Page 25 of Unholy Obsession

“Don’t call me that,” I bark. “Not now that you know. I’m Bane.”

She quirks an eyebrow, amused. “Bane, then.”

She’s playing with me. Because she can see the part of me that craves indulgence, pleasure, and dominance? Or justbecause she’s a woman who knows how to use her body to get what she wants?

Or perhaps she simply thinks this is what I expect of her after bringing her here?

It’s the last possibility that shuts down the beast inside me.

If we were back in the club, I would know exactly how to bring her to heel.Or to weeping, howling pleasure.

But we’re not at the club. This is Father Blackwood’s territory, no matter what she calls me. While I don’t know how to find solid ground between the man that I was and the one I usually strive to be, some motherfucker has already hurt her once tonight. I won’t be the second.

“Moira,” I begin, my voice rough. “You should?—”

“Should what?” she interrupts, her voice soft but insistent. She takes another step closer until she’s nearly within arm’s reach. “Should go to bed? I’d be warmer if we went to bed together, you know. Don’t you want me to be warm?”

Her gaze lowers briefly, taking in the way my fists are clenched at my sides, before rising to meet mine again. “Or do you want me to leave you alone to your cold prayers,Father?Is that what you want?”

I exhale sharply, wanting to paddle her for her insolence. “What I want doesn’t matter.”

“Doesn’t it?” she whispers, her voice barely audible but devastating nonetheless.

The air between us is too thick, too charged. I take a deliberate step back, and the edge of the counter presses into my spine as I force myself to put distance between us.

“You’re tired.” I force my voice steady. “You’ve had a long night. You need sleep.”

Her head tilts slightly, her damp hair catching the light as she studies me with those piercing green eyes. “What if I don’twant to sleep?” she asks, her tone feather-light but laced with meaning.

Fuck her. She’s begging for it, you self-righteous asshole. You can make it good for her before you choke her on your cock.

I close my eyes briefly, my hands gripping the counter behind me as though it’s the only thing keeping me upright. When I open them, she’s still there, her expression unreadable but undeniably... vulnerable.

“Moira,” I say again, her name a prayer, a plea. “This isn’t...” I trail off, the words refusing to come.

She takes another step forward, so close now I can feel the faint warmth radiating from her breasts—not touching the cloth of my shirt, but so, so close. She’s still flushed from the bath, not that I dare let myself look down.

“This isn’t what?” she asks softly.

My breath catches as she reaches up, her hand brushing against my arm, tentative but deliberate. The touch is electric, setting every nerve in my body alight.

“Moira,” I growl, the sound barely human. I step away from the counter, towering over her now, though it does nothing to lessen her defiance—or her proximity. “Don’t.”

“Why not?” she whispers, her hand still hovering near my arm but not touching. “I’m not some wounded thing. And I’m not afraid of you.”

The words hit me harder than they should. She doesn’t know about all the things I’m envisioning in my head.

“You should be,” I rasp.

Her brows furrow slightly, but she doesn’t move away. “I don’t think you’d ever hurt me.” She sounds so sure.

And that’s the crux of it, isn’t it? The thing that keeps me rooted here, torn between the need to protect her and the gnawing temptation to give in, to take what she’s offering even if it damns me completely.

“You don’t know what I’m capable of,” I say, my voice deep and gruff.

Her gaze doesn’t waver. “I know enough.”

I look again at the bruise darkening her eye, and it’s enough to reaffirm my resolve even as my teeth clench. “Tell me who did that to you.”

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