Page 11 of His to Command (Obsessed #7)

Three weeks later

Hudson

I watch Robin move through my penthouse—our penthouse—with the easy familiarity of belonging.

She's left her mark everywhere: books stacked on my previously pristine coffee table, a fuzzy throw blanket on the leather couch, her favorite tea in the kitchen cupboard.

Three weeks of her living here, and the sterile space I once occupied has transformed into something warm, alive, inhabited.

Just like me. But it's not enough. Not nearly enough.

I need more. Need all of her. Not just sharing my home, but sharing my name, my life, my future.

Until there's no separation between us at all.

She's working at the dining table, brow furrowed in concentration as she reviews acquisition documents.

I've promoted her again—Special Projects Director to Chief Strategy Officer.

Not because she's warming my bed, but because she's brilliant.

Because the board was stunned by her analysis of the European market expansion.

Because even my most cutthroat executives defer to her insights now.

It should bother me, watching her carve out her own empire within mine. Instead, it fills me with a pride I've never felt before—not for my own accomplishments, but for hers. For us. For this strange, perfect unit we've become.

"You're staring," she says without looking up, a smile playing at the corner of her mouth.

"I'm admiring," I correct, moving behind her chair, hands settling on her shoulders. "My view. My right."

She laughs, tilting her head back to look at me. Upside down, those remarkable eyes still captivate me completely. "Your obsession, you mean."

"Yes." I don't deny it. Never will. "My everything."

I massage her shoulders, feeling the tension of a long workday beneath my fingers. She sighs, leaning into my touch, trusting me implicitly now where once she'd have pulled away. Progress. Victory.

"Dinner?" I suggest, pressing a kiss to the top of her head.

"I thought we were reviewing the Stevens portfolio tonight." She gestures to the stack of documents before her.

"Later." I close her laptop, ignoring her sound of protest. "I have plans for you first."

Her pupils dilate slightly, a flush creeping up her neck—the now-familiar signs of her arousal that I've cataloged like the collector of rare artifacts I've become. "What kind of plans?"

I take her hand, leading her away from the table, toward the terrace doors. The sun is setting over Manhattan, painting the sky in colors that can't compete with the gold flecks in Robin's eyes.

"Hudson?" Curiosity tinges her voice as I guide her onto the terrace, where I've had my staff prepare without her knowledge.

White roses in crystal vases. Champagne chilling in a silver bucket. The small black box placed precisely in the center of the glass table.

She stops short when she sees it, one hand flying to her throat in that unconscious gesture she makes when overwhelmed. "What is this?"

"What does it look like?" I turn her to face me, needing to see every flicker of emotion cross her expressive face.

"It looks like..." She swallows hard. "Hudson, we've only been together a month."

"Twenty-nine days," I correct. "And your point?"

"That's not long enough to?—"

"It's been long enough for you to completely reorder my existence," I interrupt. "Long enough for me to know with absolute certainty that I want you in my life. Permanently."

Her eyes widen, darting between my face and the box on the table. "This is... fast."

"Everything about us has been fast," I remind her, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. "From the moment I saw you in that boardroom, nothing has proceeded at a normal pace."

A small smile touches her lips. "True."

I retrieve the box, hold it between us but don't open it yet. "You're not just my lover, Robin. Not just my Chief Strategy Officer. You're the center of my world now. I want to make that official."

"How official?" she asks, voice barely above a whisper.

I open the box, revealing the ring inside—a flawless emerald-cut diamond set in platinum, flanked by smaller stones that catch the fading sunlight, throwing prisms across her face.

"Completely official," I tell her. "My house. My ring. My name."

She stares at the ring, then at me, emotions chasing across her face too quickly to read. "Hudson, I?—"

"Before you answer," I interject, needing her to understand the full weight of what I'm offering, "know that this isn't a normal proposal.

I'm not asking you to be my wife in the conventional sense.

I'm asking you to be my partner. My equal.

The person who stands beside me, challenges me, shares everything with me. "

Her eyes soften at this, understanding what I'm really saying. That I'm offering her not just financial security or social status, but true partnership. Something I've never offered anyone before.

"Equal partners?" she asks carefully. "Not just your beautiful possession?"

I smile, recognizing the gentle challenge in her question. "Both," I admit. "I won't pretend I don't want to possess you completely. But I also want you beside me, not behind me. Making decisions. Building our empire together."

She takes the box from my hand, studies the ring. "It's beautiful."

"It's nothing compared to you." I lift her chin, making her meet my gaze. "Say yes, Robin. Be mine in every way that matters."

Something shifts in her expression—the last hesitation giving way to certainty. "Yes," she says simply. "Yes, Hudson."

Satisfaction roars through me, primal and complete. I take the ring from the box, slide it onto her finger. The perfect fit—I made sure of it, had her ring size taken while she slept. The sight of my mark on her hand ignites something possessive and ancient within me.

"Mine," I growl, pulling her against me. "Finally. Completely."

"Yours," she agrees, arms winding around my neck. "And you're mine."

I claim her mouth in a kiss that's equal parts triumph and hunger. My hands span her waist, lifting her easily, setting her on the terrace table. Champagne and ceremony can wait. This—this physical claiming—cannot.

"Here?" she gasps as my mouth moves to her neck, her collarbone, the swell of her breast above her blouse. "Someone could see?—"

"Let them." My hands are already pushing up her skirt, finding the warm skin of her thighs. "Let the whole city see who you belong to. Who owns your pleasure."

She moans as my fingers find her center, already wet for me through delicate lace. "Hudson, please?—"

"Please what?" I circle her clit through the fabric, watching her pupils dilate, her lips part. "Tell me what my fiancée needs."

The word makes her gasp, hips bucking against my hand. "You," she breathes. "Inside me. Now."

I tear her underwear away with impatient fingers, too hungry for finesse. She's working at my belt, equally desperate, freeing me with practiced efficiency. When I thrust into her, seated deep in one smooth movement, we both cry out at the perfection of our joining.

"Look at me," I demand, holding still within her. "See who's inside you. Who you've agreed to belong to. Forever."

Her eyes—those remarkable eyes that saw past all my defenses from the first moment—lock with mine. "I see you," she whispers, hands cupping my face. "I've always seen you, Hudson."

The simple truth of her words breaks something open inside me. I begin to move, claiming her with each thrust, each possessive touch. She meets me movement for movement, taking everything I give and demanding more.

"Mine," I growl against her throat, leaving marks that will show tomorrow. "Say it. Tell me."

"Yours," she gasps, inner muscles clenching around me as pleasure builds. "Always yours, Hudson."

The sunset paints her skin golden, her hair a dark flame against the white roses I've surrounded her with. Beautiful. Perfect. Mine. The words pulse with my heartbeat as I drive us both toward completion.

"The ring stays on," I tell her, voice rough with approaching climax. "Always. So everyone knows."

"Yes," she agrees, fingers digging into my shoulders. "Yes, Hudson, please?—"

I reach between us, finding her clit, circling in time with my thrusts. "Come for me," I command. "Come for your fiancé."

The words trigger her release—her body arching, inner muscles clamping around me in rhythmic pulses that drag me over the edge with her. I empty myself inside her with a guttural sound that might be her name, might be a prayer, might be both.

For long moments, we remain joined, breathing hard, foreheads pressed together. The diamonds on her finger catch the last rays of sunset, sending rainbows dancing across my face. A sign. A promise. A future.

"Was that a yes?" she asks finally, humor dancing in her voice.

I laugh—a sound so rare before her that it used to startle my employees. Now it comes easily, naturally, in her presence. "That was a hell yes."

She smiles, that sweet, genuine smile that first caught my attention across a conference table. "Good. Because I'm not giving this ring back." She wiggles her fingers, making the diamond flash. "It matches my eyes."

"That's why I chose it." I help her down from the table, keeping her pressed against me. "Everything I give you will be perfect. Worthy of you."

She reaches up, traces the line of my jaw with gentle fingertips. "I don't need perfect, Hudson. I just need you."

The simple declaration hits me with unexpected force. For all my wealth, all my power, no one has ever wanted just me before. The man beneath the empire. The heart beneath the ruthless exterior.

"You have me," I promise, covering her hand with mine, feeling the hard press of the ring between our palms. "All of me. Forever."

She rises on tiptoes, presses a kiss to the corner of my mouth. "So what's next, Mr. Roth?"

"Everything," I tell her, meaning it completely. "Everything with you, Mrs. Roth."

Her breath catches at the name—my name, soon to be hers. "I like the sound of that."

"So do I." I lead her toward the champagne, finally ready for celebration. "It's how I'll introduce you at the board meeting tomorrow. Robin Roth, my fiancée and Chief Strategy Officer."

She laughs, a sound I'll never tire of. "The board will have collective heart failure."

"Let them," I dismiss, pouring golden liquid into crystal flutes. "They work for us now."

Us. The word feels right. Necessary. Like the final piece of a puzzle sliding into place.

I hand her a glass, raise my own. "To us," I propose. "To forever."

"To us," she echoes, eyes shining with emotion as our glasses clink together. "To forever."

As the last light fades from the sky, painting Manhattan in shadow and electric brilliance, I look at the woman before me—the woman wearing my ring, soon to bear my name, already carrying my heart.

She's not just my assistant. Not just my lover. She's the center of my world. The one person who's ever truly seen me. And now, finally, officially, irrevocably mine.

I've never believed in fate before Robin. Never believed in anything I couldn't control, couldn't acquire through determination and strategic planning. But this—this connection that sparked the moment our eyes met—feels like something beyond my making. Something inevitable. Cosmic.

Perfect.