Page 73 of Darling Obsession

Even if the sex between us is mind-blowing.

I need to heed the warnings my intuition has been waving in my face, the giant red flags that won’t let me forget his lies. His power. His ability to hurt me.

He’s not my boss anymore.

But if I’m not careful, he could be something else.

Something with far more power to ruin me.

Lying here, crushed beneath his weight, my internal warnings feel like ominous whispers of truths to come.

As his heart beats against mine, I warn myself not to like this feeling too much.

Men like Harlan are thrilling but volatile, like the most dangerous ocean currents.

You think you’re safe in the shallows, keeping them at a distance.

You don’t even see it coming before they take you under.

Chapter 12

Harlan

I’m on my laptop in my home office when Quinn nudges the door open and leans in.

“There you are!” she says, like she’s happy to see me or something. “This place ishuge. I thought I might never find you.”

Then she wanders right in without an invitation, looking around, at the books lined up perfectly on my shelves, all the dust jackets removed so that they appear more uniform. There isn’t much else to look at in here. I don’t like clutter around me while I work.

“I’m surprised you don’t turn them backwards,” she marvels, “so the white pages are showing.”

I stare at her.

“You know, so they all look the same.”

She’s reaching to touch a book, maybe pull it out and browse, when I snap, “I’m working.”

She stops abruptly. “Oh. Good idea.” She pulls out her phone. “I should take care of some emails for Quinn’s Cakes this morning.”

I can only assume she’s making herself comfortable when she sits down and stretches out like a cat on her belly—on the floor.

I didn’t know grown adults did that.

I suppose the absence of any chairs besides the one I’m sitting on didn’t get the message across that I don’t want company in here.

I allow my eyes the indulgence of traveling up her bare legs and over her dress to her ass. The ass I smacked and squeezed last night, while I fucked her.

I’m glad to see she’s at least wearing the same blue polkadot dress, and didn’t help herself to one of my shirts. She was still sleeping when I woke up, so I decided to do some work while I waited for her to get moving.

But it’s put me on edge, leaving her in my bed, like she belonged there.

When she looks up at me, I fix my gaze on my laptop screen. But all I can seem to see is her face in profile as she gasped, choked and screamed while I pounded into her, and I whispered filth in her ear.

And now I’m uncomfortably hard, and my mood is turning black.

I have work to do.

But she’s talking, making morning-after conversation, like we’re fuck buddies orfriendsor something. “I have to say, that bed of yours is amazing. I don’t even remember falling asleep.”

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