Page 125 of Veil of Obsession

She’s standing in the middle of the living room. Waiting for me. Her eyes widen slightly, but she doesn’t look surprised. She knew I was coming. She fucking knew I’d drop everything to come get her.

And that only makes the fury boiling in my blood burn hotter.

“What the fuck were you thinking?” I demand, my voice low, sharp.

She crosses her arms, defiant, but I see the way her fingers tremble. “I needed to talk to you.”

“So you thought using a phone that wasn’t yours was a good idea? Do you have any idea who could’ve been tracking it?”

She glares. “I’ve been locked in this house for days, Lucio. No answers, no nothing. You left me here.”

“To keep you safe!” I snap, stepping closer.

She doesn’t back down.

“Safe?” Her voice cracks. “You mean forgotten.”

Something inside me twists, ugly and painful. I should’ve come sooner. I should’ve?—

No. She doesn’t get to make me feel guilty for this. Not when she’s the reason everything went to hell in the first place.

I step closer, close enough that she has to tilt her head to look at me. “You don’t get to pull that shit, Princess. You put yourself into this mess. You’re the reason my family is hunting you.”

Her jaw tightens, her lips parting like she wants to argue, but nothing comes out. Because she knows I’m right. She lied. She broke my trust. And I still came for her.

My hands twitch at my sides, the frustration clawing at me, the tension between us crackling like a live wire.

I shouldn’t want her. I shouldn’t still need her this fucking badly. But I do. Like a fucking drug I can’t quit.

I reach out, grip her chin between my fingers, tilting her face up to mine. “You made your choice. Now you’re dealing with the fucking consequences.”

Her breath catches, and she looks at me with so much anger, so much hurt, so much fucking fire that it makes me lose it.

I crash my mouth against hers. She gasps, her body tensing before she gives in, melting against me, her hands grabbing at my shirt.

I bite her lip; she moans. As I press her back against the wall, my hands slide under her shirt, the heat of her skin seeping into my palms, and I feel the way she trembles under my touch. She tries to speak, but I don’t let her.

I don’t want words. I want her.

I tear her shirt over her head like it’s offended me—fabric ripping down the seams, baring her flushed skin and lace-covered tits. My breath is already ragged, and I haven’t even tasted her yet. I grab her by the thighs, fingers digging in hard, and lift her up like she weighs nothing. She gasps, clutching my shoulders, eyes wide and pupils blown.

Her legs wrap around me instinctively—needy, desperate. The soft press of her heat against my abdomen punches a low growl from my chest. I grind up into her, teasing the damp heat between her thighs, dragging slow friction against her center. Her body arches, her breath stutters, and the tremble in her thighs is like a live wire sparking between us.

“Already soaked for me?” I murmur, dragging my mouth down her throat over the frantic flutter of her pulse. “I haven’t even touched you yet.”

I press her against the wall again, pinning her there with my body, and reach between us. I push the flimsy fabric of her panties aside—she’s dripping. Her folds are glossy, swollen, the pink flushed and needy. I slide two fingers through her slit, not inside yet, just stroking the slick mess she’s already made for me.She bucks. I press harder, circling her clit with my thumb, slow and firm, until her legs twitch around my waist.

“Fuck,” she breathes. “Please?—”

“Oh, now you beg?” I thrust two fingers inside her.

Her cunt grips me instantly, walls fluttering around my knuckles like her body’s trying to drag me deeper. She throws her head back and moans—raw and obscene—and I feel that sound in my spine. I pump my fingers in and out, knuckle-deep, slow at first, letting her feel the stretch, the slick slide of her own arousal coating her thighs.

She’s fucking drenched. It drips onto my palm, strings between her folds and my skin when I pull back just to slam them in again.

“God—fuck, that?—”

“Listen to yourself,” I whisper, curling my fingers up.