The Obsession (Filthy Rich Americans 2)

A fingertip traced a line across my shoulder blades and down my spine, moving like a slow drop of water finding its path down into the hollow of my back. It drew a shiver from me, and he gave a soft noise of satisfaction, enjoying my body’s response.

When his hands slid around to cradle my hips, he moved in. The length of his body pressed to mine, emphasizing the opposition between us. I was shorter, he was tall. I was nude, he was clothed. And I was female, while he was male.

Distinctly male.

He wasn’t physically aroused, but the shape of him pressed to me made all the air vanish from my lungs. The line of buttons down his shirt and the buckle of his belt kissed my skin, and as his hands continued to rise, I pressed my lips together.

It’d been two months since anyone had really touched me besides myself, and since I wasn’t facing him, I tried to think these hands didn’t belong to Macalister. But every time I attempted it, it was like he knew. There was the flash of his Cartier watch, or the smell of his cologne, or his heavy sigh of contentment in my ear that couldn’t be anyone but him.

His hands stroked up over my breasts, and I swallowed an enormous breath. I didn’t want to like the way it felt, but my neglected skin enjoyed the sensation. My nipples firmed into tight points as he massaged and explored. I issued a sound of surprise when he pinched one between his thumb and forefinger, hard enough to verge on pain.

It was shameful how I felt the sensation between my legs in a dull ache.

He didn’t follow his script exactly as he’d laid it out, because his mouth came down on the curve of my neck while his hands encased my breasts. He’d told me he wasn’t going to start with his mouth until he was done with his hands, and there was a very crucial place he hadn’t touched yet.

Was he not going to? The thought caused the faintest of whines to float through my mind. What the fuck was wrong with me?

It was undeniable how his kisses on my neck felt, coupled with his sensuous hands, and I gave up fighting. My hands were tied, after all, so I allowed myself to acknowledge I liked what he was doing—only a little.

Try to enjoy it.

It was what Alice had whispered to me before the initiation, when she knew what was going to happen. What her own husband was planning on doing to me. What a fucked up blessing she’d given that day. Would she feel the same way if she found out his two minutes had been deferred?

“Alice.” I said her name like a safe word, and it had a similar effect. He paused.

His lips moved against my skin as he spoke. “What about her?”

I had a million questions about why their relationship was the way it was, but it was doubtful he’d tell me. None of the Hales seemed to think much about each other’s feelings, but that wasn’t how I operated. She’d been aloof and direct, but nice to me in her own way. “I don’t want to hurt her.”

His hands started again, abandoning my breasts and inching downward. “The only person who can hurt Alice . . . is Alice.” His tone was ironic. “Believe me, I’ve tried. She’s unbreakable.”

Was this why they’d fallen out of love? Had Macalister tried to conquer her and failed? I didn’t get any more time to think about it because his hands spilled over my stomach and then the knots at my wrists, gliding lower.

The muscles in my belly clenched at his touch. My breath went ragged when he sucked on a tender spot just below my ear. I didn’t want his fingers to move any lower, but goosebumps marched up my legs.

He teased me. His palms slid over and between my thighs while avoiding the most intimate spot. My chest was tight with anxiety and anticipation, and he dragged the moment out for a lifetime. Long enough for my traitorous body to settle back against his and subtly encourage.

His voice was seductively evil. “It’s all right to want it,” he whispered. “I won’t tell anyone.”

Oh, fuck. I hated him. I couldn’t stand how he twisted me up to the point of ripping me apart or how—

“Oh,” I gasped, a mixture of horror and pleasure.

His fingers brushed through where I was hot and damp and throbbing in a way that made me uncomfortable. The tie seemed to grow tighter around my wrists, but maybe that was because every muscle in me had tensed.

His fingers were tentative at first but grew bolder when a panicked whimper eked from my throat. It was clear he enjoyed what he was doing. He made a thick groan of satisfaction, and his erection began to swell behind the fly of his pants. I felt it harden against my hip, and once again, I had two opposing emotions at the same time.