READ A SEXY EXCERPT OF DIRTY RICH OBSESSION
"Why am I here, Reid?”
I drag her onto my lap. “Because I want you here. Because I can’t seem to stop breaking my own fucking rules with you.”
Her hands plant on my shoulders. “And you’re mad at me again? You’re blaming me.”
“Yes. Stop making me break my rules.” I cup her head and kiss her, my tongue pressing past her lips, stroking us both into a needier place, where rules don’t matter.
She moans and sinks into the kiss, and damn it, I love those moans, I’m addicted to those moans. I’m addicted to this woman, and all my good intentions to sate that addiction, fail. I pull my T-shirt over her head and toss it, my gaze raking over her. My hand slides between her shoulder blades, and I mold her close. “This is definitely your fault.”
“Is this where you decide to kick me out again?”
“No,” I say. “This is where we fuck.” I drag her mouth to mine, and kiss her, telling myself that fucking is all this can be, reminding myself of the debt and the secret I legally cannot share. The secret that she’d never stay silent over if she knew.
I tell myself to get lost in the taste of her, defiant and yet submissive at the same time, in that way that defines this woman. I tell myself to just enjoy the moment, and I do. I waste no time getting naked and pulling her down the throbbing length of my cock. I waste no time driving into her. I waste no time getting lost in her touch, her kisses, her moans. And later, much later, when I’ve laid us down and pulled her next to me on the couch, I hold her, listening to her breathing slow and even out. I’m acutely aware that she is a woman caught in the middle of a debt that has to be paid, destined to hate me. It’s why this has to stay just sex. It’s why no matter how deep I go with her, I cannot get too close.
I drag her onto my lap. “Because I want you here. Because I can’t seem to stop breaking my own fucking rules with you.”
Her hands plant on my shoulders. “And you’re mad at me again? You’re blaming me.”
“Yes. Stop making me break my rules.” I cup her head and kiss her, my tongue pressing past her lips, stroking us both into a needier place, where rules don’t matter.
She moans and sinks into the kiss, and damn it, I love those moans, I’m addicted to those moans. I’m addicted to this woman, and all my good intentions to sate that addiction, fail. I pull my T-shirt over her head and toss it, my gaze raking over her. My hand slides between her shoulder blades, and I mold her close. “This is definitely your fault.”
“Is this where you decide to kick me out again?”
“No,” I say. “This is where we fuck.” I drag her mouth to mine, and kiss her, telling myself that fucking is all this can be, reminding myself of the debt and the secret I legally cannot share. The secret that she’d never stay silent over if she knew.
I tell myself to get lost in the taste of her, defiant and yet submissive at the same time, in that way that defines this woman. I tell myself to just enjoy the moment, and I do. I waste no time getting naked and pulling her down the throbbing length of my cock. I waste no time driving into her. I waste no time getting lost in her touch, her kisses, her moans. And later, much later, when I’ve laid us down and pulled her next to me on the couch, I hold her, listening to her breathing slow and even out. I’m acutely aware that she is a woman caught in the middle of a debt that has to be paid, destined to hate me. It’s why this has to stay just sex. It’s why no matter how deep I go with her, I cannot get too close.