The Obsession (Filthy Rich Americans 2)

The unwanted heat building in me was too strong to ignore, too powerful to stop. I grabbed a fistful of the thick duvet and shoved it over my mouth, my teeth clenching down on the fabric.

“I score my fingers down the insides of your spread thighs, hard enough to leave marks. The pain is temporary and necessary. It wakes up your nerve endings and will make your orgasm stronger.”

Macalister reigned on Mount Olympus, hurling down his devastating words like lightning bolts, each one making me jolt and flinch.

“If I’ve done everything right, by this point you’re shaking. You want my mouth on you, but you can’t bring yourself to ask. You won’t need to.” His voice was seductive and commanding at the same time. “I understand what you need, and I’m going to give it to you.”

Once more, the vibrator picked up speed, and I groaned into the bunched duvet covering my mouth.

He was abruptly angry. “I can’t hear you.”

Oh, God. I pulled the bedding away just long enough to gasp it. “I’m here.”

Just those two words in my tight, breathless voice was enough to give away how much he’d affected me. It was impossible not to visualize what he was describing, no matter how much I didn’t want to.

For once, I could relate to all those stupid mortal girls seduced by the gods, but I hated it. I despised how my body was reacting to him. How the fucked up side of myself wanted to hear the rest of Macalister’s terrible fantasy.

“Is your cunt wet?” he asked.

I flinched like he’d slapped me. It wasn’t just the question that was so shocking, but the language. His carefully selected vulgar word for maximum effect.

“It will be. You’ll cry out when I run my tongue through it. If your hips buck, I’ll hold you still and keep my mouth exactly where I want it. I’ll trace my tongue over every inch because, as I mentioned, I am a thorough man.”

I was breaking apart. I needed him to stop . . . I needed release . . . I needed—

“I want you to picture what that looks like. My head buried between your legs, my mouth fucking you as I watch.”

I saw it. His icy blue eyes evaluating me as his tongue fluttered over my clit. The sensation wasn’t that different from the vibrations teasing me now.

“I’ll find the place that makes all the words disappear from your mind.” His voice picked up in urgency, like he knew I was right on the edge. “Every word except for one, and you know which word that is, don’t you?”

I didn’t want to say it, but a dam burst and spilled out in a tidal wave of pleasure. “Macalister.”

As I came, a shuddering moan seeped out like he’d wrestled it from my body. Hot flashes coursed down my limbs, spiraling out from my core.

The buzzing ceased, giving me a reprieve and prolonging the pleasure. There was nothing else to do but enjoy it, and I rode each wave until I felt like I was finally back in my own body again.

Realization as frigid as the polar vortex moved in and took hold.

“I don’t know if I’ve heard anything better than the way you say my name,” he said. “Especially when you’re coming while you do it.” He paused, drawing in an uneven breath. “We’ll talk again tomorrow. Good night, Marist.”

I was a frozen statue, unable to say anything, even after the line went dead.

The clear bandage pulled at my skin, and my form-fitting dress rubbed on it uncomfortably whenever I moved my arms, but it was worth it. Since I had an unpaid internship, and most days Royce didn’t even need me, I’d taken the morning off and driven to the tattoo shop in Port Cove. I’d told everyone I had a dentist appointment, and they seemed to believe me, but I still checked my rearview mirror periodically as I came and went from the shop.

Macalister had security on staff—spies, as Royce liked to call them. But no one had followed me.

I sat at my desk and stared across the hallway at Royce’s closed door. He’d been in a meeting since I’d arrived hours ago, and I was starving. I’d ordered us lunch from the Chinese café that had recently opened one block over and put our food in the kitchen while waiting for him to finish.

There were only three days left of my “job,” and it had been a total failure. I wasn’t any closer to figuring out his master plan, or if the man he was with me behind closed doors was the real version of himself.

Twenty minutes later, his door swung open and he emerged with the heads from the finance department. The team dispersed with quick goodbyes. The meeting had run long, and everyone was late for their next appointment. Tension was still high at HBHC. The stock prices hadn’t bounced back like the rest of the market—it continued to tick downward.