Page 86 of Obsession

I frowned. I knew those maps. It was the coast of Marblehead, Salem, and Manchester Bay. A detailed seafaring compass was open, and more numbers were scattered into the design.

My home.

Why was he marked with places near me?

“I’m not who you think I am.”

His words dented the haze of lust. Who had he been before Blake Carson, the creator of a glass empire?

He dragged my attention—and my mouth—back to his neck and up to his mouth. The kiss was drugging and mind-erasing. He shifted and a whisper of silk made me open my eyes.

And his lips were gone.

“Blake?”

He shrugged his shirt back on and then wrapped his burgundy-colored tie around my wrists. “You haven’t really grasped the idea of a quickie, have you, Ms. Copeland?”

My mouth went dry as he brought the ends between my hands and tucked them into the curve of my fingers. I could get free if I wanted.

Okay, it might take a little wiggling, but I could get free.

He lifted my joined hands and hooked them around his neck. “Hold on, Ms. Copeland.”

I squeaked when he picked me up, pushing up my skirt before he set me back on the table. It was an old drafting table, sturdy as hell.

I was pretty sure I was just about to find outhowsturdy.

“Stockings?”

I swallowed hard as he ran his hands up my inner thighs. Worse. Pantyhose.

Seriously, the most unsexy garments made in the history of man. I squirmed, but he simply drew me closer to the edge of the table. He hovered his lips over mine as he found the seam between my legs and dug his fingers in.

I gasped at the rending of silk and the sudden cool air across the apex of my legs.

“They were in my way.”

“Can’t have that, can we?” I muttered.

He nudged my panties aside. “No.” Then he covered my mouth, and slowly, he slid two fingers inside of me. I groaned around the invasion of his tongue and fingers at the same time.

I wanted to clamp my legs shut, but his hips were in the way.

Too much.

Not enough.

I curled my arms around his neck. Hindered by my bindings, I couldn’t pull myself up higher or push forward for something deeper.

I was completely at his mercy.

Just as he preferred.

I tore my mouth away, my cheek pressing against his bearded one. “Quickie, you say?”

“I changed my mind.” His strokes were slow and methodical, and his mouth went from drugging to melting as he sipped from my collarbone and pushed the strap of my dress out of the way. “What else do we have under here?”

“Not fair.”

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