Sweetest Obsessions - Anthology

by Anthony, Jane

  Posey Parks writes contemporary romance and romantic suspense. She loves writing about alpha’s and the strong women they love. She's from Detroit, Michigan living in Atlanta, Georgia. Traveling is her other passion. She has visited London and Paris and would love to some day travel to Italy.

  poseyparks.com

  I Choose You

  Dani René & Jo-Anne Joseph

  I Choose You © 2019 Dani René & Jo-Anne Joseph

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  All rights reserved under the International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publisher.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, places, characters and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to any actual persons, living or dead, organizations, events or locales is entirely coincidental.

  Warning: the unauthorized reproduction or distribution of this copyrighted work is illegal. Criminal copyright infringement, including infringement without monetary gain, is investigated by the FBI and is punishable by up to 5 years in prison and a fine of $250,000.

  Created with Vellum

  I Choose You

  A forbidden romance turns into an obsession Sienna can’t refuse.

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  When Sienna Gardier stepped foot inside the interview room, she didn’t expect to be met with the blue eyes of dashing Hayden Durand. Months pass, but the obsession with him continues, and one night, things cross a line both can never go back on. But Hayden has a secret. Will Sienna ever be able to forgive him?

  Prologue

  I’m lucky. No, that’s not my name, it’s what I am. To the outsider, I’m a spoilt brat with the world at her fingertips. To my friends and family, I am the privileged girl that grew up in the fancy house, drove around in the latest cars. I was the girl who had everything I wanted and didn’t.

  My parents were able to give me everything my little heart desired, and that also made me the girl that others were jealous of. All through my school years, I had to put up with being bullied, ignored, or sneered at.

  Being an only child didn’t make life any easier. It meant there was no buffer between my parents and me. The expectations were high, and the room for failure non-existent. But despite having everything, the one thing I desired most was always out of reach. My freedom.

  Being the only daughter of one of the wealthiest men in Manhattan also meant that I was always watched. There was nothing I could do without a suit standing a few feet away. School and socializing were not excluded. Nobody wanted to get near the porcelain doll, the ice princess, afraid that if they touched me, I’d shatter into a million pieces. Having everything isn't all, it's cut out to be.

  My parents paid for me to go to the best school, and when I told them I wanted to study art, they smiled and told me they supported me, even though they didn’t. Also though their dream of me becoming a lawyer dwindled as I forced my way through school, and applied to the colleges, I wanted to attend.

  I’ve wanted to be an artist since I was a child. When I turned thirteen, I traveled overseas for the first time. And every year after that I was able to visit countries where I would visit the most prestigious galleries and view the most beautiful art that often left me speechless.

  Some call me entitled. I just smile, knowing the truth that lies beneath the natural life I lead.

  It wasn’t until the day I walked into the admissions office of the New York School of Design that I knew I’d finally found the freedom I’d hungered for. The formal invitation to apply came from them before I’d finished school, in time for me to make the most significant decision of my life. Do I follow my dreams and upset my parents, or do I follow in my father’s footsteps? I’m sure you can imagine what I chose.

  I had my interview with the Dean and a professor. I’d chosen painting, sculpture and literary arts as my subjects. Art, however, would be my major, I hoped. I planned my life based on my dreams. Once I graduated, I’d want to open my own art studio. To provide people with beautiful works of art for their homes. Something that would give them peace and tranquility in a world that has none. But something happened to me the day I walked into that office.

  My fate faltered off the path.

  It was the day I met him. When he walked into my life, and every day since then, nothing has ever been the same. Nothing I’d ever learned at school could have prepared me for him. There weren’t any rule books that told you how to handle your heart.

  That’s where I failed.

  There are certain events in your life that will change you forever. Sometimes these events break you, but sometimes they make you, they turn you from a caterpillar into a butterfly. It wasn’t an overnight transformation, it was spread out over time, over months of being around him.

  I remember the first time I saw him, the first time my world shattered into a billion little pieces that left me on the floor at his feet. And as I looked at him, I knew right there, that he would transform me from the girl I knew I was, to a woman I had yet to become.

  When I walked into the office dressed in my black pencil skirt, a soft pink silk blouse, and my light brown hair tied in a tight bun, I wasn’t nervous. This is what I wanted since I could walk and to finally be here was a dream come true.

  “Ms. Gardier, it’s a pleasure to meet you.” The balding man I recognize to be the Dean offers me his hand, and I accepted. It’s a firm handshake, just like my father taught me. He appraises me, and I’m sure he was expecting something different. Perhaps a young girl in jeans and a T-shirt, not someone as formal as I am and suddenly I feel overdressed.

  “Thank you, Mr. Porter. It’s a pleasure to be invited to your school.” He nods but doesn’t answer. I’m sure he knows that most aspiring artists want to study here. He slips into the seat behind a large oak desk and reclines.

  “Mr. Durand will be joining us in a moment. It will be the three of us, and between myself and him we will assess your eligibility to attend our school.” He picks up the file in front of him and scans through the information. He’ll see I’m definitely worthy of studying here, with straight A’s and a clean record, there shouldn’t be any reason why they don’t accept me.

  Before I can respond, the door behind me opens, and I feel someone behind me. Do you know the sensation of being cocooned in warmth? When you’re finding it difficult to breathe because it’s just a tad too hot. When all you want to do is rip your clothes off to feel comfortable again. A suffocating heat. That’s what I felt when he walked into the room.

  I realized when I turned to face him that my life as I knew it was forever altered and nothing will ever be the same.

  1

  Sienna

  When I walked onto campus a few months ago, I couldn’t believe I was here. That I managed to convince my father to loosen the noose and let me study away from home. I was finally able to be me, Sienna Gardier, minus the bodyguards.

  As I stand in the middle of the entrance, I am entranced by that feeling of liberation. Nobody here knows who I am. I don’t have to look over my shoulder, afraid I may do, or say something which will be misconstrued to my father. Looking at the students around me, I realize I finally fit in somewhere. Walking into Professor Durand’s class was confirmation enough that I was just another student and not the princess, my father insists I am.

  Professor Durand encourages individuality, open expression, and freedom. Sitting in front of a blank canvas in that room with only my imagination was the emancipation I dreamed of my whole life, and I felt the breaking of the shackles in every fiber of my being.

  I watch him make his rounds, giving every student his undivided attention. His muscles tense and release depending on what the piece he is looking at elicits. He concentrates on the work in front of him as if it’s the Van Gogh of our time. I
try to focus on the easel in front of me, but my eyes never trail far from where he stands.

  His light blue shirt makes his eyes pop, turning the irises deep and endless. With jeans that hugged his ass perfectly, I couldn’t help staring at how perfectly toned every part of him was, and I couldn’t even see under the material. He lifts his gaze to mine, and I swallow, the intensity igniting something I never knew existed inside of me.

  I focus back on my canvas, but I can feel the energy around me shift as he makes his way closer to me, and for a second the occupants of the room disappear around us, it’s just him and me, in this forbidden dance we’ve been doing since the day we met.

  “What do we have here, Ms. Gardier?” His voice is smooth, with a husky edge.

  “I’m not done, it’s…” My voice is barely audible.

  “Exquisite. I love the use of colors, the battle for liberation. It’s refreshing.”

  I look back at the canvas, barely able to breathe at his close proximity, the spiciness of his cologne. I realize then that I’d been projecting precisely what I was feeling inside.

  His breath on my shoulder sends shivers through me, and I suck in a breath, releasing slowly to calm my nerves.

  “Thank you.” I manage.

  He moves away, and the loss of his presence is disappointing.

  Why is it that I am always at a loss for words around him?

  I ask him to teach me things I know I can’t learn in this classroom. I crave to feel him show me exactly what he can do with that mouth, which isn’t commenting on my canvas but instead make me his work of art. And I know if that happens, I’ll replay it in my mind for the rest of my life.

  These thoughts haunt me. These fantasies of what Professor Durand could do to me are what keeps me tossing and turning every night. It’s those illicit thoughts that cause me to slip my hand between my thighs as I imagine him inside me.

  I keep reminding myself that he is my teacher, that nothing can ever come of this crush if that’s what it is. But those eyes hold me hostage, icy orbs that promise the kind of release I’m still a newbie too.

  I want him to choose me to release me from the chains of normalcy and malaise.

  2

  Hayden

  Sienna. Watching her get lost in the song had my mind wandering. The thoughts of what I could do to her, make her body thrum with pleasure. The only problem is she’s my student. I’m meant to be an adult, teaching her art, not wanting to make her moan my fucking name.

  I bet it would sound so fucking sweet. Sienna's lips parting as she whimpers while I slide into her body, tasting every inch of her perfect skin. Tyler would agree. I know he’ll be the one to do something about it. That’s why he can’t know about her. I’ve managed to keep my personal life and professional life separate, and this time it’s going to be safer that way.

  Her body visibly trembles under my gaze, and I’m tempted to get a better look at her ink. I saw the little butterfly tattoo she has on her shoulder, soft and feminine, it matches her personality.

  She’s only nineteen, but she seems older than that. Mature and responsible. There are so many ways I’d like to make her irresponsible. To make her break every rule, she’s grown up with. Her name is well known in our family circles. Her father was the one who paid us to take her, to accept her to this school so he could have his minions watch her. I don’t think she’s ever been allowed out of the extensive grounds of the estate her family owns, other than going to school.

  The only thing I need to hold onto is that minor detail. Sienna doesn’t need to know her father is an asshole. But from experience, lies can be fragile. However, truths can hurt just as much.

  Before I fell asleep last night I thought about her, with her beautiful eyes in mind, I gripped myself hard, stroking to the image of her staring up at me while I taught her how to swallow my cock.

  That’s not what I was hired to do. I am meant to show her how to create a beautiful canvas of color. To show her how to mold and shape clay into art that people would pay hundreds of dollars, even thousands for, but that’s not what I ache to show her.

  “I’ll be walking around the classroom as you work. I don’t want you to stop what you’re doing. Concentrate. Focus. Create.” There’s no need to walk around, but I can’t not be near her. Since her introduction interview, I felt an undeniable pull to this girl.

  It’s her incredible honey-colored eyes that sparkle with knowing. As if she knew what filthy images my mind replayed as I looked at her, and even when I didn’t. I wonder if her eyes shimmer when she loses control. She barely had it in the Dean’s office that day. I bet I could make her do things she never thought possible. Those luscious curves had me standing to attention in more ways than one.

  I take in her skin-tight jeans, and I imagine peeling them down her legs, watching her tremble at the torturously slow movement as it slips over the soft skin of her thighs. As I round the classroom, I leave her easel for last. And when I stop behind her, a small shiver runs over her, and I see her skin dot with chill bumps.

  “I love your use of color, Ms. Gardier. Is there a reason you’ve chosen that shade of blue?” I lean in and allow my breath to fan over her bare shoulder eliciting a soft whimper from her. The shade in question is a match for my eye color. I’ve observed her, felt her looking at me even when I didn’t lay my gaze on her. She’s stolen glances over the past two days, sneaky and hidden, but I know.

  “Thank you, Mr. Durand. I have a penchant for blue, it’s one of my favorite colors.” Her soft whisper has a direct link to my dick, and as I inhale the fragrance of her shampoo, I can’t help but wonder if her skin tastes as sweet.

  “Mmmm, I can’t wait to see the final result.” Straightening, I stroll back to my classroom next door and pull my phone from my pocket. A message from Tyler beeps, and when I open it, I can’t stifle the chuckle. He’s a fucking dickhead, but I love him.

  Before I can respond, my phone buzzes. “What’s up?”

  “You didn’t respond, and I was wondering which of your pretty students has you distracted that you couldn’t answer me.” My mind wanders to the room next door where she’s sitting. He knows me too well, but I can’t tell him about her. Not yet.

  “None of the students, get that idea out of your head,” I retort. “I can’t answer my phone when I’m working. Are we getting drinks later?”

  “Work has never stopped you before. What’s her name?”

  He does have a point, and he’s not going to let it go. Sienna's somehow found her way into my head, but I don’t want him to know. As much as I love him, I don’t trust myself around her in class. And if we do start this, it’s going to end badly for all three of us. Also, I doubt she would let us both use her beautiful body. The thought has me smiling into the phone. Perhaps we can find another girl to share tonight. Someone that’s not my student. Someone that’s definitely not nineteen, innocent, and way too young for me.

  “Tyler, why don’t you do something useful like clean the fucking kitchen or something.” I retort. I am met with a chuckle, and without waiting for a reply, he hangs up, leaving me staring at the screen. Fuck, he is such an animal.

  The bar he’s referring to is our local. It’s a dingy little place that does the best burgers in town, and the waitresses are dressed in the tiniest shorts and tightest tank tops around.

  We’ve been in a relationship for seven years, and as much as we love each other, we still love tasting delicious pussy every now and again. Having a woman mold herself between our bodies is the most erotic feeling ever. I set the phone on my desk, my mind once again wanders to little Sienna.

  “Mr. Durand.” My name is murmured; her soft voice has a direct link to my dick. It’s a gentle, sweet sound that’s like a liquid aphrodisiac. I’m hard as a fucking rock, and nothing will let the fucker down. Shifting in my seat, I glance at her from my desk.

  “Ms. Gardier, what can I do for you?” Oh, the things I want to do to and for you, beautiful if only you knew
.

  “I need to get a new tube of paint, please?” Her pretty caramel eyes are cast down, and I feel the need to lift her face, so she’s looking at me. Taking a deep breath, I shift, hiding the erection behind my zipper. I stand up, taking a step toward her and hear the soft gasp that escapes her parted lips. She’s as affected by me as I am by her.

  “Look at me.” I reach for her chin and tip her head up. Luxurious pools of gold peer up at me, sparkling with shades of yellow, orange, and red. The hues are alluring, pulling me under her spell. Her long hair cascades down her back like a waterfall, and I’d like to feel it curtaining us as I have her above me, riding me. “Never be scared to ask me anything.” My words are low, a murmur, and she nods. There’s an unspoken connection between us and I know she feels it too.

  “Yes, Sir.” My body comes alive at her words. Every nerve is like a live wire as electricity shoots through me. Her lips are glistening, and when my eyes focus on them for too long, she bites down on the plump bottom one causing me to swallow the lump in my throat. She’s fucking perfect.

  I release her chin and walk over to the cabinet, opening both doors, I gesture to the tubes of oils. Her eyes are alight with excitement. “These are incredible.” Her fingers stroke the paints as she examines each one like they’re a treasure.

  “Well, they’re always here, so you can grab any color you’d like.” She offers me a smile and grabs a couple and turns to the studio.

  “Thank you.” She mumbles and disappears through the doorway, leaving me aching to be near her again. This is going to be a long four years.