Page 30 of Brutal Obsession

One touch of his lips and electricity crackles through me, top to bottom.

Speaking of bottoms, why’d he have to grab my ass?

That’s like the most sensitive part of my anatomy besides my?—

Not the point, Harper!

No, the point is that Cian’s lost his ever-lovin’ mind.

He flew to Oahu to drag me back to New York, not to engage in a hot make-out session.

And yet…

Cian cuffs the back of my neck with his strong fingers. That casual display of dominance as he seduces my mouth causes lust to wobble in my belly, almost like a buzz from one too many glasses of wine. Then, his fingers slide up the back of my skull, tangling in my hair and holding my head in place while his tongue continues to plunge and withdraw in a rhythm that mimics sex, lighting up every nerve cell like the Rockerfeller Center during Christmas.

Palming my ass with his other hand, he pulls me to him until I straddle his thigh. The touch pulses heat straight to my clit. When he rocks his leg forward, the delicious pressure is both too much and not enough. I chase the friction with a low moan, and the unexpected sound startles me so much that I recoil from Cian and cover my lips with my hand to stop his kisses.

Our heavy exhalations vibrate the air in chorus, the same way they did hours ago when he caught up with me in the street.

Good grief. I’m a freaking mess. I need to get myself under control, but he’s not giving me enough space.

His one hand remains buried in my hair, while the other still grips my ass, holding us together when I could really use someone to shove a continent between us.

This is absurd. This guy’s here to ruin my life, yet I just about screwed him with my clothes on.

I wrote off our last kiss as me being high on the anxiety of my imminent escape and slightly buzzed off a glass and a half of white wine.

That excuse just, poof, went up in flames. Agreeing to two minutes with the man in a dark alley is a far cry from what’s happening now.

But even though I’m all kinds of mixed up and turned on, I can’t afford to lose my composure.

No kiss will divert my quest to preserve my freedom.

No matter how incredible.

Until my breathing slows, I refuse to meet Cian’s eyes.

I can’t. The possibility of what I might find within those green depths terrifies me…such as the crazed expression of a sex-starved ladies’ man.

I rewind to our earlier exchange.

Why are you acting like this?

Why? Because I haven’t fucked anyone in months.

Ever since that night we kissed at the bar.

He’s lying. He must be. Cian gets laid more in six months than most guys probably get laid in a lifetime. No way he went without since the night I disappeared…especially when he had five women waiting for him back inside.

Except…what if he did? And if so, how is his abstinence my fault? Did my daring escape cause such a stir that Cian sacrificed all his free time to search for me high and low, leaving him no energy leftover to find convenient hookups?

Or is he implying that our kiss ruined him for other women?

I scold myself for that last thought and pretend I don’t like it as much as I do.

Whatever the reason for his sudden dry spell, am I to gather from the way he jumped me that he’s planning to use me as the receptacle for all that pent-up sexual aggression?

Wetness surges between my legs. My mind spins, and I can barely breathe. For all I know, this jackass plans to break my vagina in half, yet here I am. Ready to sign up with a permanent marker.

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