Page 177 of Unholy Obsession

“I’ve missed you,” I repeat. I know I already told her, but the words feel pathetically small against the enormity of what I’ve felt these past weeks.

“I missed you too.” Her voice breaks on the words. “Every fucking day.”

I should go slow. I should be gentle. She’s been through hell. She’s been fucking medicated. I should treat her like glass.

But then her hands are at my belt, her eyes wild with need, and I know?—

She needs this as much as I do.

Still, I capture her wrists, pinning them behind her back with one hand. With the other, I tilt her chin, forcing her to look at me.

“Not like this,” I say, voice rough with restraint. “Not quick and desperate.”

She trembles in my grip. “Bane, please?—”

“No.” I tighten my hold just slightly. “I’ve spent weeks thinking I’d lost you forever. I’ve grieved you. I’ve fuckingragedover you. And now I have you back.” I lower my mouth to her ear, letting my breath warm her skin. “I’m going to take my time with you. I’m going to worship every inch of you until you’re begging. Until you’re screaming my name. Until you remember exactly who you belong to.”

Her pupils dilate so wide her eyes look nearly black. “I never forgot.” The words are barely audible.

And then she sinks down, graceful and fluid, her knees hitting the thick carpet. Her gaze never leaves mine, and I have to fight for control. I was the one who said I didn’t want this quick and desperate, but?—

My Moira. On her knees. For me.

The sight nearly undoes me.

I slide my fingers into her hair, cradling her head in my palm. “You have no idea how often I’ve dreamed of this.” My voice is hoarse with want. “How many nights I woke up reaching for you.”

She leans into my touch like a cat, eyes closing briefly. “I used to pretend you were still there, too,” she whispers. “On the bad days. I’d wrap myself in that hoodie you left at my place and pretend you were holding me.”

Something in my chest cracks open. “You’re never going to need to pretend again,” I promise, fierce and certain. “I’m not letting you go. Not ever.”

Her hands move to my belt again, and this time, she undoes it slowly, deliberately, never rushing despite the need I can feel thrumming through her body.

When she frees me, her breath catches, and the sound goes straight to my cock.

“I’ve thought about this so many times,” she whispers, her hands sliding up my thighs as my pants sink to the floor. “About you. About us.”

I brush a curl from her face, gentler than I thought myself capable of being in this moment. “Tell me what you need, dove.”

Her eyes flick up to mine, and there’s a vulnerability there I’ve never seen before. “I need to know it’s real. That you still want me. Even like this.”

Even medicated. Even different. Even with the highs and lows smoothed out into something less chaotic.

I cradle her face in my hands. “I told you, I just wantyou, Moira. Not just the parts that are easy or fun or wild.Allof you.”

Something shifts in her expression—relief, maybe, or resolution. And then she takes my cock in her mouth, and all coherent thought dissolves.

Oh fuck. The wet heat of her mouth. The barest scrape of her teeth. The flutter of her throat as she takes me deeper and hums.

I groan, my head falling back, my hand moving to tighten in her hair. She moves with purpose, with devotion, her nails digging into my thighs.

When I feel myself getting too close, I pull her back. “No. Not yet.”

I help her to her feet, relishing the flush on her cheeks, the swell of her lips. “Not until I’ve tasted you, too.”

I lift her onto the massive oak desk, shoving aside papers and pens without a care. Let them fall. Let the whole fucking world burn. Nothing matters but the woman in front of me.

I drop to my knees between her legs, pushing her thighs apart, exposing her pink, perfect cunt to my gaze. She’s already wet.

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