Page 26 of Obsessed Mr. O’Brian

God, the breathiness in her voice incites the feral beast inside me who rouses only for her and strips me of my control. I press my body flush against hers, thrust my hips, and moan at the friction of her soft belly against my trapped cock. Her feminine curves fit perfectly against me.

“Yes, my angel, I’m hard. So hard and ready it hurts, but I can control myself for you,” I lie.

She pushes against my sides and shakes her head.

“It’s not your control I’m worried about,” she mumbles.

Fucking hell, I’m a goner. The hard peaks of her nipples confirm her arousal, and I lean down to capture her mouth with my own—a foreign yet instinctual act I’ve performed only during one drug-hazed night—but she blocks me with her palm.

Even with the uncertainty and self-disgust I carry for losing control and bedding Regina, I yearn to explore every inch of the depths of Millie’s mouth with teeth and tongue. My pull toward her unexpectedly has me questioning whether it really was Regina that night.

“Stop, Artur. Please,” Millie whispers from behind her hand.

The haunted misery lurking in her tired, pale blue orbs dampens my passion.

But I need a taste of her to appease my beast, so I flick the tip of my tongue over the center of her palm before I pull away.

Her gasp nearly ruins me. With herculean effort I shove my lust aside, ease my hips away from hers, and focus on her injuries.

“I’ll face the door while you take off your shirt. You can use it to cover your front, but I will be checking your stomach for signs of internal bleeding,” I instruct.

“How would you know what internal bleeding looks like?” she asks as her gaze flits to the door.

Despite her reluctance, I take her question for what it is—a distraction for herself so she doesn’t run away—and brush my thumbs over her cheeks one last time before stepping away.

“I work in safety, angel. There isn’t a single injury I haven’t studied ad nauseam,” I reply.

After a pointed glance downward, I turn to face the door. Anticipation tingles along my nerve endings, reminiscent of the phantom pains I’ll always suffer from the accident, but the sound of fabric rustling against skin floods my thoughts with her satiny flesh. The mental snapshot of the view down her dress at the wedding fills my mind’s eye.

I bite the tip of my tongue and squeeze my cock through my trousers to stop the rush of liquid desire. A few drops escape my tip before I regain control of myself and hold back my orgasm.

“Face the sink and let me know when you’re ready,” I instruct.

“I’ll never be ready,” she grumbles.

I huff a stilted laugh, grab a fistful of my hair, and tug hard enough to distract myself from the pain in my trousers.

I haven’t had a chance to change out of my suit yet, but I took off my coat, tie, and shoes, unbuttoned my shirt, and rolled my sleeves so Lola could rub my arm as she faded off to sleep. With Millie in pajama bottoms and shirtless, my level of dress feels slightly intimidating, but I need every layer to stay in control.

I cross my arms over my chest and bite the tip of my tongue before speaking.

“I’m turning on the count of three. One—”

“Wait, I—”

“Two.”

Her annoyed huff pulls the corner of my lips into an amused smile.

“Three.”

I turn around and find her facing the sink with her shirt bunched over her breasts and her shoulders rising and falling as though she ran a marathon. Her reflection in the mirror shows her eyes squeezed tightly shut and a pretty blush on her cheeks despite the wane color to her complexion. The bruises on her nape and back are worse than I thought. I don’t know how she kept up her pretense of being fine when she must ache to her very bones. It’s been hours since she visited her apartment. The swelling and stiffness must have been unbearable.

“Don’t move, little angel,” I command before opening the door and retrieving my first-aid kit.

When I return and find her in the exact same position, I place my kit on the far side of the counter and reach around her to wash my hands. She stiffens and leans away from me.

“Relax, Millie. I just want to treat your injuries,” I murmur.