Page 99 of His Darkest Obsession

Even this.

Especially this.

But now that we're so close to crossing this final line, hesitation suddenly grips me. I look down at Anatoly's inked and scarred body beneath me. Is this what I want? Am I ready for this?

The desire pulsing between us is undeniable. I can feel how much he wants this and how much I want this in the way his muscles tense beneath my fingertips, and from the throbbing wet heat between us.

I know why I'm hesitating to go further. But does he?

Can he know?

Anatoly sees the way I'm looking at him and notices my sudden stillness. His brows furrow slightly.

"What's wrong?" he asks, his voice hoarse with want.

I look down at him, at this dangerous man who kills without remorse yet treats me with such unexpected tenderness. The words escape before I can stop them.

I have to know for sure.

Before I commit a mistake that I might never be able to back away from.

"Am I your wife?" I ask. "Your real wife?"

Anatoly's blue eyes lock with mine, unblinking and intense.

"Yes," he says.

It's just a single word. Simultaneously simple yet infinitely definitive.

I search his face for any hint of deception, and search for a lie I know I won't find. There's nothing there except raw honesty, and a soft shiver of warmth rushes down my skin and settles low in my belly.

Taking a deep breath, I reach for his hands. My fingers wrap around his wrists, and guide them deliberately higher up to my hips until they slip beneath the hem of my dress.

"Your wife," I whisper, a question disguised as a statement. "To protect and hold."

His fingers flex against my hips, warm and strong. "Yes," he breathes.

I move his hands upward, letting him push the dress higher until it bunches around my waist to expose my belly to the cool air pulsing with want.

"For better or worse," I continue guiding his hand up.

"Yes," Anatoly says, his voice deeper now.

Rough callouses scrape against my skin, leaving a delicious friction burning in their wake. He doesn't push for me to go faster, but lets me set the tempo of what's happening between us.

My breath trembles slightly as I move his hands slowly up my abdomen. His touch leaves trails of fire burning my skin. He's setting me on fire, and I don't care.

I want him to burn me.

A small gasp escapes my lips when I bring his fingers further up until they slip beneath the edge of my bra.

"In sickness and in health," I say, barely above a whisper.

His eyes darken. "Yes."

He follows my lead and pushes the undergarment up along with my dress

For a moment, the world disappears as dress and bra slip over my eyes. His palms scrape against my tightening nipples, and a soft moan tumbles from my lips. A fresh gush of wetness dampens my panties. Darkness envelopes me for a moment, but Anatoly's heat keeps me grounded.