Page 88 of Twisted Obsession

“Just because you did it to me once doesn’t mean I’m going to enjoy it again.” I rise and push my wet hair out of my face. There’s a ripple of lightning above us. “Tell me the truth. I just need to know it, Jake. Did I—were we—”Together? Happy?

“Yes.” He cups my cheek. “Yes.”

That has to be enough for now.

31

MELODY

He takes me back to the hotel room and directs me to the shower. He makes a call, and I turn on the water. I set my glasses on the counter, but he’s back before it’s warm enough to get in.

“Do you know where Stone Ridge is?”

He nods and pulls at my wet clothes. Shedding first my sweater, then the thin shirt under it. Then my bra. He’s methodical about it, as I stand there bare to him.

“It’s just outside the city,” he murmurs.

Tomorrow is the game. He’s got press before it—he already warned that he would be leaving the hotel early, and I’d be on my own for the day. Maybe I can sneak over there with the limited funds I have from Thomas and Natalie.

That opens a whole different can of worms.

His fingers are quick to undo the button of my black jeans, carefully pushing the material down my legs. It clings to my thighs, and I grip the counter at the back to maintain my balance until it’s down around my ankles. I kick them away, and he repeats the motion.

“What are you doing?” I step out of those, too.

I’m painfully aware that he’s still dressed, even still wearing his jacket.

“Something I should’ve done before.” He rises and spreads his arms. “Can you…?”

I swallow and nod slowly. I unzip his jacket, revealing the navy button-down shirt he wore to dinner. The heavy leather makes a wetthumpwhen it hits the floor behind him. I go to the buttons of his shirt next, trying to be quick about it.

His hand covers mine. “Take your time.”

Oh.

I look up at him. The square jaw and pink lips that Iknowfeel good on my body. His tanned skin, the slight stubble starting to emerge on his cheeks. I graze his chest as my fingers move to the next button, and his throat bobs with his swallow.

The bathroom is filling with steam, covering the mirror and obscuring our images.

Good.

I finish the buttons and touch his chest. The moment my palms collide with his skin, goosebumps rise on the backs of my arms. I slide his shirt off his shoulders. Down his arms, until it lands on top of the jacket.

He doesn’t say a word when I run my hands down his front. He’s got tattoos on his arms and one on his ribcage that I hadn’t paid much attention to. But the closer I look, the more I realize it’s the same bird as the one painted in his room. It’s in black and white, but it looks the same. The only difference is that it doesn’t have tar on its wings—it has a delicate little chain around its leg. And the chain, a few links down, is snapped.

I trace it without thinking.

He sucks in a breath, but he doesn’t stop me from touching it.

Whoever the artist was did a great job in recreating the original artist’s intentions.

My fingers trail lower, and I bite my lip again when I get to the waistband of his slacks. I undo them and drag them down, waiting for him to kick out of them. I ignore the hard-on when I go down on one knee and pull his briefs off, too. It’s pointing at me, red and swollen and waiting.

I rise before he can force it on me.

Now fully naked, he gives me a toe-curling smirk. He goes to the shower and adjusts the temperature, then gestures to me.

I’m still wary. I know that, he knows it. But his expression seems to be open for once, even though we aren’t saying anything.

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