Page 75 of Brutal Obsession

When that soft glow in his eyes doesn’t fade, an odd, squishy sensation expands in my chest. “I’m glad you were there that day. And I like knowing you were watching me. You should probably know that I watched you too.”

“I’m glad.” He hesitates, as if debating with himself. “Why wouldn’t you talk to me after that night? Every time I saw you over the next few weeks, you ran in the opposite direction.”

I cringe and avert my gaze. “I’m sorry. Once the initial shock passed, I was too humiliated, knowing you saw what happened.”

His expression softens even more. “You had no reason to be humiliated.”

He kisses me gently then. Deeply. He makes love to me with such passion and tenderness that I can’t speak, not even a whisper. Neither of us do. It’s almost as if we’re hoarding every last ounce of pleasure, refusing to release even a single wisp to the outside world.

No one would hear a thing if not for this motel bed creaking beneath the heft of our combined weight.

It’s so intimate, so vulnerable.

Even, dare I say, romantic.

I hate how much I love it.

I can’t believe how much time I wasted with idiots and assholes and shallow people. Time that would have been much better spent in Cian’s bed.

When I wake up the next morning, half submerged under his magical body, and remember the hell I’m in, every ounce of ecstasy from the previous night gives way to panic and urgency. I need to call my sister before I fall any deeper down the rabbit hole.

Because if there’s a single truth everyone knows about Cian, it’s that he never sticks to the same girl for long.

And if I lose myself in him, I may never be found again.

Chapter 20

Cian

In my dream, we’re still in that motel shower.

“Please, Cian,” Harper cries again. “Oh, fuck.”

What she’s pleading with me about while I rail her, I have no idea.

All I know is that I can’t stop ramming my cock inside of her.

In real life, this is the part where I came harder than I ever have. But in the dream, I pull out and maneuver Harper’s body until her back’s pressed against the cold tile wall and her legs are fastened around my waist. My cock’s hard and soggy from that little monsoon maker between her thighs, and when I slide back in, tears fall from her eyes.

“What is it?” dream-me asks.

Harper’s eyelids lower, warm sincerity on her face. “I love you.”

I jolt upright in the motel bed, alone, chest heaving up and down like I just ran a marathon.

Morning wood is an understatement.

Also, what the fuck wasthat?

Across from the bed, the bathroom door is shut. I hear the shower through the thin wood.

I groan, falling back against the mattress.

The memories return like an ocean swell. I spent all night dreaming about fucking her in the shower. And what we did right here, between these sheets, I can only describe as lovemaking, and that’s probably the grossest, sappiest thing I’ve thought in a long time.

So why do I feel like this?

Like I want to do that with her every night the rest of my life.

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