Page 87 of Obsessed Heir

I go past the top of the dress, slipping inside, along the lower end of the angled neckline. The soft fabric makes it easy to see where she wants to be touched. My fingertips zero in on the pebbled peaks straining to get attention.

Abigail’s breath hitches in pleasure. I part my fingers, moving over the puckered skin, lightly pinching the nub along the way. Her teeth sink into the plump lower lip.

The first time I saw her do that, I had my fingers on her pussy. Is her delectable little cunt that wet now? I start inching her skirt up with my other hand.

“Barron.” My name is a warning on her lips. A warning I easily ignore as I slip a hand down between our bodies.

“Put your hands on the table,” I order. As expected, she obeys my gruff command without hesitation. The added height from the heels angles her perfectly, pushing her ass up against my crotch.

With my blood running hot, I’m not thinking straight. I’m so fucking tempted to drive into her here. To let her watch what she does to me. Only, she wouldn’t be the only one watching.

The realization sobers me. Whoever’s on the other end of that camera feed would also see. I’m not generous enough to have that fucker watch me drilling her from behind. Her cries of pleasure are meant for my ears only.

So I’m left with little more than stealing a taste of her to keep me until I can drag her inside and onto my bed.

While I like that she was wearing full-coverage underwear while we were downstairs, it’s fucking inconvenient as hell at the moment. I miss the way the scant bits of lace gave me instant access to her body. If I didn’t know any better, I’d swear Holly sent these just to drive me nuts.

A groan escapes me as my fingers move over the center panel, finding it soaked through. Slipping under the elastic, I follow the warm, wet trail to push a thick finger into her channel.

Abigail gasps, her eyelids closing slowly as her inner muscles clench around me. I slide my finger inside her, pressing against the slick walls. She arches her back, a whimper escaping her.

“Such a tight little cunt,” I murmur.

She has my pulse racing, blood rushing through me with that combination of innocence and sinful woman. I want a taste of her, only I want it straight from the source. The same way I’d never fucked a virgin pussy, my only taste so far has been from my fingers.

“That’s right, little thief, enjoy what I give you.” She angles away. Is it that I know what she’s done? “I don’t care what you’ve already taken,” I assure her. “Stay with me, and I’ll give you whatever you want. It’ll be much more than you could ever get from my mother.”

That’s when her elbow comes up to my chest, pushing against me. It takes a second for me to register the change in her.

“Get away from me.” She turns on me, swatting at my hand. Her brow is furrowed, somewhere between confusion and anger. “What I’veal-readytaken?”

Does she think I have no idea what she’s doing in secret? “You realize I have access to information on my mother’s accounts.”

She stiffens. “It’s news to me,” she says, shifting her shoulders. She opens her mouth then closes it, without saying a single word. Her gaze strays away, moving from one spot to another, as if she’s trying to gather her thoughts.

“Look, I’ve seen?—”

“That’s a conversation you should have with your mother.” She brushes off the message I was imparting and heads down the short hallway to my suite.

I watch her transform, dispassionately. I should have expected this cold, calculating side of her. For once, I fell for the illusion, thinking she cared for my mother instead of seeing her as a meal ticket.

It’s a mistake I won’t make again. That doesn’t mean I can ignore the sway in her hips as she walks away.

The challenge will be to get the Maiden back without falling into her trap because she’s nothing like what I expected when I bought her from her father.

Chapter Thirty-Five

Abigail

Every fiber inside me is trembling, caught somewhere between righteous indignation and the lingering sparks of desire as I rush away.

How could I have let myself fall into this trap? After everything we’ve shared, he can only think of me as a thief.

The sheer audacity of this man infuriates me. How dare he draw me in so intimately one minute, only to fling an accusation like that the next?

I replay the scene in my mind. The way his hands were roaming my body, his lips leaving a scorching trail on my skin. How he looked at me with naked hunger in his eyes is unforgettable. Then that cold, insolent stare when he accused me of taking something from his mother.

All this time, I thought his attitude toward me stemmed from when he rescued me. When I took food because I was hungry. But no. Even after sleeping with me, and making me feelcherished and wanted, he still sees me as someone who would take advantage of his mother.

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