Page 41 of King of Obsession

I’d kept an eye on her from afar, confiding only in Mauri, our family’s consigliere, about my clandestine quest.

With her now tantalizingly close yet still out of reach, I leaned against the bedhead, gaze focused on the rise and fallof her chest.

Her essence sent a shiver down my spine, and it had nothing to do with the chill of the mountain air seeping through the log walls.

It was sheer need hitting my cock and hardening it.

‘Cazzo,’ I groaned, the word a half-whisper of both frustration and raw need.

She moved, reached, and flung a hand over my chest.

Her breath was now a whisper on my skin.

Beneath the tangled sheets, her limbs were an intricate weave with mine, as though in sleep, we had found a way to converse without words.

Her tits pressed against my rib cage, her thighs over my own, her scent arousing me like crazy.

My cock jerked and went so fuckin’ stiff and numb in seconds that I thrust my free, unharmed wrist on it, choking it to stop it from erupting, riding the wave of agonizing desire, tamping it down as my dick complained, seeping with the undeniable evidence of my longing for her.

I lifted a knee to hide my dick’s jutting diamond-hard length and throbbing jewels, struggling to keep my chest from heaving and waking her.

I managed an exquisite level of self-control but would pay for it in bucket-loads of blue balls.

Fotto! Why me?

I lay still, not daring to disturb her, cranky for being so close to beauty and not having a touch of it.

My mind went wild, wondering how soft her breasts would be, how turgid her nipples under my tongue, how wet her slit would be for me.

Cazzo, I was losing it.

I fought to calm down by keeping my eyes on her face.

Her silhouette was serene in the delicate dance of dawn’s darkness and light.

I studied the shape of her face, her brow’s soft arch, and her nose’s gentle slope—the restful curve of her lips—all bathed in the gossamer touch of lunar radiance.

Her short, pixie dark hair lay tousled around her head, like the shadow of a raven’s wing against the pale pillowcase.

Her long lashes rested upon her peach cheeks, casting feathery shadows on her skin. Her allure was undeniable—a siren call to my weary soul—and in the dim light of morning, I acknowledged just how beguiling she was.

Even as my soul was drawn in, entranced by the dance of shadows playing across her features, accentuating the delicate frame of her pixie dark hair.

The sensation was intoxicating—strands brushed on me, cool and smooth.

As she cuddled into me, despite my throbbing cock, I found tranquility that I hadn’t realized I was seeking.

I lay still, relishing how she nestled into me with a soft sigh, her body a natural fit fitted to my side, molding to mine in an instinctual search for comfort and warmth.

And I, even in the hazy edges of sleep, welcomed her without question.

There was no guilt, no second-guessing the rightness of it all.

Damn, this yearning was the last thing I needed.

Yet, for the first time in a long time, I wanted to play. To tease, to seduce a woman.

To entice her. Fuckin’ have her horizontal under me. Keening for me.

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