The Obsession (Filthy Rich Americans 2)

Outside the office window, sunlight bounced off the brownish-blue bay far below. He had Boston and his fiancée at his feet, and his fingers curled tight around his throne as I pulled him free from his pants.

A big part of me was thrilled with this plan, no matter how risky it was. Macalister’s constant supervision and inappropriate offer had left me feeling weak and powerless. I needed to take some control back. I’d push the rules just as I pushed Royce now.

“There you go, Medusa,” he muttered. He tipped his head toward his lap and his rock-hard erection. “Turning me into stone again.”

A half-laugh bubbled from my chest, but then I closed my hands around him and stroked downward. Last time I’d done this, he’d told me to do it like I meant it, and so I did now. I slid my firm grip up and down, wringing another moan from him.

This was his purest self. The only time I knew beyond a shadow of a doubt he was being true. His body wouldn’t let him lie.

He was breathing hard, and his maroon tie rode his heaving chest like it weighed fifty pounds. It was undeniable how we looked. The prince being serviced by one of his subjects. His heavy cock throbbed in my hands, and I relished the way it felt. So soft and yet hard.

“Oh, fuck,” he said appreciatively, but then he glanced at his watch and torment twisted his face. “Fuck.”

Rather than pick up the pace, I slowed my tempo.

“You’re making me late.”

An evil smile bloomed on my face. “Then go. I’m not making you stay.”

“Oh, you aren’t, huh?” He gripped my hands and urged me to pump on him faster, both with his action and his furious eyes. “Harder,” he barked, “and faster. Finish what you started.”

“I’ll do it how I want, thank you very much.”

Between his spread legs, I shifted on my knees so I had better leverage. The carpet was stubby against my skin and probably going to give me rugburn, but it was a small price to pay to watch the pleasure work its way through him. He slumped, banging his head back against the chair while the muscles along his jaw flexed, and he let out a deep sigh. It was the perfect mixture of satisfaction and misery.

“Jesus, you gotta . . .” he choked out. “I need . . .”

My voice was dark and patronizing. “To come? Or to not be late for your very important meeting?”

He said it through clenched teeth. “Yes.”

My hands ground to a halt, leaving him pulsing in my tight fists. “You poor thing. It’s so hard when you can’t have every little thing you want.”

I thought I was in charge, but no.

He launched forward in the chair and latched a hand around my throat. Not to strangle or hurt me, just to seize my undivided attention. Even after all he’d done, didn’t he know he always had it? His eyes were only an inch from mine, but I could see everything in them. How badly he wanted me. How frustrated he was.

And how desperate he was to hide it.

“I might not have everything I want right now,” his expression roared with absolute power, “but you better fucking believe I’m going to get it.”

When I let go of him, he didn’t release me. His free hand went to his cock and began to pump. I stared down at it with fascination.

“Are you going to help?” he asked. “Or was your plan to leave me like this?”

“You love to walk away from me.” I wanted to sound strong, but every glide of his fist over himself was undoing me, stroke by sexy stroke. “I’m just following your signature move.”

Except I couldn’t walk away. His hand on my throat and his other hand twisting and sliding on his cock had me locked in place. I didn’t want to go, anyway. There was nowhere else the lustful part of me wanted to be. It demanded I enjoy the show.

“All right,” he said. Desire drenched his expression. “I’ll just do it like I do every night, when I lie in my bed and wonder what the hell you’re doing in the next room, and why you’re not naked in my bed right that fucking second.”

My heart skipped and tumbled. How many times had I had the same thought?

Just every night.

“I’m thinking about,” he said, “the sound you make when I slide my fingers inside you.” The tendons in his hand strained from how hard he clenched his fist. “The way you taste.” He jacked himself faster, pushing skin through rough skin. “I’m thinking about how hot and wet you were when you rode my dick in the wine cellar.”

My chest tightened as his words wrapped me in an immobilizing vise.

As he continued to stroke, we studied each other’s reaction with intensity. His pupils were dilated. His pulse throbbed in his neck. He began to violently jerk his hand along his length, and the force shook the chair.