Page 31 of His Obsession

The smile faded slowly away. His dark eyes narrowed, his face hardening into an unreadable mask. “No,” he said slowly,his voice low and dangerous, “you didn’t. But that doesn’t matter now.”

“Doesn’t matter?” She took a step forward, her chin tilting defiantly. “You can’t justdecidethat you’re in charge of my life. I don’t care how big or bad you think you are. I’m not some possession you can lock away.”

“You’re under my protection,” he said evenly, though there was an edge to his tone now. “And that means I make the decisions.”

“Protection?” She laughed, but the sound was brittle, unsteady. “You don’t get to use that as an excuse to control me.” She wasn’t sure why she kept pushing at him, she only knew that it felt right to do so.

Callum pushed off the mantle in one fluid movement, closing the distance between them in two strides. Isolde’s breath caught as he stopped inches away, towering over her. His presence was magnetic, suffocating, and the heat rolling off him only made her pulse race faster.

“You think this is about control?” he murmured, his voice a low, velvety threat. “Do you have any idea what would happen to you if I wasn’t here? If I wasn’t keeping Lynch or Bradford—or whoever the hell else is after you—off your heels? You wouldn’t last a day.”

Her throat tightened, but she refused to back down. “I don’t care,” she bit out, though her voice trembled slightly. “I’d rather take my chances than be tied to a gangster and let you lock me away like a prisoner.”

He laughed—the sound bitter and with little amusement. “You wouldn’t be the first Fitzwilliam tied to the O’Neill Syndicate.” His gaze darkened, and she thought he might explode. Instead, he let out a slow breath, his jaw ticking as he fought for control. “You don’t get it, do you?” he said softly, his tone even more dangerous in its calm. “This isn’t a game, Isolde.This isn’t something you can argue your way out of. If you make the wrong move—if you ignore me—you die.”

The words hung in the air like smoke, choking the space between them. For the first time, she couldn’t just dismiss the fear that seemed to invade the space, tangling with her anger and confusion. She swallowed hard, her heart hammering as his words settled over her.

“You can’t—” she started, her voice faltering. “You can’t keep me like this.” She knew it was a lame thing to repeat, but she couldn’t seem to come up with anything better.

Callum stepped closer, forcing her to tilt her head back to keep his gaze. “You think Iwantthis?” he growled, the rawness in his voice taking her by surprise. “You think I enjoy dragging you around, keeping you locked away, cleaning up after your reckless decisions?”

Isolde’s breath caught, her body betraying her as the space between them shrank. The energy rolling off him was electric, intense—so much so it was hard to draw air. “Then let me go,” she whispered, though the words lacked conviction.What if he takes me up on it? Was he right when he said I’d be dead within the day?

His eyes burned into hers, his hands coming up to brace on either side of her, caging her in without touching her. “I can’t,” he murmured, the words rough, like they’d been dragged from him. “Because the second I let you go, they’ll take you—you witnessed a murder and you’re a threat to their plans; they want to silence you. And I won’t let that happen.”

The gravity of his words settled over her like chains, weighty and unrelenting. Isolde’s chest tightened as she tried to hold his gaze, her anger splintering beneath the force of his conviction. She wanted to fight him—wanted to scream at him—but all she could feel was the heat of his presence, the way his nearness made her pulse flutter and her knees weaken.

“You don’t own me,” she said again, her voice barely more than a whisper.

Callum’s lips curved into a faint, dangerous smile as his gaze dropped to her mouth, then back to her eyes. “Not yet,mo chroí,” he said softly, the words a dark promise. “But make no mistake, you are mine—whether you like it or not.”

She shuddered as she exhaled, stepping back and leaving her feeling exposed and unsteady. “I won’t be controlled by you.”

“Won’t you?” he whispered. “I think you want someone to take control.”

“I don’t,” she said without much conviction.

“I think you want a man to take control—to dominate you—so you can find a little peace in this world. I know your mother died young, and your father leaned on you for what he needed in terms of social engagements, and now he’s enjoying himself while you slave away.”

“My father loves me,” she said hotly.

“I didn’t say he didn’t, but he allowed you to take on too much early on.”

“I wanted to help.”

“Maybe,” said Callum, “and maybe not. If we’d met before this started, you’d be wearing my collar and answering me in ways I think we’d both find more pleasurable,” he purred as he closed the distance between them.

Damn the man!“You don’t have the right to talk to me like that.”

“That,mo chroí, is a matter of opinion. I suspect once I have you on your back with my cock shoved deep inside you, you’ll purr like a kitten for me.”

Before he could say anything else she didn’t want to think about and wonder if he wasn’t correct, she brought her hand up to slap the arrogant look off his face. She whirled on her heel as her hand connected with his cheek, but it only took a momentfor her to realize the critical error in judgment she’d made—or maybe it was what she’d wanted all along.

Callum’s hand snaked out and grasped her upper arm, spinning her around and pushing her over the back of the sofa. Flipping her skirt up over her back, he growled appreciatively as he saw the garter belt and panties she was wearing. When she’d changed in her office earlier in the day, they and the lacy pushup bra she had on were the only clean undergarments in her office closet. In the flash of an eye, he ripped the delicate, lacy underwear from her body, leaving her bare bottom to be framed by the garter belt.

“Lovely,” he murmured before bringing his hand down on the right cheek of her ass hard enough that the smack seemed to echo in the room.

Another harsh strike landed on her other cheek before he rhythmically began to tattoo her backside with an intensity that left her gasping, but oddly not crying out for help. Isolde struggled to get up, but he pressed her back down onto the back of the butter-soft leather sofa, pinning her down by placing the hand that wasn’t delivering what he called his discipline in the small of her back.

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