Page 92 of Brutal Obsession

Okay, how in theworldam I supposed to respond to that?

I know he’s probably only talking about the sex we missed out on, so I don’t allow myself to get too swept up in his words. Then again, knowing what sex with Cian is like and that he waslooking forward to it that night…hearing him talk about it like I’m precious to him…

It’s having an impact on my underwear that probably violates some obscure FAA law.

“Tell me about your mother,” I blurt. I regret the question when the light in his eyes dims but it’s too late now, so I tack on a plea. “Please.”

With a huge sigh, he sinks back in the seat and studies his hands. “My mother was a kind soul. She used to read me stories at night, the same ones over and over because otherwise, I’d throw a fit. She cooked soup when I was sick, helped me pick out my clothes on the first day of class.” The softness of his voice forces me to lean closer to hear. “She took care of me the best she could, but sometimes she hurt too much by the time he finished with her to do more than lie in bed.”

Now I understand why he lowered his voice. “Cian, it’s okay, forget I asked. You don’t have to?—”

“I hated my dad. Hated that I couldn’t protect her. Spent years of my life anticipating the day when I’d finally be big and strong enough to stand my ground and force him to stop.”

“And did you?”

He hesitates, his fists tightening around the armrests as he steals a quick glance at me. “Eventually.”

My ribs ache as I squeeze his shoulder, my head filled with visions of a younger Cian, distressed and inconsolable as he watches the man who sired him beat his mother. “Good. I’d glad.”

“Yeah.” He dips his chin to his chest and clears his throat. “Enough of that depressing topic.”

“Okay.” I cup his chin in my hand, tipping his face up so I can press my lips to his cheek. “I wish I could go back in time and give that little boy a kiss and tell him everything will be okay.”

Cian shudders. “Harper…” The way he breathes my name, it’s like he slipped a finger inside me.

“Yes?”

“Kiss me.” His eyelids turn hooded as he leans toward ne.

Trying not to moan, I grab a fistful of his shirt and yank him the rest of the distance to my mouth. His big hand slides to the back of my head, holding me to him as much as I’m holding him to me.

Oh, god, I want him so much. The more I touch him, the more I realize my desire for him isn’t purely sexual.

It’s more expansive, more profound than that.

I want to kiss him for forty-eight hours straight.Kiss him.That’s all.

I want him to pull me into his lap and promise me all kinds of things, like he did in the back of that car a few hours ago.

The way I’m kissing him in this moment isn’t because I want to fuck him, even though I do and probably will until my dying day.

No, I’m kissing him like this because…I want him to love me.

Why though? Why do I want his love so badly?

Why does knowing that there’s no universe where Cian and I could ever be together inspire me to kiss him harder? The thought might’ve even made me cry, if not for the flight attendant clearing her throat beside us.

I notice her first. When I push away from him, he tugs me closer, his mouth trailing to my neck like we’re at home in bed.

“Cian.” Giving the flight attendant an apologetic smile, I try to mask the lust in my voice as I gently tap him on the back.

“What?” he mumbles into my neck, teeth grazing me.

“The drinks are here.”

Reluctantly, he pulls back. Who knows how long the poor woman waited? With any other person, in this situation, I wouldhave been absolutely mortified. But somehow, because it’s Cian, I’m barely sorry.

Any crumb of remorse still inside me is vanquished when I catch the flight attendant’s expression.

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