The Obsession (Filthy Rich Americans 2)

At the other end of the hall, Macalister was likely in his room, thinking about me. Would he touch himself as we did this? Or would he be completely focused on me? Maybe he’d multitask during the session and check how his personal stocks were performing.

Alice wouldn’t be around because they didn’t share a bedroom. It wasn’t their loveless marriage that kept them apart. Their sleeping patterns were total opposites, as Macalister was an insomniac and Alice needed a minimum of eight hours of rest to function.

My fingers crept down across my stomach, inching lower. I closed my eyes and pictured Royce today, wearing that stunning black suit and maroon tie, his pants undone and his hard cock clenched in his hand.

As he stroked in my mind, my fingers rubbed over my swollen clit. I didn’t want to think about why I was already wet or what had turned me on before I’d even started the fantasy. All that was important was that I be ready before the clock hit ten-thirty.

Breath escaped my lungs as I pushed the black vibrator inside me. It was cold and smooth, and the other end fit tight against my slit. It wasn’t . . . uncomfortable. If anything, it felt good.

But the waiting? That was agony. I lay in my bed, my hands balled into fists at my sides, so tense I was ready to explode. Was this part of the session? To build anticipation until I was—

“Oh!” I gasped.

Vibrations buzzed against my center. The sensation wasn’t like anything I’d experienced. Instant, acute pleasure burst between my legs, so great it made me flinch. I gripped handfuls of the sheet beneath me, needing to hold on as warmth spread along the length of my body.

It stole my breath and my thoughts.

All I could focus on was the pulse, both inside and out, which made me want to twist and writhe. I turned my head and groaned into the side of my pillow. Holy fuck, it felt good. I just had to lie there and take it, surrendering control.

By the time I got a handle on the sensations, the pattern changed from a steady vibration to a slow building one. It would crest and ebb, and with each cycle I clawed my way reluctantly closer to an orgasm.

I was alone in the room. If I were controlling the vibrator on my own, this would mean nothing. Royce’s only issue with me using a toy would likely be that he didn’t get to participate.

But I wasn’t in control.

And that made all the difference. The walls between Macalister and me were only an illusion of propriety. What I was doing was wrong. Worse was the sick appeal of it. Royce had denied me for a year, gotten what he wanted, then traded me away. I could argue it served him right that he’d allowed this to happen.

I crossed a line, and now it felt too good to stop.

My breath came and went so quickly it left me lightheaded. Sweat beaded at my temples as my orgasm approached. It was useless to resist, and I gave up holding back. The only worry now wasn’t if I would come, but if I could stay relatively quiet as I did it.

A tremble worked its way up my legs, my eyes slammed shut, and I jammed my hands into my hair. I wasn’t going to come—I was going to break apart. Even if I was able to piece myself together afterward, I wouldn’t be the same. There’d always be this stain on my insides from where I’d let Macalister in.

Win at all costs.

That was what I had to do. Losing the battle was all right as long as I won the war.

I rolled onto my stomach and released a pleasure-soaked moan into my pillow as I came. The orgasm tightened my muscles until I wasn’t in control, and they tweaked and contracted like a marionette’s strings being pulled. Ecstasy purred and buzzed, sizzling on my nerves until everything was tingling.

It was so, so good until it was too much.

I reached down and yanked the vibrator out, overly sensitive. It continued humming, quiet as a whisper as I blew out a long breath and struggled to slow my heartrate. When I was no longer tingling and the fog had cleared in my brain, I grabbed my phone and thumbed out the message.

Me: One.

Five seconds later the vibrator died, and it was painfully silent in the room.

Macalister: Tomorrow you will have two.

I lobbed my phone onto the other side of the bed, hoping it would take the wicked excitement along with it.

My Porsche was waiting for me in the circle drive the next morning, washed clean and gassed up to go. I climbed into the driver’s seat and wrapped my hands around the steering wheel, letting the feeling of being in control calm me. Every mile of road I put between myself and the Hale house lifted more pressure off my shoulders.