Page 33 of Obsessing Over His Favorite
His hands grew bolder, rougher, almost out of control, igniting a fever that burned through her skin and soaked her nerves.
Her voice cracked as she finally cried out, “Let go of me! Aren’t you scared of what Amelia will think if she finds out you’re doing this to me?!”
That made him pause.
His grip on her jaw remained firm, but he raised his face from her neck and looked down into her eyes, his gaze simmering.
“Emily,” he said, teeth gritted, “Amelia has nothing to do with me. I’ve told you that a thousand times. When are you going to stop being jealous?”
His voice dropped, softer this time, low and coaxing. His thumb brushed gently along her jawline, his eyes locked onto hers, searching—desperate for a crack in her anger.
“Don’t be mad at me anymore. Alright?”
Emily’s face hardened. She forcefully yanked her hands out of his grip, her movements sharp and full of restrained fury.
“I told you—I’m not angry!” she snapped.
She shoved him back with both hands, the motion sudden enough to jolt him, and scrambled out of the bed. Her bare feet hit the cold floor as she pulled herself upright, clutching the edge of the dresser for balance.
“I told you, I don’t care what you do or who you do it with. Ido notcare!”
Lucas stood as well, rising slowly—his towering frame tense, muscles rigid beneath the thin fabric of his shirt. The softness that had lingered in his expression vanished in an instant,replaced by a storm brewing behind his eyes. His jaw clenched as his fists curled by his sides.
“This is getting out of hand, Emily,” he growled, his voice suddenly sharp. “It’s been weeks! Are you really going to keep pretending like nothing bothers you? Keep lying to me? Can you stop this damn behavior already!”
Her entire body stiffened at his words, and then the explosion came.
“I’m not lying to you!” she screamed, her voice cracking. “I haven’t done anything to disturb you! I don’t care about you—don’t you get it?!”
Her breath came in short, angry bursts as she knelt down, snatching her clothes off the floor with trembling hands. She clutched them tightly to her chest.
“You can have the bed. I’m sleeping on the couch,” she muttered through gritted teeth.
She had barely taken two steps toward the hallway when Lucas stormed after her. In one swift motion, he grabbed her waist from behind and spun her around, his grip firm but not bruising. She stumbled back as he forced her toward the bed.
“Sleep here,” he growled.
Then, without waiting for her response, he turned on his heel and stormed out, slamming the door behind him with a force that made the walls shake.
Chapter 7 A Note
Lucas was sprawled on the living room couch, one arm slung over his eyes, the other lazily tossing his pillow aside. His hair was a tousled mess, strands falling over his forehead, and fatigue clung to his face like shadows. His shirt was rumpled, the first two buttons undone, and a hint of frustration lingered in the tense line of his jaw.
Dillon, who had just arrived, paused in the living room, a deep frown creasing his forehead. “Mr. Cantrell… you slept on the couch last night? You didn’t sleep in the bed?”
Lucas didn’t respond right away. He rubbed his temples slowly, then let his head fall back against the couch with a sigh that sounded more like a growl.
“Emily’s angry with me,” he muttered, keeping his eyes shut. “Usually, she cools off within hours. This time, she’s taking a little longer.”
A hint of stubborn confidence curled in his tone as he added, "Now that I left her alone all night, she’s probably dying to make peace and pacify me."
Dillon nodded with a knowing expression. “Yeah. Ms. Crawford always gets mad, makes a scene, and then comes running back to pacify you.”
He glanced up toward the bedroom and muttered, “Might be just a few minutes now. She didn’t come to you all night—that’s never happened before. Usually, within an hour, she is already running to you.”
“It’s alright,” Lucas muttered, rising to his feet. “I’m going to get ready first. If she comes looking for me, tell her I’m not available to talk until after breakfast.”
By the time breakfast was set, Lucas had changed into a tailored gray suit. He sat at the dining table, freshly shaven and composed, nursing a cup of black coffee between his fingers. The air around him was calm—but his eyes kept glancing toward the stairs.
