Page 105 of Charmingly Obsessed
He just stares down at me, unblinking, his eyes like… like something out of deep, dark, beautiful space. Endless. And suddenly, the simple, involuntary act of blinking feels… terrifying. Like I might miss something. Something vital.
I cup his handsome, bruised face in my hands, and he leans in, pressing his forehead against mine.
“Kolya,” I whisper, my voice suddenly serious, the champagne-fueled bravado momentarily deserting me. “Are we… are we going to be together? Like, really, truly together?”
“We already are, Diana,” he says. “We’ll be together forever and ever. I promise.”
“That’s not how it works,” I mumble, a wave of disappointment, of cold, sober reality, washing over me. He gently holds my face in his large, warm hands. “I’ll… I’ll just let you down. Eventually.”
He says something then. Answers me. But what does it matter what he says? I already know what he’s going to say. That he’s madly obsessed with me. That I’m his sunshine, his little thief, his whatever. Blah, blah, blah. That he fell for me three years ago and waited, pining, like some tragic hero from a romance novel. Frez is just… sentimental like that. Underneath all the ruthless billionaire swagger.
You probably have to be this drunk to take this whole relentless, overwhelming love bombardment seriously. I stare up at the ornate, gilded ceiling light. Maybe… maybe I’m always drunk. Because I just keep believing him. I just keep letting myself hope.
“Diana,” he calls to me, his voice firm now, cutting through my hazy thoughts. “Are you listening to me? Do you hear what I’m saying?”
Ugh. Monsieur Thunderstorm is about to break into a hundred thousand volts of pure, concentrated, masculine intensity, all aimed directly at me.
Fine. I surrender.
I brush my lips against his, softly, tentatively. I run my tongue, just once, along the seam of his mouth. Then I nuzzle my nose against his chin, his stubble a pleasant, scratchy abrasion against my skin. And Frez… Frez kisses me deeper. Stretching each touch, each caress, like he’s trying to make time itself longer, more elastic. A thief of time! A thief of kisses! And time, by the way, is just another dimension of space. According to Einstein. That’s why he wants to stretch it. Frez is a smart one, honestly. He knows the planet moves forward, relentlessly, so time only flows in one direction. You can’t go back to the past. The planet isn’t even there anymore!
“But I want to go back to the past,” I assure him, my voice muffled against his lips. “I really want to. Then… then you’d love me for real. The real me. Not this… this mess.”
He kisses me again and again. That’s how it all started, wasn’t it? One kiss and my whole world flipped upside down. I was shocked, terrified, and utterly captivated. Despite all the cruel things he said that first day, Frez still wormed his way under my skin.
“I do love you for real, Diana!”
God, why is he shouting? But it’s a good thing Frez is so chatty, so expressive. So… loud. I have no idea how we’d communicate otherwise. I’m such a sluggish little fish. Not a goldfish. More of a… sprat. A small, insignificant, and probably very confused sprat.
“And I love you, Kolya,” I sigh, the words slipping out, easy and true and terrifying. “But that doesn’t matter.”
Actually, I’m the only one who’s truly, properly drunk here. And I’mthe only onewho’s allowed to laugh, loudly and uninhibitedly.
I shove the sadist playfully in the chest, but he catches me too quickly. Not fair! Where’s my magnificent, ridiculous, bright pink parachute jacket when I need it?
“Doesn’t matter?” he murmurs into my lips, his voice a low, fervent prayer. “Just… just the whole world to me. My entire goddamn universe. You and me, Diana. We’ll move mountains together. I’ll move mountains for you. Even if you don’t love me back. But if you do…”
We slam into the suite door and he lifts me in one motion, his hands strong on my thighs. A giddy laugh escapes me and my eyes flutter shut—my god, this is happening. The anxious knot inside me is finally, finally going to unravel. I need this so badly.
Our lips keep missing in our haste, our desperation. I try to hold onto the nape of his neck more gently, to guide him.
“We’re going inside,” he mumbles against my skin. “Right now.” I moan and giggle at the same time, a sound that’s probably half-insane, half-ecstatic.
Turns out, we do make it inside. I pounce on Koly the second the door closes behind us, and now he’s the one pressed against the door, his back to the cool, polished wood. I trace his lips with my fingers, just like he always does to me. I want to do everything like him. But I don’t knowhow.
His whole face seems to twitch, to tighten. The sharp, aristocratic angles of his cheekbones cut even deeper, more defined, beneath his tanned skin.
“I like having sex with you,” I tell him quietly, resting my forehead against his nose, my voice suddenly, surprisingly serious. “You’re… you’re very good at it.”
I can’t keep telling the story, though, because he keeps distracting me. And somehow, in a blur of movement and sensation, he’s lifting me higher, almost tossing me up in the air!
Turns out, I’m not even wearing my coat anymore! When did that happen? My nipples are hard, aching, because Kolya is tugging at them with his lips, through the thin fabric of my blouse. I really should stop moaning. I really, really should. It’s unladylike.
“I’m going to hell for this too,” he breathes, his voice heavy, ragged.
We both fumble to get my tights off.
Kolya pushes into me against the door. I smile against his lips—slow, triumphant, and utterly shameless. His breath comes in loud, shattered gasps as he whispers a desperate, ragged litany against my skin: that he loves me, over and over. It’s so good, so overwhelming, I feel like crying.
