Page 89 of Charmingly Obsessed
“Do you ever just… do what you want, Diana?” My whisper makes her shudder, a tiny, almost imperceptible tremor that runs through her entire body.
I clench my teeth against a surge of raw, possessive need and lift her chin with my fingers, forcing her to meet my gaze.
“Yes,” she whispers back, her eyes wide, honest. “Yes. I like everything… everything you do to me.”
Her lips, full and soft and still slightly swollen, part slightly.
The faint, pearlescent smear of her lip gloss, from our earlier gallery outing, glistens at the edges.
“How about,” I murmur, my voice a low, seductive purr, “you do it all yourself this time? Everything you want. To me.”
Her throat moves as she swallows, a delicate, vulnerable movement that makes my own cock twitch.
I gather her soft, silky hair at her nape, feeling the tension coil and tighten within her. Because I want to kiss every last shred of hesitation from her lips. I want to devour her. But I need to wait.
Every moment with her, a beautiful, torturous mirage.
“Okay,” she murmurs, her voice barely audible. A surrender. A promise.
I no longer feel my own hand against her skin, though she moves more intently now, her small, clever hands finding my cock again.
And I hold still. Waiting.
What a fucking fool I was. Back then. Imagined it all – the proper courtship, the big wedding, the white veil. Just like my parents. At first, I just prayed she’d at least talk to me. Then, that she’d kiss me. Then, that she’d tell me things. Her secrets.Her dreams. Then, that she’d moan my name. Then, that she’d marry me. More and more and more. Deeper and deeper.
But marriage alone… it isn’t enough. Not nearly enough.
Diana grips my belt with one hand, a stray, golden curl falling over her cheek. I brush it away, then squeeze her palm in mine. Just like last time. The time I want to repeat every single goddamn day for the rest of my miserable, beautiful life.
She wraps her lips around the head of my cock and begins to suck with a sweet, studious concentration. Reverently and slow.
“You’re good at this,” I force out, my voice thick, strained.
She falters for a second, blinking hard, her focus blurring. Then she doubles down, her movements more confident now, more determined.
I stroke the back of her hand. My thumb brushes over the rough, puckered skin of her burn scar. The texture is unchanged. Unhealed. Just like the goddamn burn inside my own chest. The one she inflicted on me three years ago, without ever even knowing it.
I feel nothing, tactically. I’m paralyzed by emotion. Numb. Except…
Only at the tip, at the head of my cock, does the pleasure finally flare up, searing hot, sharp as a brand, when her warm, wet tongue finally, finally drags its full, glorious length along me.
Andreal pleasure, I’m rapidly rediscovering, is just like pain. Sharp and merciless and all-consuming.
I can only watch. And fear. What comes next. Because for the first time in a very, very long time, I honestly don’t know.
She trusts me. At least, a little. And I’m holding on to that fragile trust with everything I have. I will reshape myself, remold myself, into someone made only for her. Someone who can let her unfold slowly, shyly, like a rare, delicate bud opening itspetals to the sun. Without tearing her apart in my haste, in my greed.
“Diana,” I whisper, my voice hoarse, raw. “You’re… you’re fucking perfect.”
Her long, dark lashes tremble against her cheek. The visible tension in the graceful column of her throat, as she swallows, pierces straight through my heart. No. I can’t take this.No, no, no…
She feels me, her attention utterly focused, absorbed, her movements skillful.
A cascade of ragged, breathless moans breaks from her lips as she slides them away from my cock and angles my straining length towards her beautiful, flushed face.
And I come. Silently. A hot, violent, uncontrollable flood of pure, white-hot electricity coursing through my veins.
Covering her entire face. Her cheeks. Her nose. Her lips.
