Page 4 of The CEO's Obsession

But as I watch Oakwood come to life below, all I can think about is finding a way to make Harper mine.

I reach for my phone, fingers flying across the screen as I pull up my contacts. "James," I bark when my assistant answers. "I need you to arrange a meeting with Harper Lane. Today."

"The artist from last night's gallery opening, sir?" James's voice is carefully neutral.

"Yes," I reply, pacing the length of the penthouse. "Set it up under the pretense of discussing her work. I want to commission a piece."

As James confirms the details, I find myself standing before a mirror, studying my reflection. The man staring back at me is unfamiliar—eyes too bright, jaw too tight. I look...hungry.

"Is there anything else, Mr. Blackwood?"

I pause, considering. "Yes. I want a full background check on Ms. Lane. Finances, family, everything."

There's a beat of silence before James responds. "Of course, sir. I'll have it to you within the hour."

As I end the call, a flicker of unease passes through me. This is crossing a line, isn't it? But I brush the thought aside. I'm not doing anything wrong. I'm simply...interested. In her art, of course.

"You're supporting a talented artist," I tell my reflection. "That's all this is."

But even as the words leave my lips, I know they're a lie. The possessive glint in my eyes betrays a darker truth. I want more than her art. I want her. All of her.

I turn away from the mirror, unable to face the raw need I see there. "It's for her own good," I mutter, trying to convince myself. "She needs a patron, someone to help her reach her full potential."

But I know better.

I clench my fists, fighting against the urge to smash something. This isn't me. I'm not some obsessed stalker. I'm Mason fucking Blackwood. I take what I want, when I want it.

And right now, what I want is Harper Lane.

I pace the length of the bathroom, my body thrumming with an intensity I can't shake. Harper's image flashes in my mind—her bright, defiant eyes, the curve of her lips as she smiled. My breath catches, and a wave of heat washes over me, settling low in my abdomen.

"Damn it," I growl, gripping the edge of the marble countertop. The cool stone does nothing to quell the fire burning through my veins.

I try to focus on something else—anythingelse—but it's futile. My thoughts keep circling back to Harper, to the way her auburn hair caught the light, to those puffy pink lips.

I wonder if her other lips are just as pink and puffy…

I run a hand through my hair and try to shake her from my thoughts.

But my body has other ideas. The urgency builds, an insistent pressure I can't ignore. With a frustrated groan, I push away from the counter and make my way across the bathroom. The tile is cold against my bare feet, a stark contrast to the heat coursing through me.

I catch sight of myself in the full-length mirror and pause. The man staring back at me is barely recognizable—eyes dark with hunger, jaw clenched, muscles taut with tension. I look...dangerous. Unhinged.

"What are you doing?" I ask my reflection, but the only answer is the rapid rise and fall of my chest as I struggle to control my breathing.

I know I should walk away, take a cold shower, do something—anything—to regain my composure. But the need is too strong, the pull of desire too powerful to resist.

As I reach for the waistband of my pants, a sharp knock at the door makes me freeze.

"Mr. Blackwood?" James's voice calls out. "I have that information you requested."

I close my eyes, torn between relief and frustration. "Just...give me a minute. I’ll call you when I’m ready," I call back, my voice rougher than I'd like.

And then my hand wraps around my cock as I give in to the urge to relieve myself.

I close my eyes, letting Harper's image flood my senses. Her defiant gaze softens, melting into something more...yielding. In my mind, I see her in my penthouse, her paint-splattered clothes discarded on the floor.

"Mason," she whispers, her voice husky with need. "I want you."