The Don's Deadliest Obsession

Lysander jerks back, confusion written all over his face.

Neither of us moves...then he takes a step away from me.

”I...” He stops, dragging a hand over his face.”We can’t do this now, Nerissa. You aren’t stable.”

God, I didn’t realize how badly I needed this until I kissed him.

For a few precious seconds, I wasn’t thinking about the dead man, the gun, or the past I’d spent years trying to escape. I wasn’t remembering the things I never wanted to remember.

I was simply here in this space with him and I want to stay here a little longer.

I reach for his shirt and pull him back toward me.

”Stop deciding what I can and cannot handle.”

”Nerissa...”

I kiss him again before he can finish.

This time, I don’t give him the chance to retreat immediately. I slide my fingers into his hair, drawing him closer, and deepen the kiss.

A low, deep-throated groan escapes him. The sound sending shivers down my spine.

For one glorious moment, he kisses me back, and I forget everything else. His hand settles against my waist, and I cling to him as though I can anchor myself to the present through the warmth of his body.

Thn he pulls away again.

”Fuck!”

He runs a hand through his hair, looking so frustrated that I almost laugh.

”You aren’t in the right frame of mind right now,” he says.

I stare at him, my chest rising and falling.

”But I want this.”

He shakes his head.

”You’ve had a terrible night.”

”I’m aware.”

”You’re still shaken up.”

”Yes, Lysander. I was there.”

His jaw tightens.

”I’m trying to make sure you don’t do something you’ll regret tomorrow.”

”And I’m trying to tell you that I want you to kiss me!”

My voice comes out louder than I intended.

Silence settles between us.

I swallow, suddenly aware of how vulnerable I sound. I hate it. I hate having to ask for anything, especially from him.

But I need him to understand.

”I’m consenting to this,” I tell him, quieter now. ”I’m not asking you to save me. I’m not asking you to fix anything. I just...” My voice falters, and I look away briefly before forcing myself to meet his eyes again. ”I need this, Lysander. Please.”

Something changes in his expression. I can’t quite name it.

He studies my face, his gaze moving over my eyes, my mouth, the way my fingers are still curled into his shirt.

He’s searching for something.

Perhaps he’s trying to figure out whether I mean what I’m saying. Perhaps he’s wondering if this is another one of my ridiculous attempts to get under his skin.

I wish I knew what he was thinking.

”Look at me,” he murmurs.

”I’m looking at you.”

”Then tell me you want this because you want me. Not because you’re trying to forget what happened tonight, not because you want to get away from it.”

My breath catches.

For once, I don’t have a clever answer ready.

Because the truth is complicated.

I want to forget tonight. I want the memories to stop clawing at the inside of my skull. I want to silence the fear that has followed me into this house.

But that isn’t the only reason I’m sitting here with my hands gripping his shirt.

I want him, too.

That realization is almost as terrifying as everything else.

”I want you,” I whisper.

He holds my gaze for another moment, searching my face as though he’s trying to decide whether he can trust what he’s seeing.

Then he steps back between my parted thighs.

His fingers slide into my hair, gathering it gently at the back of my head. He tips my face up toward his, and I let out a small breath as his grip tightens just enough to make me wince.

His eyes immediately flick to mine.

”Too much?”

I shake my head but he loosens his hold slightly, his thumb brushing my cheek.

”If we do this, we do it my way.”

I nod as best I can with his hand still holding my hair in his grip.

His gaze sharpens.

”Use your words, Nerissa.”

”Yes,” I whisper. ”Your way.”

He holds my eyes for another heartbeat. Then his mouth comes down on mine, slower this time, but no less intense.

The first press of his lips is deliberate, like he’s still giving me one last chance to pull away. I don’t.

I tilt my face up into him, lips parting the second his tongue brushes against mine, and the sound that leaves him is low and rough, almost reluctant, as if he still hates how much he wants this.

That’s when his control cracks.

His hand tightens in my hair again...firmer now, the way he promised....and he deepens the kiss with a hunger that steals the air from my lungs.

His tongue slides against mine in a slow, thorough stroke that makes my stomach drop. I taste the faint edge of whiskey and something darker, something that is purely him.

My fingers fist harder in the front of his shirt, pulling him closer until there’s nowhere left to go.

The hand in my hair tilts my head exactly where he wants it, opening me further for him, and he takes. Slow, deep, devastating kisses that feel like they’re rewriting every frantic, hate-filled one we shared at the altar.

His other hand finds my waist, then slides lower, gripping the outside of my thigh and dragging me tighter against him so that the hard line of his body presses right between my parted legs.

A small, helpless moan escapes me into his mouth.

He answers with a low groan that vibrates against my lips, and the kiss turns messier, wetter as hus tongue fucks into my mouth in deliberate, rolling strokes that make heat pool low in my belly.

I kiss him back like I’m starving for it, like every second of distance between us has been unbearable.

When he finally pulls back, it’s only far enough for our mouths to brush with every uneven breath.

His forehead rests against mine. His hand is still buried in my hair, thumb stroking the sensitive skin just behind my ear in a way that feels almost tender and completely at odds with the hard, insistent press of him against me.

”This is how it’s going to be,” he murmurs against my lips,hs voice rough. ”You want me? You take me the way I give it.”

I nod, breathless, already chasing his mouth again.

He doesn’t make me wait.

The next kiss is deeper, dirtier, his tongue sweeping in like he owns the right to every sound I make. I lose track of everything except the heat of his mouth, the firm grip in my hair, and the way his body feels solid and real against mine...anchoring me in the present the way nothing else has managed to tonighr.