Page 53 of Obsession

“Not a thing. It’s going to be low-key.”

“That I can handle.” She turns on the blow dryer, drying my hair out nice and shiny and smooth.

“Thank you, it looks great,” I say as she spins me around to get a look while I hold a small mirror, examining her handiwork.

She removes the cape and I stand. “Remember, I owed you one free cut before your life became a soap opera.”

“Fine, but I’ll only accept if I can bring you lunch one day next week.”

“Works for me.”

As soon as I step outside in the humidity, my shiny and smooth hair immediately frizzes. Oh well, it was nice while it lasted. A terrible sense of foreboding washes over me. Shaking it off—the foreboding, not the frizzes; there’s no shaking out southern humidity hair frizz—I walk back to the shop.

Quietly, I tiptoe to my bedroom carrying a tray. A shirtless Damion is seated in bed with his hands folded behind his head. You were supposed to be asleep, I mentally tell him, trying not to ogle his gorgeous body.

I threw on his T-shirt to step out into the kitchen, but now I’m wearing a frilly white apron, heels, and my pearls. After Sonia’s party, Damion and I returned to his house where this frilly apron was folded neatly on his bed; let’s just say I was not a good southern hostess, and my pearl necklace was involved.

I give him a look as he takes the tray. It’s my birthday. And what the birthday boy wants, the birthday boy gets.

How would that be different from any other day?

And yet you seem to have trouble remembering that fact.

He reaches over and grazes the exposed side of my breast with his knuckle. Behave, I think to him with a shiver. He feeds me a bite and then finishes off his breakfast.

I walk to my closet and return with his gift. He laughs when he opens it. I designed a T-shirt with a picture of a Leo lion wearing a crown that says The King. I sketched the lion’s head and mane to look a bit devilish, topped him with a crown, and had the image screen printed.

Now, if you'll just admit you’re my possession, this birthday will be perfect.

Hush and open the second part.

He opens a box containing an antique quill pen and a pot of dragon’s blood ink. Dragon’s blood is the extract from the Dracaena plant and looks like blood, hence the name. It’s a versatile spell ingredient and magic enhancer. Only write what you mean with this ink, I warn him.

My sketchpad floats over and he dips the quill in the ink, writing something, then hands me the pad.

Thank you, I love my gifts. And I love the witch who gave them to me.

I lean over to kiss him, but he pulls back. “Oh, no you don’t. You love me. Tell me.”

I give him a stubborn look, and the next thing I know, he has me pinned and is straddling me. He kisses my neck as the apron disappears, working his way down my body, torturing and teasing me, and I eventually cave. “Fine, you win. I love you, you infuriating demon!”

“I know I’ve told you this before, but you have such sweet pillow talk,” he says, laughing. He rolls off me and sits up cross-legged and pulls me on his lap. “Let’s go slow this morning. I don’t have anywhere I need to be except right here.”

Wrapping my legs around his waist and my arms around his shoulders, he snakes his arms around my waist, pressing our chests together. Our bodies are a close as humanly possible, as it’s still not close enough. Damion swipes at my lower lip with his tongue, and I gladly open for him. He moves slowly, twirling his tongue around mine. His hard cock twitches against my belly, but we stay just like we are, kissing and holding each other. He captures my moan with his mouth, smiling against my lips.

I start grinding my wetness against the underside of his hard cock, and then move my hand down to position him right where he needs to be. It’s intimate and it’s scary, but I cup his face with my hands. “Damion, you possess my heart,” I say, looking into his beautiful aquamarine-colored eyes, putting my heart out there on the line.

“That’s a terrible pun,” he retorts. “And of course I do, my possession.”

I can’t help but smile at his cockiness, kissing him sweetly as he thrusts inside me. I let out a part sigh, part whimper against his lips. We smile at each other and kiss again, our tongues tangling lazily. I begin to gyrate my hips and he thrusts to match my slow rhythm. The pressure builds and I begin to move faster, desperate for release, but he grabs my hips.

Slow, baby. Go slow. He sends tingles down my entire body, settling that feeling on my clit. “What do you need? Tell me.” He sends a phantom touch to my nipples and my G-spot, and my body happily answers as I explode in a mind-blowing orgasm. He laughs and then moves faster until he finds his pleasure.

I kick off the heels and snuggle in his arms. We doze for a bit, and then I toss on some clothes and move to the kitchen.

Mixing the made-from-scratch batter until it turns into one long chocolate ribbon, I turn off my stand mixer. I give the pans a generous greasing and pour the batter into the pans and stick them in the oven.

“Something smells good,” Damion says, emerging from my room having just showered, his blond curly hair damp. A shame I missed that.

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