Page 35 of His Obsession

Warm semen jettisoned out of his cock in a steady stream as he pumped himself empty and finally relaxed, leaning back and adjusting the shower to lukewarm to clean himself up. Feeling more in control, he stepped out of the shower and dried off and headed for his bed.

As he laid down, he thought that sleep would be elusive, but he was wrong. Sleep and his dreams claimed him almost at once.

“You will obey me in all things, Isolde,” he growled.

She struggled against him, but she was no match to his strength and power. He growled in her ear, rumbling low, and felt her naked body quiver in response. Her defiance was palpable, but Callum didn’t care. Isolde was his, and he would take what was his. There was no way she would win, as her desire trumped her willfulness. She had known her master from the start.

He hadn’t allowed himself to fully embrace who and what she was to him, but in this dream there were no consequences. Her arousal and readiness dripped from her pussy and her clit and labia were swollen and wet. He thrust into her, making her yowl in supplication.

As he grabbed the back of her neck with his teeth, his fangs elongated and he sank them into her neck, holding her in place as he pounded into her. Callum wrapped his hands around her hips as her well-spanked ass rose and fell beneath his hips. He could feel the heat radiating off her buttocks, and it only increased his ardor.

Isolde had stumbled into his territory, put herself in danger and defied him when he thought to keep her safe.

“You’re mine, Isolde,” he said, loosening his grip before sinking his teeth in again and shaking her slightly.

“Yes, Callum,” she wailed.

With those words, any remnants of doubt or hesitation vanished into thin air. Their bodies collided into one another once more, fusing together in a dance as old as time itself. Pleasure washed over them in waves. With a primal growl, Callum thrust in and out of her, reveling in her tightness. The sensation was electric, sending jolts of ecstasy coursing through his veins.

Callum set a rhythm that matched the beating of their hearts. Every thrust brought them closer to the precipice, to the edge where bliss and oblivion merged.Their bodies movedwith an innate synchrony, a harmony born from a longing so profound it transcended mere physicality. They were lost in a world of sensation, where time ceased to exist, and nothing mattered but the pleasure they gave to one another.

The intoxicating scent of sex flooded the air.The walls of her pussy encapsulated his cock, spasming and tightening with every thrust. Isolde felt like a siphon around him, begging to be filled.

He gripped her hips tighter, his fingers digging into her flesh as he thrust deeper, harder, faster. The sound of skin meeting skin filled the room, drowning out any semblance of rational thought. It was as if they’d entered a realm where only their desires mattered, where the only goal was to push each other to the pinnacle of ecstasy.

With every stroke, Callum could feel her unraveling beneath him. Her body trembled, her breathing became erratic, and he knew she was teetering on the edge. He wanted nothing more than to see her come undone, to prove to her that their bodies were in complete and harmonious sync.

Callum reached beneath her to put pressure on her swollen clit with his thumb, circling it in teasing motions that elicited a throaty moan from somewhere deep inside Isolde. Her muscles tightened around him, drawing him in further as if begging for release. And when he finally granted her wish, it was as if an explosion ripped through both of them.

Her back arched up into his, and a primal scream escaped her lips as wave after wave of pleasure coursed through her body. Callum felt her ride out her climax, her orgasm triggering his own—a torrential flood that consumed him completely.

Callum collapsed onto the mattress, and didn’t stir until the morning light awakened him. The night had seemed to provideall he needed. He would claim what was his, and damn anyone who got in his way.

13

ISOLDE

The steady ticking of the antique clock filled the mansion’s study, each measured second hammering into Isolde’s frayed nerves. She sat at an expansive mahogany desk, her laptop open before her, the dim light of the screen casting shadows over her tired features. The taste of stale coffee lingered bitter on her tongue, mingling with the acrid tang of the chaos that seemed to surround her.

Her fingers flew across the keyboard, a desperate rhythm that mirrored the frantic pace of her thoughts. Callum had left her hours ago, slipping out of the room with a terse warning to stay put. She hadn’t tried to follow him—not after a failed attempt to leave the mansion earlier that morning. That debacle had ended with her being escorted back inside by one of Callum’s men, her frustration met with nothing but a raised eyebrow and a clipped order to "behave."

Behave. As if she were some errant child. The spanking he’d inflicted the night before hadn’t been that of an adult to a child. No. It had been filled with the sexual tension that seemed to be bubbling higher and higher and which she feared would spill over. The question she kept asking herself was whether that was a good thing or a bad thing?

Her jaw clenched at the memory, but the anger was short-lived, overshadowed by gnawing anxiety mixed with arousal that had driven her to open her laptop in the first place. If Callum refused to give her answers, she’d bloody well find them herself.

And then to find out he was some kind of mutant? It might have been more frightening if Siobhan hadn’t brought it up in more than one conversation over the years. Could it be that Siobhan had known of the existence of shifters? Callum had taken the time to explain to her this morning that for thousands of years, there had been two types of humanoid lifeforms inhabiting the earth.

Human such as her were not the only humanoids who evolved on earth. He had explained that there was another line that could shift between their purely human form and their animal form—in his case a black panther. They had hidden in plain sight and had evolved along a similar path. As humans they were indistinguishable from other humans, but as animals, they were larger and more powerful. Their animal forms also retained a human’s ability to reason and think, but most could not speak. It had sounded reasonable enough, and it was hard not to believe him given what she had seen with her own two eyes the night before.

That knowledge had led her to researching the O’Neill clan and syndicate, which had led her to examining her own family tree. That search had started as a shot in the dark—a basic dive into public records and old news archives, her attempts to piece together the tangled web of names and faces that had come to dominate her life. But the deeper she dug, the more her gut twisted. The connections she unearthed were fragile at first, easy to dismiss. A coincidence here, a tenuous link there. A remembered face or name from her childhood. But then the pieces began to fit together, and the picture they painted was more horrifying than anything she could have imagined.

Her breath caught as another link clicked into place, the truth sliding into focus like a blade pressed against her throat.

James Fitzwilliam, her father, had strong ties to the O’Neill Syndicate, and might have even been a part of the organization at one time.

She stared at the screen, her stomach churning as the words burned into her mind. A decades-old photograph showed her father standing beside a younger Con O’Neill, their expressions grim but united. The accompanying article was sparse on details, but it mentioned her father by name, describing him as an ‘advisor’ to the Syndicate’s financial dealings. The date on the article was from before she was born—before the Fitzwilliam Foundation had been established.

Her entire life of privilege, of wealth and respectability, was built on the same criminal empire she now found herself entangled with.

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