Page 88 of Charmingly Obsessed
She stills, her breath catching, when I brush the back of my hand, ever so lightly, over her face. Her cheek is soft, warm, flushed. From the outside, a casual observer might think this is a gentle, soothing gesture. But in reality… in reality, I’m stopping myself. Trying to calm the ravenous, possessive beast that’s been clawing at the inside of my ribcage since the moment she walked into my life.
There isn’t another bastard like me in the entire goddamn world. I married her under the false, calculated pretense of logic, of business. A means to an end. And I played the part of the noble, reluctantly pragmatic man so well. I always did excel at playing the noble man. It’s a useful, effective mask.
It doesn’t matter how many digits flash on a computer screen, before or after the decimal point. Money isn’t real if no one believes in it. It’s just… numbers. Data. And feelings… feelings aren’t real unless they’re shown. Unless they’re acted upon.
I’ve always loved this game – the high-stakes world of finance, of corporate takeovers, of strategic manipulation. Only because I knew, with an arrogant, unshakeable certainty, how to win it.
Turns out,losing– or at least, the terrifying, exhilarating prospect of losing everything – is far more intoxicating.
I just don’t want to play anymore. Notthosegames. When it comes to her. I want this to be simple. Primitive. Black and white. Stupid and instinctual. Want thoughts clipped short, sharp, like the satisfying thud of a rubber stamp on the marriage certificate. Decisions made on pure impulse. Each day, each moment, lived as if it were the last.
She unfastens the zipper of my jeans. The sound is shockingly loud in the quiet room.
I keep stroking her face, tilting her chin up slightly with my thumb. Diana doesn’t resist, though her own touch, as her hands come to rest on my stomach, is hesitant, uneven.
She’s preparing herself. Adjusting. Her fingers shift, guiding my hard cock, a silent, almost imperceptible invitation. And then her gaze, those incredible blue-gray eyes, flicks up to mine.
As if she’s waiting for some damn instruction. For me to tell her what to do. And she’s not going to ask out loud. She’s afraid.
I look down at her, at her parted lips, at the dawning desire in her eyes. And at the last possible second, I move away. Just an inch. Breaking the connection.
Her expression remains unchanged.
That same infuriating, captivating mask of calm composure that makes her appear so effortlessly, so elegantly, put-together to the rest of the world.
But I always wait. I always watch. For the moment her eyes betray her. For the tiny, fleeting flicker of contradiction, of confusion, of raw emotion that cracks the carefully constructed surface.
Only then, only when I see her unravel, just a little, for me, do I feel steady beneath my own feet.
My hand skims over her soft, beautiful face again. She exhales, a soft, shaky sound of surrender. Obedient. And prepares herself again.
The moment I feel the first, feather-light graze of her lips against the head of my cock, I redirect her. Again. I trace the full, soft outline of her mouth with my fingers. Denying us both.
“Mykola?” Diana’s voice is a breathy, uncertain whisper. She hesitates.
Welcome to a game without rules, wife.
“Do you know what I’m going to do to you after this?”
She nods slowly, a few golden-brown strands of her silky hair brushing against her cheek. Her face is smooth, almost cat-like in its delicate, heart-shaped contours.
Soon, all of it will be marked by me. Bruised by my mouth. Stained by my release.
Yes, I’m going to come right on her face and watch my cum drip from her lips.
“Do you know why?”
“You… you like it… because—” she falters, her brow furrowing slightly as she struggles to piece together the right, logical, Diana-esque answer.
I turn my head slightly, exhaling sharply through my nose. I need something to anchor me. Something solid beneath my feet.
I force myself to stand still. I want to flip everything inside out. Myself. This room. Diana. The whole fucking world. I want to turn it all upside down, shake it until all the secrets, all the fears, all the insecurities, fall out.
But I have to wait. Or it will all crumble. She needs structure. Predictability. At least in fragments. At least the illusion of order. I have to give that to her. I have to be patient. But…
I’ve waitedso long. Three goddamn years. Every day has been the same gray, monotonous, Diana-less hell. And it’s not just that I love her. It’s that Diana Bilova is, without a singledoubt, the most fascinating, complex, infuriating, captivating creature I’ve ever known.
And to understand her, to truly know her, without breaking her… I have towait. The one thing in this world I doworst.
