Page 23 of Obsessed Mr. O’Brian

My words end on a gasp as he reaches out and pulls the collar off my shoulder. The top two buttons on my pajama shirt pop open and reveal an obscene amount of cleavage.

“Stop! What are you—”

“Fucking hell, Millie, don’t move,” he snarls.

His low, animalistic rumble as he leans closer and inspects the bruising around my neck liquifies my core and floods my veins with heat even as fear and apprehension tremble through me.

His warmth seeps into my front. He steps closer. I shuffle backward until I hit the edge of the counter. He follows, still holding my arm in one hand and my collar in the other. I suck in a startled breath as sharp zings arrow straight to my clit when his chest brushes against my hard nipples.

My face flushes in embarrassment and arousal as he roams golden orbs over my features. He pulls my shirt further away from my nape, and just like how I flashed him at the party, his bird’s eye view offers him a clear picture of my back. Hopefully my pants and the counter prevent him from seeing my old and faded panties.

My heart pounds in the silence. When he finally speaks, I jump at the deep, animalistic rumble and swallow a moan as his hard chest brushes against my nipples. I tip perilously close to an unexpected precipice. Slick warmth dampens my panties.

“I’ll kill them,” he growls.

Alarm spears through me even as a small part of me rejoices over his fury for me and longs for his protection. I shake my head and wince.

Calloused fingers frame my face. The world fades away, and nothing exists beyond the man holding me so intimately.

“Are you hurt anywhere else?” he asks.

My heart melts into a puddle on the floor as I meet his eyes. He’s looking at me almost the same as he looks at his daughter. Soft, caring, and worried, except with a fury to match the wrath of a shunned god raging underneath.

“I’m fine,” I say.

“You’re a terrible liar, Millie,” he murmurs.

I shudder as he ghosts his thumbs over my cheekbones.

“I know. I always have been.”

I almost don’t recognize the throaty mumble as my own.

His handsome brow creases. I ache to rub the worry lines away, but he studies me with such intensity I can’t move.

He softens his expression and slips his fingers into my hair. I shiver.

“Who hurt you, angel?”

“Angel? I’m not—”

“You’re an angel sent from heaven, Millie. Don’t question me right now. Who do I need to kill for hurting you?”

Sadness wells up and closes my throat. I shake my head just enough to deny him an answer without dislodging his hands from my hair.

“I can’t tell you.”

It’s not a lie, so the words come easy.

If he knew my father hates me enough to blackmail me, he’d remember why he hates me too, and then my chances of being with Lola would disappear.

And I won’t survive if he goes back to glaring at me.

His eyes harden, and a fiery warning glows from the golden flecks in his irises.

“Was it your boyfriend?” he snarls.

“What? No. I’ve never had a boyfriend.”