Page 32 of His Obsession

“Knock it off, you bastard,” she snarled as he continued to blister her behind.

“Not a chance,mo chroi,” he chuckled as he rained hellfire across her buttocks.

Isolde wriggled to get away from him, but he held her in place and continued to punish her now aching globes. She continued to struggle, but she was no match for his size, strength, and determination. She wasn’t going to give him the satisfaction of begging him to stop, regardless of how much his spanking hurt—but worse than the pain was her growing arousal. Her nipples were stiffening, their tiny pebbles irritated, in a good way, by the lace of her bra. Isolde could feel herself getting wet… soaked.

She chewed her lower lip to keep from crying out, which made him increase the sting to her ass. Impact play had never been her personal thing, but even she could feel that Callum Kavanaugh was a man who knew how to administer a spanking. Praying he wouldn’t figure out just how turned on he’d made her, she tried to tell herself fear was feeding her desire. The problem was that only a very small part of the combustible fuel his spanking had ignited was fear-based, the rest was pure arousal. Just as suddenly as it had started, it stopped, and she could catch her breath.

He rubbed the painful swell of her ass before trailing his finger between the cleft until he reached her puckered back entrance. She squirmed, trying to get away, but he had her trapped. He removed his hand and delivered another series of harsh blows, causing her to yowl.

Callum slid his hand between her thighs, pinching the sensitive skin when she didn’t soften to his touch and spread her legs. He inhaled deeply, then groaned as his fingers parted her labia. Gathering the slick that had gathered there, he moved on to find her throbbing clit. He dragged his hand away from her clit and shoved two fingers into her cunt, plunging them in and out, causing her to writhe where he held her. He inhaled again—making a deep rumbling sound that seemed to reverberate from his chest and invade her body.

“God, you smell sweet,” he crooned, moving his hand to stroke her aching backside.

From the corner of her eye she saw him step back, the bulge behind his fly in clear view.

“Upstairs, last door on the left. I have things to attend to. If you’re here when I get back, I’ll teach you how this should end.” He turned without another word, his footsteps echoing softly as he left the room.

Isolde stayed where she was for only a moment, her heart pounding and her skin prickling with unwanted heat. Damn him. Damn him for being so infuriating, so arrogant, so…everything.

And damn her for wanting him anyway.

Before he could return and make good on his threat—or was it a promise?—Isolde stood up and ran to the top of the stairs. She thought briefly about taking a different room and wasn’t sure whether or not she was willing to face the consequences of doing so.

And no matter how much she wanted to deny it, part of her felt safer here, in this gilded cage of his making, than anywhere else in the world.

CALLUM

What had he been thinking? Bending her over the end of the couch and blistering her backside? That alone would have been bad enough, but he had picked up the scent of her arousal. She might not have liked the sting, but she sure as hell had responded positively to the show of dominance. Callum shook his head. Good. She might as well start getting used to it.

He made his way to the back of the mansion and the changing rooms. The estate had high, solid walls that surrounded it and a myriad of trees. It would be difficult for anyone to spot a large black panther running across the lush lawns. As dangerous as it might be for Callum to shift and go for a run, it was far safer than remaining in the house with his fated mate and not claiming her.

As the rain stopped, the moon hung low over the O’Neill estate, its pale light spilling over the sprawling grounds like molten silver. Callum stood on the edge of a dense grouping of trees, his chest heaving as he tried to steady his breath. The confrontation with Isolde still burned in his mind, every word, every fiery look from her amber eyes, seared into his memory. She had a way of pulling emotions out of him that no one else could, emotions that left him raw and vulnerable in ways he despised.

And then there was the arousal.

It coiled low in his gut, a fire that refused to die no matter how hard he tried to smother it. Her scent—something wild and untamed—lingered in his senses, mingling with the echoes of her defiance. It was maddening. Intoxicating. Unbearable.

He needed to run.

Callum exhaled sharply, his gaze shifting to the shadowed expanse of the grounds. The O’Neill estate outside Dublin offered a perfect sanctuary for what he was about to do—isolated, sprawling, and utterly devoid of prying eyes. He didn’t indulge in this part of himself often. It was dangerous, uncontrollable, and too tied to instincts he worked hard to keep buried.

But tonight, it was necessary.

He pulled off his jacket, letting it fall to the ground before unbuttoning his shirt with deliberate slowness. The cool night air kissed his skin as he stripped away the last vestiges of humanity. His shoes followed, then his slacks, until he stood bare beneath the moonlight, his body taut with anticipation.

The shift came like a thunderclap, a ripple of energy that surged through his entire body as the swirling mist arose from the ground to encompass him. His body morphed seamlessly from man to black panther. Callum dropped to his knees, his fingers clawing at the ground as his frame reshaped and furspilled over his skin, sleek and black as midnight. All of his senses sharpened, and the muted world exploded into vivid color and detail.

When the transformation was complete, he stood on all fours, his massive panther form cutting an imposing silhouette against the moonlit backdrop. He flexed his claws, the razor-sharp tips slicing into the earth as his muscles coiled and uncoiled with barely contained energy.

The beast inside him roared its approval.

Callum bolted forward, the trees swallowing him whole as he moved like a shadow through them. The wind rushed past him, carrying the scents of damp earth and wild things. Leaves and branches parted in his wake, his powerful body propelling him forward with a grace and speed no human could match.

He ran to silence the chaos in his mind. To chase away the memory of the way Isolde’s lips trembled. To forget the way her eyes had glistened with a mix of anger and vulnerability that cut him deeper than any blade ever could.

The grass beneath his paws was soft, the night alive with nocturnal creatures that scattered at his approach. He barely registered them, his focus consumed by the rhythm of his movement—the pounding of his paws against the ground, the flex of muscle and sinew as he leapt over a fallen log and landed soundlessly on the other side.

The moonlight dappled the path along which he ran, and Callum’s enhanced eyesight caught every glimmer, every flicker of motion. He ran faster, pushing himself to the brink as the burning in his veins began to fade, replaced by something calmer.

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