Page 19 of Sweet Obsession (Savage Vow #1)

Her head snapped toward me. The veil slipped, revealing her jaw, her fire. “I didn’t choose him,” she said, her voice sharp. “I chose myself. I chose to be free. From you. From the lies. From pretending I was your wife while dying inside your golden cage.”

Her hands clenched. “You don’t own me, Misha.”

I stepped in. Grabbed her wrist. Pulled her hard against me.

“You’re wrong,” I whispered near her ear. “You just don’t know it yet.”

She struggled, but I felt the heat in her. The pull. She hated me, but she felt me.

“You ran to his grave,” I said, voice like steel. “So I’ll remind you who you belong to. Right here. Where he can’t touch you. Can’t save you.”

“You’re sick,” she breathed, eyes wild.

“Maybe,” I said. “But you’re mine.”

I kissed her, and it was no gentle plea, it was a mauling, a claiming, raw and unyielding.

My lips crushed hers, my tongue invading, tasting her defiance and her surrender.

She fought at first, her hands shoving at my chest, but then she broke, her fingers clutching my shoulders, her mouth devouring mine with a hunger that matched my own.

I pushed her back, her spine hitting the cold granite of the headstone with a thud that echoed in the rain.

The veil fell to the mud, forgotten, as her legs wrapped around my waist, locking me in.

The rain fell harder, icy rivulets snaking down our skin, but it only fueled the fire.

I bit her neck, hard enough to leave a mark, and she gasped, her nails raking my back through my soaked shirt.

“Say it,” I snarled, my hands tearing at her dress, the fabric ripping under my fingers. “Say you’re mine.”

“I hate you,” she hissed, but her hips arched into me, her body screaming what her words denied.

I yanked her dress down, rough and fast, the black fabric slipping off her shoulders in one swift motion. It clung to her for a second before falling to her waist, revealing her bra and skin—trembling, and far too beautiful to deserve this kind of ruin.

My men stood at the graveyard’s edge, their backs turned, a wall of loyalty ensuring no one would dare approach.

This was public, raw, but private in its blasphemy, a sacred desecration.

I tore her bra away, the lace shredding, and pinched her nipples, hard, twisting until she moaned, the sound a siren’s call in the storm.

“You hate me?” I growled, lifting her, her ass cradled in my arms as I sucked her left breast, my tongue swirling, teeth grazing.

She moaned louder, her hands fisting my hair, pulling me closer. I moved to the other, sucking with a ferocity that made her cry out, her voice trembling with need. Her moans grew desperate, a plea she couldn’t hide, she wanted me, needed me, right here, on this grave.

I set her down, her feet sinking into the mud.

Her red panties were a taunt, making my cock throb, aching to claim her. I pressed my thumb against the damp fabric, right at her core, and she gasped, her hand grabbing mine for a fleeting moment before letting go, surrendering.

“Misha...” she moaned, her voice a broken prayer as I rubbed her through the soaked lace, her arousal drenching my fingers.

I ripped the panties off, the sound of tearing fabric sharp in the rain. “You’ll never think of another man,” I snarled, my voice thick with rage and obsession. “Not him. Not anyone. Only me. Ever.”

“Misha!” she cried, her hips bucking as my fingers found her clit, stroking with relentless precision. Her face flushed, her eyes wide with a sudden vulnerability. “I’m... a virgin.”

My heart stuttered, a dark thrill surging through me.

Untouched. Unclaimed. Mine to mark, to seal.

“Then I’ll be your first,” I said, my voice low, reverent, “and your fucking last.” The thought that her dead boyfriend never had her, never knew her like this, sent a savage joy through me. She was mine, wholly, eternally.

I knelt, parting her thighs, and buried my face between them. She was slick, creamy, her taste a drug that made my head spin.

I sucked her clit, my tongue relentless, my hands gripping her hips as she gasped for air, her fingers tightening in my hair. She loved it, her moans unfiltered, her body trembling under my mouth. She was mine, and she wasn’t hiding it, not here, not now.

I stood, ripping my boxers off, my cock springing free, hard as steel, pulsing with need.

Luna’s eyes locked onto it, not with fear but with longing, her lips parting as if she’d waited for this forever.

I cupped her breasts, pinching her nipples until she whimpered, her back arching against the headstone.

“Tell me you want it,” I demanded, my voice rough, desperate.

“I need to hear it. I want to claim you, Luna, so fucking bad, but I won’t until you beg. ”

“Yes...” she breathed, her hips grinding against me, her voice a plea. “I want it. I want you.”

“That’s my girl,” I growled, positioning my cock at her entrance, the tip brushing her slick heat. I pushed in slowly, just the head, and she cried out, her nails digging into my arms, a sharp sound of pain and pleasure. “Misha...” she whimpered, my name a chant, a vow.

“That’s right,” I said, my voice dark, possessive. “My name’s the only one you’ll scream, you filthy little angel.”

I waited, letting her adjust, her tight heat gripping me like a vice. When her breathing steadied, her eyes locked on mine, I thrust deeper, harder than I planned, burying myself to the hilt. Her scream was pure pleasure, loud enough to wake the dead, her head thrown back against the stone.

I gripped her waist, lifting her slightly, and began to thrust, slow at first, then faster, each slam a declaration. “You shouldn’t have fucking left me,” I snarled, my hips snapping, the rain slicking our bodies, mud splattering her thighs.

“You’re mine, Luna,” I said, slamming into her, her moans a symphony of surrender. The headstone rocked slightly, a profane altar to our madness, the rain washing away the last of her resistance.

She shuddered, her breath hitching, her heart racing under my palm. I slowed, teasing, and she clawed at me, desperate. “No, Misha... don’t stop... please...”

“Say it,” I demanded, my thrusts shallow, torturous. “Say you’re mine, or I’ll leave you aching.”

“I’m yours,” she cried, her voice breaking, her eyes wild with need. “I’m fucking yours, Misha!”

I unleashed myself, thrusting with merciless force, deep enough to claim her soul, my hand forcing her to meet my gaze. “Look at me,” I growled. “See who owns you.”

“Mmmm!” she screamed, her voice shattering the storm, her body trembling as she neared the edge. “Misha!” Louder, desperate, her nails drawing blood down my back.

Her climax hit, a primal cry tearing from her throat, her body convulsing, squirting against me in a wave of release. I pulled out, diving between her thighs, sucking her oversensitive core, drinking her in as she squirmed, half-laughing, half-sobbing in embarrassment.

“Unh!” she gasped, her voice raw, but I rose, capturing her mouth, letting her taste herself on my tongue, sealing our bond in the filth and fire of it all.

I stepped back, chest heaving, rain dripping from my hair.

She slumped against the headstone, hair soaked, lips swollen, her torn dress barely clinging to her paint-streaked skin.

Beautiful. Mine. I pulled my shirt back on, the fabric sticking to my bloodied back, while she scrambled to cover herself, her trousers muddy, her bra lost to the grave.

“You belong to me,” I said, my voice low, final, as I cupped her face, smearing mud across her cheek.

She looked up, eyes blazing even in defeat, and for a moment, I saw the girl who’d run, but also the woman who’d stay. “You’re a monster,” she whispered, but her hand lingered on my chest, betraying her.

“And you’re my queen,” I said, kissing her once, soft, a promise of more to come.

I stepped back, breathing hard. She looked up at me, hair soaked, lips swollen. Beautiful even in fury.

“You’ll never run again,” I said.

She didn’t answer. But the fight in her eyes told me this wasn’t over.

Good.

I turned toward Nikolai, who waited by the edge of the hill.

“Lock the Rojas estate,” I ordered. “No one in. No one out.”

Then I looked at Luna.

“She’s coming with me.”

She didn’t move. But she didn’t resist when I took her hand either. That was enough for now. I led her down the hill, her veil trailing in the mud behind us.

The grave stayed behind. Empty. Just like the boy in it.

LUNA

Rain lashed down as Misha dragged me through the mud. His grip iron around my wrist. My heels sank into the mud, but I didn’t complain. What was pain anymore?

I didn’t look back at Yuri’s grave. Couldn’t. Not with Misha beside me, soaked, silent, lethal.

The storm echoed the chaos still trembling through my body. He’d claimed me there. On a headstone.

My first time, not in a bed, not with tenderness, but against cold, unforgiving granite. Rain in my hair. Dirt on my knees. His mouth at my ear, calling me queen while branding me from the inside out.

I should’ve screamed. Should’ve fought harder. Should’ve felt sick with shame. And maybe I did. The guilt burrowed in, sharp and suffocating. I’d let Misha fuck me on Yuri’s grave.

But that wasn’t all I felt. Not even close.

Even now, with mud caked on my thighs and the taste of ash in my mouth, my body burned. His touch had been brutal, possessive, feral, and yet it had awakened something buried so deep I didn’t recognize myself anymore.

His soldiers flanked us like shadows, weapons hidden but ready. My family’s land, my life, now answered to him.

My father had sold me to save himself. I’d run. Misha came to collect. And now here I was, humiliated, furious, and still burning with the heat he’d left on my skin.

At the convoy, I ripped my wrist free. “I want to see Gabriela. Before you take me back.”

Misha looked at me, cold, unreadable. Then: “You don’t make demands.”