Rule's Obsession (The House of Rule 1)

Unable to stop himself, he lifted her off her knees until the only thing holding her in a constant position were her hands on the mattress and his cock, nailed inside of her.

She began to let out a long, continuous wail, and at the sound of her impending release, he lost it completely. He began hammering at her harder, over and over, harder and harder, slamming into her until his world exploded in pieces around him.

As orgasm held him in its grip, he held himself still inside of her, as deeply as he could go, and let the peace and bliss that was Angie slide through his system and permeate his veins.

Finally, his heartbeat stilled. He knew she'd found her release as well, and he slid to his side, pulling her against him but refusing to extricate himself from her body.

Not yet. He needed this feeling for a moment more; he needed to stay inside of her for just a few seconds longer. Surely that was all he'd need before he started feeling normal again.

****

Three days later, when Angie opened her front door to Damian, her hair was back to its normal color, a dirty blonde.

She'd decided to go for the full shock factor, and instead of being covered in black from head to toe, since it was hot and summer was approaching, she was dressed in white, capri-length jeans and a pink, short-sleeve top.

She wore silver jewelry, subdued-to-little make-up, and her fingernails and toes were painted an oyster-shell pink.

Nobody on the street would have recognized her as the same girl she'd been twenty-four hours before.

As she opened the door and stood back with a small smile, the facade of calmness she presented to him was matter-of-fact, but on the inside, she was quaking.

What would he think? She knew she was only pleasantly pretty; there certainly wasn't anything to write home about when it came to her looks. She had an okay body, mostly because she worked hard at it, doing at least forty-five minutes of exercise, following along with the television work-out shows she favored, at least four or five times a week.

But with her make-up understated, this was the real Angie. The person she'd been until the ruse she began about a year before, and the person she'd always intending becoming again.

Of course, he'd seen her without make-up many times, she usually showered after sex, with or without him, so her face itself wouldn't come as a surprise to him. But combined with the dark blonde of her hair, who knew how he'd react? When the bad-girl image disappeared, would his interest take a dive as well?

As she held the door open, the first thing she saw was a swift show of pleasure on his features when his eyes met hers. Angie knew the look was simply from seeing her again, and she couldn't help but feel a trickle of delight when she realized he couldn't contain his feelings for her, whatever they were.

But then he frowned as his eyes ran up and down her length. His body stiffened as if he'd just taken a direct hit. She didn't have time to feel disappointment, though, because he took an immediate step forward and invaded her personal space.

One arm wrapped around her waist and with the other hand, he tipped up her chin. He smiled as if he couldn't help himself, and his eyes ran over her again and then settled on her hair for a moment before his eyes fastened to hers once again. "What's all this?" he asked in a darkly intoxicating voice.

With her heart beating loudly in her ears, Angie took a deep breath and shrugged. "Me."

He frowned as if confused and pleased at the same time, and he shook his head. "No it's not."

She studied him for his reactions. "Yeah, it really is."

Pushing her back to arms length, he spun her around, looking her over as if inspecting every inch of her. When she was facing him again, he lifted one eyebrow and questioned, "Blonde?"

"Dark blonde," she answered, "mousy-brown, really."

He let out a harsh laugh as his eyes continued to gleam. "There's nothing mousy about you."

"No?" she challenged.

He shook his head while his fingers trailed up and sifted through her hair. "This is real? This is really your color?"

"You didn't think it was jet-black, did you?"

"No, I knew it wasn't. Not with your pale skin tone."

When he didn't say anything else, she crossed her arms defensively. "What do you think?"

His hot eyes glowed into hers. "Initially, I'd say I like it." He tipped his head as if debating it and then reached down and snagged her wrist with his hand. "But I need something a little more definitive to go on."

With that, he turned and locked the door and pulled her toward the bedroom, his purpose impossible to miss.