Page 45 of King of Obsession

I’d picked up on how to judge a man’s level of menace so I’d escape it, fast.

Now, this man was beyond menacing.

Every move of his fingers was calculated, a display of control that intimidated and fascinated me.

Like he fuckin’ held all the power and cards in the wicked game he was playing on me, toying with me with a sinister charm.

Yet, his essence had an allure, a wild appeal that drew me in despite my fear and uncertainty.

He turned his head, and flaming eyes hit mine, brimming with a dark emotion I couldn’t place.

He jerked his chin at me in a silent invitation, and I responded with a slight wave, feeling absurd in my printed night gear.

His eyes raked over them with a gleam like he’d had the night before.

‘What?’ I groused.

‘I’ll repeat it: leaping cartoon kangaroos are so fuckin’ sensual,’ he rasped.

I rolled my eyes. ‘You’re out of your mind.’

‘Your fault, bella,’ came the amused drawl, obscuring half his face in his tea mug. ‘You wear that sexy get up to bed tonight, and I may have to strip it off to maintain my sanity.’

I buzzed on the inside, hiding it with a glare. ‘You’re certifiably an asshole.’

He stuck his tongue in his cheek and met my defiant eyes until the heat sizzled so hot as to scorch, and I tore my eyes away.

A palpable silence settled, my heartbeat echoing in the stillness of the morning.

It was interrupted by the subtle scrape of his voice.

‘Coffee?’ he rasped, the word rough-edged.

I nodded, a mute puppet jerked to life by the simplicity of the offer.

My throat tightened, not from sleep but from the uncertainty that filled the space between us.

The nod was all I could muster, an agreement to something as mundane as a beverage, and yet, at that moment, it felt like so much more.

He pushed himself up from the couch, a grimace shadowing his features.

The makeshift brace cradled his left arm at an awkward angle, the white bandage stark against his skin’s tan.

The jerry-rigged support was clumsy at best.

‘That’ll require a rework and some tightening and re-tying,’ I whispered.

He turned his gaze to the injured limb, a single brow arched in response.

‘So fix it.’

He finished the demand with a curl to his lip, revealing a dimple in his cheek under his beard.

Need streaked - to my freakin’ clit.

The morning light played across his face, highlighting the stubble that framed his lips and the gleam in his eyes.

Damn, this man,I thought.

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