The Maddest Obsession (Made 2)

I guessed I should feel a little guilty I was conspiring against her, but I didn’

t. I leaned forward on her ridiculous hot pink divan, resting my elbows on my knees.

“Why?”

“You have a sexy voice.” She yawned.

A smile pulled on my lips. She was always so honest. It was a trait I hadn’t come across often—I couldn’t even say I utilized it—though, maybe that was why it was so refreshing. Every word she said was a little genuine piece of her. I wanted to collect them all.

A flush warmed her cheeks. “I’m sorry I fell asleep on you.”

I’d stripped her naked and gone down on her, only for her to fall asleep seconds after she’d come. Truthfully, I would do it for the rest of my life with the knowledge I wouldn’t get anything in return. I’d fantasized about her for so long, and the dream couldn’t even touch the reality.

“Can I make it up to you?”

I absently rubbed my hard-on through my briefs, loving that idea, but then she yawned, her eyes growing heavy.

“Make it up to me in the morning.”

“What are you doing?” she asked, as I got into bed with her and pulled her back against my chest.

“Sleeping.”

“Here?” She sounded terrified.

“Yes. Now, be quiet. I’m tired.” I’d never done this in my life. Wouldn’t be able to sleep a fucking wink.

“Fine.”

It took five minutes until she was out like a light.

I ran my hand over her hip, memorizing the curve and velvety feel of her skin. She had two dimples on her lower back I’d always been infatuated with, framed right above the sweetest ass, and it was all pressed up against me. Her hair was in my face and it smelled like vanilla. All of it was sensory overload. Like an injection of dopamine. My heart beat heavily. The blood rushed through my veins so fast my hand felt unsteady.

When you’re obsessed with something for so long and finally obtain it? It feels like coming home to God. And nobody gives up their fucking spot in Heaven.

IT WAS HOT.

And why did it feel like my blanket weighed fifty pounds?

I tried to roll over but couldn’t move.

Fighting through the heavy confusion and unconsciousness, I realized what was holding me down. There was a man in my room. In my bed. Panic bled into my veins, and my eyes shot open.

“Go back to sleep, malyshka.”

My heart began to beat again.

“Oh, my gosh,” I breathed heavily in relief. “I thought you were a serial killer.”

A low chuckle came from him. “Not too far off.”

The fifty-pound blanket was only his arm around me, and the heat—that was all him, pressed up against me. No sunlight came in through the window, but the room was still lit. He’d left the bathroom door open and the light on, like I did every night. The thoughtfulness made my heart feel heavy in my chest. But now that I wasn’t alone, it seemed embarrassingly bright in here.

I swallowed. “I could probably sleep without the light, if it’s keeping you up.” Just the thought started a cold sweat beneath my skin.

“It’s not.”

I didn’t know if I believed him, but I forgot about it when I realized he was hard. A rumble sounded in his throat when I shifted and rubbed against him. God, the man was so warm and half-naked, just the press of his body against mine sent my toes curling in pleasure. If I’d known it felt this good spooning with Christian Allister, I would have climbed into his bed years ago, just for this.