Page 35 of Hunted Obsession

“I just need to feel you,” I whisper.

He groans, his fingers gripping my hips tighter. His jaw clenches, and a muscle in his cheek jumps, which makes me smile and my body tremble at the exact same time. He starts to move me the way he wants. Setting my pace and rhythm.

I’m already close, my body climbing higher and higher with each jerk of his hips. I bite my bottom lip, my head falls, and my back arches. Releasing my hands from his chest, I curl my fingers around my breasts.

“Fuck,” Theron moans.

That’s right.

Fuck.

Because I’m fucking him, or maybe he’s fucking me. At this point, I’m not quite sure. When I come, it slams into me, rolling through me, and my whole body tightens. I’m frozen in place.

He flips me onto my back. His hips slam into mine, one, two, three times before he buries himself deep inside of me and stills, his cum filling my body. I should probably talk to him about birth control, but I don’t think I give a shit. I might later, but right now, I don’t care about anything other than the way he just made me feel—twice.

Theron dips his chin, then his mouth touches mine, though he doesn’t deepen the kiss. He lifts his head and rests his forehead against mine. “I shouldn’t have come,” he whispers. “But I’m sure fucking glad that I did.”

“Me too,” I exhale. “But why did you?” I chance asking.

He hums but doesn’t answer me. Wrapping my arms and legs around him, I hold him close to me. I wish I could keep him right here with me always, inside of me, for as long as humanly possible.

“Can you stay?” I ask.

It’s a stupid question. I know he can’t. He’s cheating on his girlfriend with me, and no doubt he’s going to want to go back to her. Theron lifts his head, his eyes finding mine as they search.

I’m not sure what he’s looking for, but whatever it is, he seems to find it because he dips his chin, and his lips touch mine again. He doesn’t answer me, thankfully. Instead, he slips from my body and gathers me in his arms.

He holds me against his side, and I try to say something, try to ask him some questions, but sleep takes over. I don’t know when he left my apartment or how he even got in, but when I wake up the next morning, I am sated, sore, and at peace.

It’s time for Emmie to fucking go.

Chapter Sixteen

LUCILLE

After a full night of sleep,I am feeling refueled and refreshed. Also, I woke up alone, and I did not like that. Being with Theron again, how sweet, gentle, and caring he was, only made me realize that I don’t want to wake up alone any longer.

Once I’ve showered and styled my hair, I put on a whole face of makeup and find something to wear. Since I’ll be trolling Emmie, I need to look amazing, but I also need a coat of armor. She gets to me in a way that none of the others ever have.

Choosing a pair of cream-colored wide-leg trousers with pleats, I slip those on. Then, reaching into my closet, I take out the button-down satin gold shirt that I bought for a Christmas party a few years ago and tuck the front into the pants. After slipping on a thin brown belt, I look at my reflection in the mirror.

My hair is down, softly curled, and my makeup impeccable but still light and soft. I slide into a pair of low-heeled black pointed-toe shoes, inhale a deep breath, and let it out slowly. My nerves are shot, but I’m not giving up on this.

I want Emmie Grant gone.

I drive to the art gallery and make sure to drive past the parking lot to ensure that her car is there. It is. I park a few spots down from her and across the street. I exit my vehicle and make my way toward the gallery, but first, I stop for a coffee at the café.

If I don’t keep my hand occupied, I’m afraid I might slap her across her smug face. Just imagining her talking about her man in the salon physically fills me with rage. I mean, maybe she’s a good person, but I don’t care.

I know I am the bad guy here. Theron is with her, and he’s cheated on her twice with me. But I don’t think their relationship is what she thinks it is. At least, that’s what I’m telling myself.

Thanking the barista for my coffee, I curl my fingers around it and head straight toward the gallery. I reach for the handle of the door and tug it open with a little more gusto than I usually would because it’s a thick glass door and heavy as hell.

“Welcome to Nights Art Gallery,” Emmie’s voice calls out. It’s a few octaves higher than normal, once again confirming her fakeness.

Lifting my nose a touch higher in the air, I ignore her greeting as if I don’t have the inclination to be bothered. I wonder if she’s going to recognize me from the salon, but if she does, she hasn’t said anything yet.

Moving through the gallery, I pretend to be disinterested in all of the art surrounding me. Almost as if they’re all just prints from HomeGoods or something and not the works of art they are.

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