Page 135 of Sweet Obsession
His lips crashed into mine again, bruising, hungry. his tongue plundering my mouth as he drove into me harder, faster, the bed groaning beneath us, the world outside dissolving.
“If this is the last time,” he rasped against my lips, voice breaking, “I want you to remember who you belong to.”
His hand slid to my throat—not choking, just holding, claiming, anchoring me to him.
I moaned, undone beneath him, trembling as his weight pressed into every inch of me like a vow no god could break.
He grabbed my wrist, pressing it to his chest, right over the frantic thud of his heart. “Feel that,” he rasped, his thrusts slowing. deeper, rougher, each one dragging a moan from my soul. “This beats for you. If it stops, if I don’t come back, you fight. You fucking live.”
“Malyshka,” he growled, his hand tightening on my throat, just enough to make my pulse roar, his thrusts relentless. “You’re not leaving me. Not for Chernov. Not for death. You hear me? You fucking belong to me.”
“I’m yours,” I cried, my voice breaking.
“Fuck... I’m yours!” I screamed, wild and desperate, as my orgasm tore through me, a raw wail ripping from my throat, my body convulsing, soaking him. Misha roared, his release flooding me, hot and claiming, our bodies shuddering together, a shared defiance against the dark closing in.
He collapsed beside me, our bodies tangled in silence, my cheek resting over his chest where his heartbeat thudded—a fragile rhythm I clung to like a lifeline.
His sweat, his blood, the echo of our ruin clung to my skin, but even that raw intimacy couldn’t quiet the dread gnawing inside me.
Tomorrow loomed like a guillotine.
I couldn’t sleep.
The shadows stretched long, my eyes chasing shapes while the truth pulsed loud and merciless: everything could end, and I didn’t know if the man I loved would still be breathing when the sun rose.
I’d never known silence could feel so loud.
Misha was gone.
Calling him wasn’t an option—not now. He needed focus, clarity, control. All the things I didn’t have in his absence.
The estate was locked down tighter than a federal prison. Guards everywhere. Eyes in every corner. No one was getting in or out without ten layers of clearance. I was safe... on paper. But that didn’t matter.
Misha wasn’t.
I paced the halls like a madwoman, barefoot, my mind chewing itself apart. I wandered into the kitchen. Opened the fridge. Closed it. Reopened it. No appetite. Just nerves. I tried the studio, stared at my half-finished painting, the smudges of vermillion and gold that now felt meaningless. I roamed the halls again, the same circuit over and over. Anything to keep me from crumbling.
The clocks ticked louder than my own heartbeat.
Where are you?
I stopped at the window at the end of the hall and stared out into the snowy darkness. His shadow didn’t move out there. His voice didn’t call. His presence didn’t reach me. It felt like waiting on a battlefield, unarmed.
A soft knock pulled me from my spiral. I turned.
Sofia stood there with a knitted shawl around her shoulders and something gentle in her eyes. “You’re going to wear a hole in the floor,” she said.
I tried to smile. Failed. “I can’t sit still.”
She walked in and touched my arm. “Then don’t. But don’t do it alone, either.” Her voice lowered, like she understood more than she let on. “Come. Play a game with me. Something stupid. Cards, dominoes. Anything to pass the time until we hear something.”
“I can’t.”
“You can,” she said firmly. “You think he’d want you to fall apart now? Misha fights like hell for what he loves. Be the woman who stands for him, not the one who breaks.”
I blinked hard, lips trembling. “Okay.”
We sat in the parlor, spread out a deck of cards. It was a simple game, maybe something like rummy or snap. I didn’t register the rules. My mind kept drifting.
