Sweet Obsession (Ruthless Games 1)

As if my body knows this.

Welcomes it.

Craves it.

Something in his gaze shifts, like he’s reading every one of my thoughts—even though I’m sure I’ve kept my goddamn mouth shut. The hand at my back splays over my t-shirt as he hikes me tighter against him, deliberately dragging my crotch over his thigh.

A forceful rush of pleasure makes a soft, animalistic noise pour from my lips, and he smiles grimly, his lips parting over even white teeth.

“Go ahead. Lie to me again,” he murmurs, repeating the action and moving his own hips against mine this time, giving me even more friction and making my body scream with sensation. “Tell me it was an accident. A coincidence. That it doesn’t mean anything.”

I open my mouth, but all that comes out is another low, tortured sound.

“Tell me, Ayla.” Using his grip on my jaw, he forces my head to tilt up even more, dropping his own so we’re almost nose to nose. His breath fans across my face, and despite the fact that it’s not even noon yet, I catch the rich scent of whiskey. “Go on. Fucking say it.”

He’s working his hips against mine harder now, moving in deliberate motions, holding me pinned tightly to him as we grind against each other.

He’s hard. I can feel his cock pressing into my belly, hot and thick through the layers of clothing between us.

My pussy is slick, and I can tell my panties are fucking soaked from being coated in my arousal with every drag against his body. My heart is speeding up, beating harder and harder as pleasure crashes through me like a tidal wave.

Fuck.

Oh, Jesus fuck.

Oh god, I’m going to—

I let go of the shelf behind me, gripping a fistful of Marcus’s shirt instead as my muscles contract, my whole body going rigid.

The sound that falls from my lips as I come is one I don’t

even recognize. It’s a low, deep grunt, as if Marcus has somehow managed to drag out a piece of my soul.

A piece of me he was never supposed to have.

As soon as the orgasm breaks through me, my heart starts pounding a mile a minute, sensations flooding my body along with the rush of blood. I’m breathing hard and fast, no longer able to hide my desperate need for oxygen.

My fingers clutch at his shirt and the firm flesh beneath it, fingernails digging into his broad pec through the fabric of his dark tee.

He’s breathing just as hard as I am, I realize. Choppy, ragged gasps of air, like he’s just resurfaced after almost drowning.

For several long seconds, we just stare at each other, trapped in a strange sort of bubble that smells like sex and whiskey and a hint of leather.

Then he releases his grip on my chin. He shifts backward slightly, allowing my feet to fully touch the floor again. He’s still too close, his presence too overwhelming, but he doesn’t back away any farther or give me more space than that.

Instead, he slides the hand that was splayed against my back around to my front, then shoves it roughly down the front of my pants.

My mouth drops open, shock and a fresh starburst of sensation stealing my breath as he drags a finger through my wet, swollen folds. The pad of his finger brushes over my clit, and heat flares in his eyes as he watches my body jerk in response.

His shirt is still clenched in my fist, and I tighten my grip. I’m frozen, my muscles locked up and stiff.

Fuck, I don’t know if I’m trying to push him away or drag him closer.

One thick finger slides inside me, and my pulse quickens, my inner walls clamping around him instinctively.

“If you’re looking for my hymen, it’s long gone already,” I rasp out, trying to inject a sneer into my voice.

Because I have to say something. I have to fill the heavy silence between us. Have to prove to him somehow that he’s not in charge here.