Page 47 of Charmingly Obsessed

I finally kill the lamp, letting the pale, creeping light of morning claim the room.

Diana watches me, her beautiful face half-buried in the plush, rumpled pillow. She looks paler than usual in the pre-dawn light. Her lips are swollen, bruised from my kisses. Her glorious, golden-brown curls spill over the pristine white sheets like treasures.

And she’s biting her finger. A small, almost subconscious gesture. Seems like she doesn’t even realize she’s doing it.

“Tastes good?” I ask, my voice a low, gravelly rasp.

She flinches, startled, then offers a small, hesitant, utterly enchanting smile. She rubs her chin against the pillow. Lucky fucking pillow.

“Do you smoke?” she asks, her own voice hoarse from our… exertions. She clears her throat.

Not really. But kind of. I smoked a little, on and off, over the past year. When the… longing… became unbearable. Now? Now, I don’t know.

“I don’t reach for cigarettes after, sunshine,” I say, a teasing note creeping back into my voice.

“Just gum. Spearmint. Want me to blow some bubbles at you?” I glance pointedly at her legs, at that still wet space between her thighs, raising a suggestive eyebrow.

She flushes, a beautiful, rosy blush that spreads from her cheeks all the way down to her chest.

She always lifts her chin, just a fraction, when she’s embarrassed. Adorable.

“Mykola.” Her voice is a soft, scandalized admonishment. She’s clearly still uneasy with me strolling around the room naked.

Diana, Diana… you’re going to have to get used to it.

“How did you ever end up in the clutches of such a shameless, unrepentant scoundrel?” I click my tongue in mock sympathy and then, with a sudden, lithe movement, leap onto the bed from the other side, landing softly beside her.

She smiles, a small, restrained, but genuine smile. But even that, from her, is something. A victory. When the touches stop, when the intensity recedes, she sometimes… shuts down. Closes up. Like a locked, priceless, and utterly impenetrable treasure chest.

“Willingly,” she says finally, her voice firm, certain. And the word, the simple, beautiful, perfect word , sends a jolt of triumph straight through me.

I tug up the oversized, borrowed t-shirt she’s now wearing – one of mine, of course – and press my lips to the soft, pale curve of her waist. I move up and down, trailing a line of hot, open-mouthed kisses along her back, marking her, tasting her.

Goosebumps ripple over her skin. I count her freckles with my tongue, giving myself a little leeway, a little reward.

I breathe her in, closing my eyes. She’s here. She’s real. Sometimes, she even laughs. And when I take her, when I push her, just a little, she unravels.

And stares at me like… like that.

“Mykola,” she whispers, her voice barely audible, pulling me from my reverie. “Why… why do you really need Royce’s technology? What is it?”

“I want to see something through to the end. Something… important. I used to run the deals hands-on. Every detail. Then… then I quit. Stopped caring. Chaos ensued. But this…” I smirk slightly, a flash of the old, arrogant Mykola returning.

“I won’t shy away from the big, pretentious word here, Diana.

It’s… it’s a genuine innovation. Something that could actually… help people.”

She tenses for a second, just a flicker, but the moment passes.

She turns to face me fully, her gaze searching, serious.

“You shouldn’t have married me for it, Mykola.”

I hold back a laugh. She’s so fucking serious. So earnest.

Lying in bed with me, almost naked, sated, and still…

a hyper-responsible, morally upright overachiever.

Talented and quiet and beautiful. With the most endearing, expressive eyes in the entire goddamn world.

And stunning legs. And soft, teasingly firm breasts she still, frustratingly, won’t let me look at.

For some reason, that fact alone is enough to get me hard again. Instantly. Even when I’m slightly irritated with my modest, stubborn, infuriating little wife, it’s almost ridiculous how ready I am for her. Always.

“And what should I have done instead, wife?” I ask.

“I don’t know,” she says, locking eyes with me. And they are so sincere. So honest. And so incredibly, heartbreakingly sad.

I sit her up, pulling her onto my lap. She wobbles slightly, her hands immediately going to the hem of her borrowed t-shirt, tugging it down over her thighs.

“Well, I know,” I say, my voice firm now, decisive.

“Everything is exactly as it should be. During the day, in public, you’ll be the smart, talented one, and I’ll be the ridiculously good-looking, supportive one.

At night, in private…” I lean in, my lips brushing against hers, “…I’ll be the smart one, and you’ll be the ridiculously beautiful, and very, very naked one.

The deal of the century. A net worth of a trillion.

In pleasure.” I pause, a lump forming in my throat, but I force a smile for her anyway.

“Besides… didn’t you say you wanted me to be only yours? ”

She keeps tugging at that damn t-shirt. And says nothing.

I stroke and caress her pussy, pushing the soft cotton fabric slowly, deliberately, upward. Diana grabs my hands, her small fingers surprisingly strong, but I just move even slower, covering her warm palms with my own.

“Diana,” I murmur against her lips. “Kiss me.”

My stupid, traitorous heart pounds inside my chest, pressing buttons, running calculations, like a goddamn supercomputer.

Running thousands of possible scenarios, all trapped within a ridiculously limited, and entirely inadequate, range of ten basic emotions.

Want. Fear. Love. Uncertainty. Desire. Despair…

How the hell do I get to know you, Diana? How do I get past these walls?

“Of course, I want you to be only mine!”

Suddenly, she grips my hands with an impossible, almost desperate strength. And she doesn’t let go.

I can’t get a single word out. I’m stunned into silence.

If she’s looking at me with her soul right now, then in her soul… there’s a goddamn inferno.

“I want it!” she nearly shouts. As if someone, somewhere, is actively trying to take that right, that claim, away from her.

But if there’s anything in this world that’s truly, utterly impossible, it’s that. It’s impossible for me to be anything but hers.

With our hands still locked together, I trace my fingers along the soft, delicate curve of her inner thighs, but her grip on my hands doesn’t weaken. A few golden-brown curls, rebellious and wild, hover in the air around her face, suspended like whispers of captured light.

I catch one between my teeth. Gently.

And without letting it go, I mumble against the silky strand, “Kiss me, Diana. Or I’ll suffocate.”

Her full, soft lips tremble. What are you thinking, Diana? Right now? In this moment? Do you love me? Even a fraction of how much I love you? Why is there still so much sadness in your beautiful eyes, when I would give you everything? The whole fucking world?

“Kiss me,” I groan, “or you’ll be a widow.”

I practically swallow my own need, the want. Her presence is so overwhelming, it’s a physical pain.

She releases my hands.

And finally, finally, she leans in.

She’s laughing. A soft, breathless, beautiful sound.

She’s laughing, and I am dying…