Page 32 of Savage Obsession

“Julia?” His tone is hewn from pure gravel, the word more a growl than a question. But a question it still is. He’s seeking permission. “Julia, I need…”

“Yes! Yes, please. Me, too.” I spread wider, raise my hips. “Fuck me, Baz. I need you inside me. Now.”

He requires no further urging. With one smooth rock of his powerful hips he’s inside me, sheathed to the hilt.

I gasp at the sudden stretching My body opens to welcome him. It’s not as though I’ve been exactly celibate in recent years, but it was never like this. No other man has ever come close.

He remains motionless for a few seconds to let me adjust, or maybe just to savour the moment. I’m filled, stretched to the max, but I purposefully contract my inner channel to hug him even more tightly. I can’t get close enough, it seems. I wrap my arms around his shoulders. I lift my legs and clamp them around his waist, hooking my ankles together in the small of his back.

He starts to move, short, jabbing thrusts at first that send sharp ripples of pleasure straight to my core. I’m wet, and the sloppy sounds of my arousal mingle with our moans and pants.

He lengthens his strokes, each one deep and powerful, driving me ever higher.

“Christ, kochanie,” he grinds into the crook of my neck as he pours into me harder. “Fuck…”

I hang on to him as though he’s the only solid anchor in my world, and in this moment perhaps he is. Sensation cascades through every part of me, starting at my core and radiating out to my toes, my fingertips. The ends of my hair.

He shifts his angle slightly, somehow contriving to now hit that spot with every stroke.

“I’m going to come,” I gasp.

“Good. Go for it, come for me,” he murmurs into my hair. “For me, only me.”

His words are all I need to send me soaring again. I’m shaking with pleasure, every wave of delight a fresh tsunami of pure ecstasy washing over and through me.

I’m dimly aware of the rush of liquid heat deep inside my pussy, jet after jet of his semen, filling my channel and soaking my inner thighs. He emits a hoarse, satiated shout of pleasure and his climax erupts. I hang on harder, tighter, cling to him as though I never want to let him go again.

Maybe I don’t. In this moment, all things seem possible.

CHAPTER 8

Baz

What was I thinking? Julia and I are done, years ago. We’re history.

So, why is she lying in my arms, my cum, still warm, dribbling from her lush body, the marks from her nails carved into my back?

She shifts, nuzzles closer. I should move away, separate us, remind myself and her of the reality between us. But I don’t.

I loved her once, with all the unfettered passion of a semi-feral youth high on testosterone. My dick called the shots, the rest of me answered. Ours was a relationship founded on sex. Hot, dirty, sweaty, we fucked like bunnies every chance we got.

Her parents loathed me and never missed an opportunity to say so. The feeling was mutual, and their hostility was one of the main reasons we married so young, an act of rebellion, a ‘fuck you’ to any form of authority.

The sex aside, it was a disaster from the start. Julia craved domestic bliss, while all I wanted was a good time. Fast cars, drugs. I was starting to earn big money, and working for Kristian Kaminski was my route to all I thought I needed. A fast track to fame and fortune, why couldn’t Julia see that?

Some things are inevitable. Lily was one of those things. Julia was pregnant within three months of the wedding. I was elated and dismayed in equal measure. My ego wanted a child, my common sense, such as it was, screamed ‘no’.

Julia was in her element. A home and a baby were all she ever wanted. A devoted husband just rounded it all off. She assumed I’d abandon my wild ways and stay at home at nights. I think she may have even bought me slippers.

I did try, for a while, for Lily’s sake. Children do make a difference, and I loved my baby daughter. Often, I would just stare at her in disbelief, unable to comprehend how I’d been a part of such perfection. She asked nothing of me, and I made all sorts of impassioned promises about protecting her with my life, and I meant it.

I loved my wife, too, but that wasn’t enough. She never stopped demanding things from me, things I couldn’t or wouldn’t give. Mostly, she wanted me. My time, my attention, my commitment at the expense of all else.

Lily’s arrival was inevitable, and so was the disintegration of our marriage. It crumbled, curdled under the recriminations, the crushing disappointment, the shattered hopes and expectations. The rows were never-ending, a constant chorus, the backdrop to all else. I was growing in stature among the ranks of the Polish Mafia, a force to be reckoned with. Everyone learned to fear Bazyli Bartosz, Kristian Kaminski’s right-hand man. But emotionally I was an embryo. I couldn’t handle Julia’s needs, and in truth, I couldn’t even begin to fathom Lily’s.

So, I ran. I slammed the door on all of it and I made myself scarce. My conscience was clear, I sent cash religiously, I met my obligations. Or so I told myself, and it had to be enough because it was all I had.

Julia is asleep, her hair spread across my chest, her head nestling on my shoulder. She was always beautiful, but her features take on a fresh serenity in her sleep. No accusations, no demands. Just quiet acceptance, and trust.

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