muttered something unintelligible under his breath. Whatever it was, it sounded complimentary.

  His belt buckle rang out. Then his zipper. In the shapes in the mirror, I saw the blue color of his pants fall halfway down his thighs.

  The ache for him was awful. It made my knees wobble and my chest tight. The only relief was him and the connection of our bodies. He raked his fingers down my back, gripping my underwear and tugging it down my ass until it was just out of his way.

  Heat engulfed me as the thick head of him stroked through my slit, preparing, and in one quick move he rammed into me, all the way to the base.

  “Fuck.” Everything tensed from the ache.

  He froze. “Too fast?”

  It was only the third time I’d had sex, and never in this position before, which made him feel huge and like he went on forever. It was uncomfortably tight and full, and I swallowed hard. Yes, it was too fast, but I also liked it. His urgent need to have me mirrored my own. It felt dire the moment before he’d shoved himself inside me. So, I bit the inside of my cheek and shook my head, hoping he’d keep going. I needed him to show me the truth with his body, since it was the only way I believed him.

  His first thrust was brutal and splashed water onto the glass. It cascaded down, showing us our image in distorted ripples. I cried out with both agony and ecstasy. Fuck, it felt good. Like scratching an itch until it was raw.

  Royce’s hands were firm on my shoulder and my hip, holding me steady as he pushed himself ruthlessly inside my body, so hard the slap of skin meeting wet skin clapped in the air. He grunted with satisfaction as he found the tempo he wanted to fuck me at. It was savage. Unforgiving. Hardwired and driven by thousands of years of instinct to claim and own.

  We moved as one, grinding and sliding and pushing our bodies together. Moans poured from my lips and dripped down my neck. Tremors shook my legs, but I supported myself with my hands flattened to the glass.

  “I’m so fucking deep inside you,” he growled.

  I exhaled loudly, my body clenching and gripping the cock sawing between my legs.

  He was the only man I’d been with, but I couldn’t imagine how it could get any better than this. He leaned forward, putting his splayed fingers on the glass beside mine, and canted his hips, rocking himself against me like we were both at war and yet partners moving toward the same goal. The warm skin of his soaked chest flattened to my back, and his mouth crashed down on the side of my neck.

  “Oh, my God,” I said. My eyes wanted to roll back in my head, but if I let them, I wouldn’t be able to see the sexy picture playing out in the mirror. I swiped my palm over the steamy condensation, clearing a spot to look through.

  “I’ll fuck you like this every night if I have to, Marist, so you don’t forget who you belong to.” Like that was a threat instead of a reward.

  And, please. Like I could ever forget.

  His labored breathing ratcheted up, as did his moans, and one of his hands snaked between my thighs, finding the place where we were utterly connected. He rolled two fingers over my clit, spinning circles of pleasure and bliss.

  “Oh, fuck,” I whined. It was the only word I could find. A blunt hammer to use to try to express so much.

  He sucked on my earlobe and released it with a soft pop. His voice was domineering. “Tell me you love me.”

  What? Even if it was true, I wasn’t going to say it now, like this. “No.”

  “Tell me, and I’ll make you come,” he offered.

  His fingers and his thrusts slowed to a crawl, and in an instant, the heat I’d had for him flipped upside down. He thought he could coax those three little words from me by withholding pleasure.

  By manipulating me.

  I pushed his hand out of my way and took over. “I don’t need you for that.”

  He stopped moving, still lodged deep inside me, and must have realized his mistake. “Wait, I’m—”

  But it was too late. I’d been on the cusp, and with my new agenda, I entered the endgame. I rubbed furiously back and forth, the swell of my orgasm building to a roar. Pinpricks and tingles washed down my legs, both hot and cold as my vision narrowed.

  I panted, drinking in the humid air while my climax bore down.

  And I fell over the edge, flying and coming and moaning my release, my ecstasy-filled cry echoing over the rain. The pulse of my body set him in motion, milking him until he had no choice. My orgasm vaulted him unwillingly past the point of no return.

  “Jesus, fuck,” he spat.

  Rough hands locked onto my hips, pushing and pulling. He went from not moving at all, to a breakneck, frantic speed, and the motion prolonged my orgasm. It went on and on, with crests and valleys like a yacht rolling through the sea.

  He seized, his body cording with satisfaction, and his thrusts became jerky and shallow, slowing to a stop. He groaned into the side of my neck, his chest shuddering against my back. I wasn’t happy with what he’d tried to do, but this? Feeling him lose control was sexy as hell.

  And it made me feel powerful.

  I was bent awkwardly with my forearms against the glass and his body over mine, but I wasn’t in a hurry to pull away.

  “Okay,” he said between deep, recovering breaths, “I fucked that up at the end, there.”

  I didn’t give him a response, letting my silence speak for me.

  Finally, I went to move, and he straightened, giving me room to stand. We’d been in such a rush, my pants and underwear were down around my knees, and I worked to strip them off.

  Royce did the same with his suit pants and underwear, and then we were both naked, standing in the shower and looking at each other with unsure eyes. He made a face like he wanted to say something, but it took him forever to get it out.

  “I’m sorry.” He moved in until his shadow fell over me, blocking the light overhead. “I didn’t mean to be an asshole and push.” He hesitated, like he wasn’t sure if he should confess it. “I, uh, haven’t heard anyone say that to me since my mom . . . It’s been a long time.”

  Only fifteen years.

  My heart ached for him, both the loss of his mother and for the family who never said they loved each other. So, I understood why he was eager to hear it again.

  “I get it.” I reached up and used my fingertips to t
race his strong jawline. “But you can’t make me. When I say it, it’ll be on my terms.”

  He nodded in understanding. He slipped a hand behind my back and fitted me against him. His other hand palmed mine, his thumb flicking over the engagement ring.

  We hadn’t kissed. Not since the dressing room yesterday, and so when his lips covered mine, electricity flowed through me. It sizzled across my skin, drawing goosebumps and delicious shivers.

  The kiss deepened, thickened. A different kind of longing made my body heavy and weightless at the same time. I didn’t just want him like this, a rough fuck in the shower. I wanted all of him.

  He turned us under the steady stream of water, so my back was against the tile, and I could see around him while his mouth traveled down my neck. We looked amazing like this. My hand draped over the muscles of his back, my eyes lidded. Two lovers unable to control the passion between them.

  Tonight, I wasn’t Medusa. If he was Ares, then I was Aphrodite.

  I closed my eyes and hoped our love story wouldn’t suffer the same fate theirs had.

  EIGHTEEN

  THE LIBRARY WAS FOREBODING TONIGHT. The gold lettering on the spines of the books glinted razor sharp, and the unused fireplace was a wide, dark mouth threatening to devour me.

  I’d arrived early for our appointment, even though it had taken every ounce of strength I possessed to get me through the doorway. I hadn’t seen Macalister since last night. The mere thought of him made ice crawl down my spine.

  And this evening he was late.

  It was exhausting sitting here, waiting while tension held me in its stiff grasp. Was this his intent? To remind me who was in control since he’d supposedly relinquished ownership over me?

  I wasn’t about to text him and give him hard evidence I was waiting for him. He’d likely take it the wrong way.

  So, I was just about to leave when he finally arrived and stalked into the room, bringing a cold draft with him. He undid the button on his suitcoat before he lowered himself into the seat across from me. “Excuse my lateness. There was an issue I had to handle personally.”

  His focus went to the board, and then to me expectantly. I always played white, which in theory had the advantage of the first move, but I hadn’t been able to capitalize on it yet. He waited impatiently for me to pick up a pawn and make my opening, acting like this was all normal and everything in the hedge maze had never happened.

  Like the Minotaur didn’t exist.

  I toppled over my king, letting it clatter to the desk. “I resign.”

  He was prepared for this. Perhaps the only thing that surprised him was I’d waited this long to try it. His demeanor was calm and controlled. “No. You’re not allowed.”

  “I’m done. I’m not playing anymore.”

  Cold drifted through his expression. “We made an arrangement, and you’ll honor your word, as I did mine.”

  “I won’t.” I felt small but tried not to show it. “I can’t after last night.” If he was truly obsessed as he’d said, then there was a small chance he cared for me. I pleaded to that side of him. “Let me go.”

  His eyes were murky water moving beneath a thin layer of ice. “No.”

  My heart sank to my toes, but what did I expect? He’d turned down fifty million dollars for me. “Then . . . I’m going to resign every night.”

  His frustration could have been masking his desperation, but if so, he hid it well. He leaned back in his chair, crossed his arms, and peered at me with tight eyes. “I’m disappointed in you, but I may be willing to compromise.”

  “You mean, renegotiate.”

  “Yes,” he said.

  I shook my head. “No, I’m not interested.”

  I’d finally learned to stop digging myself into a deeper hole. Any gains I’d made were short-term and followed by terrible consequences. I wasn’t too proud to admit he’d bested me, but I wasn’t going to feel shame over it. He had thirty more years of experience than I did.

  When I rose to my feet, genuine alarm coasted through his face. “Where do you think you’re going?”

  “I made my move and the game is over, so we’re done here.”

  He stood so quickly the chair banged back against the bookshelf. “One game a week.”

  My hesitation made him elaborate.

  “We’ll revise our agreement. Instead of every night, we’ll only play once a week.”

  I was so tired. “In exchange for?”

  “Nothing.” He let out a begrudging sigh. “I can’t make you enjoy the game, and certainly not if we stop playing altogether.”

  This was a better outcome than I’d hoped for, but I gave him a discerning, wary look. What was the catch?

  “This is more than fair,” he added with irritation. “I’ve allowed you multiple times to change the rules. Last night, for example.”

  I sucked in a sharp breath. He’d given me partial freedom, even when I’d lost. “Fine,” I snapped. “But tonight counts.”

  Meaning I had a whole week where I didn’t have to see him. I walked toward the door, no longer feeling like Atlas holding up the sky on my shoulders. I wanted to hurry out before he changed his mind.

  “Marist.” Macalister said my name like he was summoning a servant. “You may want to say your goodbyes to Royce. There’s a financial reporting symposium in Sydney next week that I’ve decided to send him to. I think he could use the experience.”

  I turned in place, staring at him with wide eyes. “What?”

  “He’ll be back in time for the anniversary gala next weekend, but he’ll need to leave tonight.” Macalister picked up the white king and put it back in its spot.

  I ground my teeth and swallowed my anger. It was absolutely clear what he’d done, and I wasn’t going to let him get away with it. “You said you weren’t going to interfere.”

  His dark expression pinned me in place. “And I haven’t. I don’t see how I can do anything if he won’t even be here.” He smoothed a hand down his tie as if he could brush away my feelings that easily. Desire seeped in and pooled in his eyes. “I look forward to our next game.”

  I fled the library without another word.

  Ironically, I saw Royce more the following week than I did Macalister, even though my fiancé was on the other side of the world. He’d FaceTimed me twice during the week. Because of the time change, I’d come home from class in the evenings, and he was just waking up and preparing for his days at the conference.

  Now, it was Saturday. He’d landed late last night, come to the house, and gone straight to his bed. He’d likely sleep until it was time to go to the gala. I wouldn’t see him until he was wrapped in a tuxedo and wearing his mask.

  Alice’s hair and makeup team had dismissed me from her room ten minutes ago. I’d fought hard to wear my hair down, and she’d finally agreed when the hairdresser backed me up. Medusa’s snakes shouldn’t be pinned away.

  But it meant I had to don my mask hours before the party tonight, so the woman could style my hair around it and hide the band that held it in place. I was still adjusting to its heavy weight on the bridge of my nose as I stared at my reflection in the full-length mirror in my room.

  I didn’t think any jewelry could compete with my great-grandmother’s necklace, but I’d been wrong. I was wearing the necklace now, the diamonds draped around my throat like a wreath, but my gaze kept working its way back to my face. I loved the way the delicate snakes weaved and chased each other in a lacy pattern.

  The only color on me right now, besides the tiny emerald eyes of the snakes, was my vividly stained red lips. I had on a short, white silk robe over my black strapless bra and panties. I’d been instructed not to put on my dress until it was almost time to leave. Alice didn’t trust me to keep it free of wrinkles and accidents, and it was of the utmost importance we all looked flawless when we arrived at the venue, according to her.

  But I longed to put on the dress. I eyed it hanging on the door to my closet, itching to finish my trans
formation. How was I going to survive another thirty minutes?

  There was a short knock on my door, but it pushed open before I could acknowledge it, which meant it couldn’t be anyone else. Macalister didn’t wait. He owned this house and this room, and he felt he should be able to come and go as he pleased.

  I spun to face him, my hands immediately going to the sash of my robe to make sure it was cinched tight. It didn’t matter that I was covered—I felt naked.

  I wasn’t; I was just horribly underdressed.

  Was it the same tuxedo he’d worn during the initiation? It was a rich black, and the lapels had a faint sheen to them. Black buttons dotted a line up his white shirt, ending in a perfectly tied black bow at his throat. He wasn’t wearing his mask yet. Perhaps he thought it was beneath him and would only put it on when we were in the limo, heading to the Harbor Plaza.

  His gaze roamed the room in search of something, and when he discovered me, he studied me carefully. He catalogued my bare legs, the silk robe, my red lips, and the glittering mask around my eyes.

  I forced myself to sound calm rather than terrified. “What do you want?”

  His expression gave nothing away. “I have something for you in the library.”

  “What is it?”

  He didn’t answer me. He disappeared from my doorway, demanding I follow him. Anxiety clung to my skin. I was chilled in the persistent air conditioning Macalister required, and yet I began to sweat. What terrible thing awaited me in the library?

  He stood facing the window, his hands clasped behind this back, and he didn’t turn when I entered the room, but he must have sensed it. “It’s on the desk.”

  The only thing resting there was a large and flat wooden box with a metal clasp. It looked similar to the one my mother stored her best silver flatware in. The grain of the wood was inlaid to create a beautiful pattern.

  Fear gripped me. It was another Pandora’s Box, and I wasn’t interested. “No, thank you.”