Page 5 of The CEO's Obsession

My hand moves lower, finding its target. I start a slow, deliberate rhythm, hissing at the contact.

In my fantasy, Harper's body arches towards me, her skin flushed and glistening. I imagine the softness of her curves, the warmth of her breath on my neck.

"God, Harper," I groan, my movements becoming more urgent.

The bathroom fills with the sound of my ragged breathing, echoing off the tile walls. My free hand grips the edge of the sink, knuckles white with tension.

I picture Harper's lips parting, her eyes locked on mine as I claim her. In my mind, she's pliant, willing, surrendering to my touch with a desperation that matches my own.

My muscles coil tighter, a pressure building that demands release. I'm lost in the fantasy, consumed by the imagined feel ofHarper's body against mine, the taste of her skin, the sound of her pleasure.

"Please," fantasy Harper begs. "I need you, Mason."

I grit my teeth, fighting to maintain control even as I spiral towards the edge. The Harper in my mind writhes beneath me, completely at my mercy, and it's almost more than I can bear.

I catch my reflection in the mirror, and for a moment, reality intrudes. The man staring back at me is wild-eyed, desperate. A flicker of doubt crosses my mind. Is this obsession healthy? Am I losing myself to a woman I barely know?

But then I picture Harper's smile, hear the passion in her voice as she talked about her art, and I know I can't let her go. The thought of never seeing her again is unbearable.

"Fuck," I growl, my hand moving faster.

The pressure builds to a crescendo, and suddenly I'm there. My body shudders violently, waves of pleasure crashing over me as I reach my climax. I cry out, Harper's name on my lips as I spill over my hand.

For a few blissful moments, my mind is blank, free from the torment of wanting her. But as the afterglow fades, frustration creeps in. This release, intense as it was, is a poor substitute for the real thing.

I clean up mechanically, my thoughts a swirling mess. Satisfaction wars with an aching emptiness that threatens to consume me. Harper has gotten under my skin in a way no one else ever has.

I run a hand through my disheveled hair, steadying myself against the cool marble countertop.

I stride out of the bathroom, purpose in every step.

I move to the floor-to-ceiling windows of my penthouse suite, gazing out at the Oakwood skyline. The morning sun glints off glass and steel, turning the city into a dazzling jewel. But my eyesare drawn to the west, where I know Harper's modest apartment lies among the converted industrial spaces and small galleries.

My hands press against the cool glass, as if I could reach out and touch her from here. "Harper," I whisper, her name a prayer and a curse on my lips.

The sprawling vista below reminds me of all I've built, all I control. Yet none of it compares to the storm she's unleashed within me. I close my eyes, picturing her defiant stance, the fire in her hazel eyes when she spoke about her art before I sigh and press the button to my intercom.

"Sir?" My assistant's voice crackles through the intercom.

I clear my throat. "Yes?"

"I've arranged the meeting with Ms. Lane. She's agreed to meet you at The Rustic Bean at 2 PM today."

A surge of adrenaline courses through me. "Excellent work," I reply, fighting to keep my voice level. "That will be all."

As the connection cuts, I turn back to the window. My reflection stares back at me, superimposed over the city I've conquered.

Iwillhave Harper Lane.

CHAPTER

THREE

Harper

The belljingles as I push open the door to The Rustic Bean, the rich aroma of freshly ground coffee beans enveloping me like a warm embrace. Normally, it would soothe my nerves, but today it does little to calm the storm raging inside me. My eyes dart around the room, scanning unfamiliar faces until they land onhim.

Mason.

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