Page 43 of Obsessed Mr. O’Brian

Realizing I’ve gone down a road too dark to navigate out of, I shut off my brain and grab the dress off the rack.

It is beautiful, with a fitted bodice, plunging neckline, and a floor-length skirt with a high slit, but paired with the matching jacket—which has shoulder pads, a collar above an identical plunging neckline, and a cinched waist, it’s a stunning mix of soft feminine and badass boss bitch energy.

It’s something a powerhouse woman wears. The kind of woman where everyone turns and gawks when she strides into the room. She’s gorgeous, business-oriented, and ready to rock some lucky guy’s world.

My mouth dries.

Is this the kind of woman Artur wants? If so, it’s not me he’s after. I’ve never worn anything so bold.

I’ve never wanted to before now. Blending in and becoming another tool or medical device was the best way to avoid conflicts in rich households. This is too much.

I take the dress off the hanger and open the zipper. It may be the longest one I’ve ever seen, starting at the nape and continuing down below the waistline. I step into the fabric, pull it up my body, and manage to get the zipper halfway up before my shoulders seize. Embarrassment sweeps through me, and I hang my head for a moment. Maybe if I don’t look, it won’t be so mortifying.

“Nikki? Can I have some help, please?” I call softly.

The door opens and shuts. My senses sharpen, and I know without opening my eyes who stands behind me. Artur’s masculine presence dominates the small space.

All the oxygen leaves the room. I fight for breath as his unique scent fills my nostrils. He smells of soap, baby powder, and a warm, subtle cologne I’ll always associate with him and only him.

Even as trepidation jangles through my veins, my nipples harden and warmth pulses between my legs. I curse my wayward body and try to work up the courage to open my eyes.

Thick, roughened fingertips trace along the edges of my unzipped dress, and I jerk in surprise.

“Be still, angel. I don’t want to hurt you,” he murmurs.

I swallow and nod.

He trails his fingertips up my spine. Goosebumps rise on my flesh. I grimace at the memory of my bruises.

I should open my eyes and end my suffering, but if I see even an ounce of disgust or pity in his expression, I’ll never recover, so I keep my lids closed like a coward.

After exploring every inch of my exposed back, he finally tugs the sides of my dress together and pulls the zipper upward in a slow, steady glide. As he zips my dress, the front tightens against my chest. I don’t dare uncross my arms even though I know the dress won’t slip. The plunge neckline just feels too revealing.

Expecting him to leave, I wait an awkward moment before whispering, “Thank you.”

Strong arms wrap around me from behind. My breath hitches. With his suit coat off and sleeves rolled to his elbows, his arm hair tickles my forearms as he bear-hugs me. His broad chest presses against my back. My breath hitches again at the feel of his thick, hard length.

He nuzzles my temple and holds me for several moments. My heart pounds in my ear.

He wraps unyielding hands around my wrists and guides my arms down to my sides. Cool air wafts over my sternum. My insides quiver with a mixture of fear, dread, excitement, and want.

“Open your eyes, Millie,” he commands.

I bite the inside of my lip and reach deep behind my breastbone for courage. When I finally peel my lashes apart, sensual hunger clenches my insides.

With so much of my creamy flesh on display, the dark desire in Artur’s golden irises creates a visceral counterpoint. He both stalks me like prey and worships me like a queen.

Arousal rages through me like wildfire, and I yearn for the all-consuming flames.

With our eyes locked through the mirror, he skims his fingertips from my wrist to my waist and over my stomach to the lowest point of the plunging neckline. I fill my fists with my skirt and struggle to breathe as his fingers tease bare flesh. With maddeningly light caresses, he explores upward along the V-shape until he reaches the inner swell of my breast. My hard nipples create obvious points in the dress.

He slips his fingertips under the fabric but stops.

His eyes sparkle with golden light.

I want his hand inside my dress more than I want my next breath. Need pulses between my legs. I arch my back, pressing my ass against his hard cock and offering my breast to him.

He fulfills my silent wish.