Page 67 of Obsessed Mr. O’Brian

“Did you coordinate this with Quinn?” he asks.

I just smile and start across the rug with my hands behind my back.

“If you did, I’ll have to give her a raise,” he growls.

“She most certainly deserves one,” I say.

Despite his gaze dipping down to my jiggling cleavage, he asks, “What are you hiding behind your back?”

I move my sketchbook to my front and thrust it out for him to take. He grabs my wrist and pulls me against him. I squeak but lift my chin for his kiss. He doesn’t disappoint. I struggle to breathe through my hunger. When he pulls back for air, I tap my notebook against his expensive suit.

“I have a gift for you,” I say.

“Three gifts in one day? You’re going to ruin me,” he teases.

“What’re the second and third gifts?” I flirt, fully aware he means this impromptu visit and our wedding.

“Let’s open the first one before we get too greedy,” he chuckles.

“Then you shouldn’t have kissed me. I have no control when it comes to you,” I mock grumble.

“Neither do I,” he says.

It’s true. We’re the worst at behaving ourselves. I’m deliciously sore from our stolen moments yesterday.

I scoot the sketchpad higher on his chest.

“Turn around and open it for me, angel. I don’t want to let you go,” he instructs.

I pivot in his arms and flip open to the latest sketch. Artur’s sharp breath ruffles my hair.

Lola sits in Artur’s lap. With smiles on their faces and peace in their eyes, they peer out from the page.

I drew Artur and our daughter alive and well during my latest episode. Neither of us even knew I sleepwalked last night, but I woke this morning with a soreness in my hand that wasn’t caused by our multiple rendezvous the day before.

I turn to the previous page.

The three of us frolic barefoot in the park.

Another flip.

Lola makes a funny face as she tries new food.

Another flip.

Artur reads Lola her bedtime story.

Another.

He lies tangled in the sheets with his arousal jutting up from his hips and his eyes burning a hole into my soul.

My body’s visceral reaction is the same no matter how many times I look at this sketch.

Artur snarls, wraps a hand around my throat, and kisses me so thoroughly he no doubt ruins my makeup.

I don’t give a shit. I need him. Now.

And he needs me.