Page 66 of Cruel Obsession

My pulse hammers where his fingers rest against my carotid, and still my body responds with heat instead of fear.

He could crush my windpipe if he wanted to. Stop the air from ever reaching my lungs. End me in this room and bury my body in the woods. They’d never find me.

And still, it’s not fear I feel.

His mouth crashes against mine without warning. It’s not a gentle kiss—it’s possession, domination. His teeth catch my lower lip, the edge of pain making me gasp. He takes advantage, deepening the kiss, his tongue invading my mouth.

I know what I should be doing right now. Push him away. Slap him. Instead, my hands fist in his shirt, pulling him closer as something wild and unrecognizable claws through me. Answering something I never knew existed in me.

Dear God, what am I doing?

Chapter Twenty-Two

Arkady

This is a fuck-up. I have no doubt about it.

I grab her arms, intending to push her away—the smart move, the safe move. Instead, I slam her against the wall hard enough that the framed photograph near her head rattles. One hand cups her jaw, thumb pressed against her pulse point. The other pins her wrist above her head. Her mouth opens under mine, and I taste mint and hunger and something dangerously addictive.

Don’t do it, mudak.

But I ignore the voice in my head. That voice is an asshole.

Weeks of restraint evaporate. I kiss her harder, deeper, swallowing the sound she makes when my teeth scrape her lower lip. She clings to my shirt, pressing against my chest. Her fingers brush against me, and I feel the exact moment she stops thinking and starts feeling.

Everything inside me screams this is wrong. I’m her employer. She has no idea the danger my world holds, the blood on my hands, the enemies circling like sharks. She doesn’t know about the bodies I’ve buried. Doesn’t know about the darkness that lives in me, the violence that’s as natural as breathing.

She doesn’t know, and I should keep it that way.

I growl against her lips, and she whimpers into my mouth. Breath sweet, skin smooth, body soft where it molds against mine. So different from the hardness of my world. From the cold calculation I bring to everything else.

“Fuck it.” I lift her, her legs wrapping around my waist as I carry her toward my room. Her heat presses against my belly,her mouth hungry on my neck as I kick the door shut behind us. The lock engages with a solid click—a reinforced deadbolt. The kind that keeps people out. Or in.

I stride across the room and drop her onto my bed.

She bounces once, hair spilling across my sheets like dark silk. I stand between her spread knees, drinking in the sight of her. Flushed cheeks. Swollen lips. Eyes wide and wanting.

“I’m going to fuck you till you understand who’s in charge.” The words come out raw, honest. The same tone I use when I’m making promises I intend to keep.

Her eyes widen, but she doesn’t move. Doesn’t speak. Just stares at me with lust and confusion warring in her expression.

I wait for her to resist. Three seconds. Five.

She stays. Says nothing.

Good enough.

My hands move to my belt—Italian leather, expensive, solid. I unfasten it slowly, the leather sliding through the loops with a hiss. Her breathing quickens, her chest rising and falling faster now. She remains still, watching me with an expression caught between fear and want.

The belt in my hands feels familiar. Comfortable. I’ve used it before for control, for dominance, for making sure people understand their place.

“Turn around,” I command.

She hesitates, uncertainty crossing her face. I don’t wait. I grab her shoulder and turn her myself, gathering her wrists behind her back. The belt wraps around them—not tight enough to cut off circulation, but secure. Restraining. I’ve tied people up before. Different context, different purpose, but the mechanics are the same.

This is different,I tell myself.She wants this.

But the line feels thinner than it should.