His Obsession Read online

  "You charmer."

  He appeared to reach a decision. "Very well, you may attempt to convince me not to kill myself."

  I rolled my eyes. "How gracious of you—" I began, but abruptly his spine straightened and his chin lifted.

  "Don't interrupt," he commanded.

  Ah. The billionaire businessman again. A glimpse of who he had been before he had lost his closest friend and his company, all that he had lived for. The man in control. Suddenly I wondered if this was such a good idea. Well, fine, more of a bad idea than it was already. But I shut my mouth. I could play the role he wanted.

  He seemed pleased by my acquiescence. "Good. If we do this, then I must ask for things in return from you."

  I gulped. "What kind of things?"

  He smiled. "Nothing you haven't already given me. Submission. Conversation. Your body. Your mind." He pinned me with those startling eyes, dark and almost sinister in the low ambient light. "Your thoughts. Your memories."

  Hooboy. But fine, whatever. I'd poured it all out before. What did I care if he knew things about me? He'd already opened himself up wider than I ever would have to a person I barely knew. "Okay," I said.

  "I mean it, Sadie. I want to know all about you."

  I nodded. "I understand. I mean, I don't know why, I don't think I'm that interesting, but I'll do it. From now on, I'm an open book to you."

  He tilted his head. "Do you really not know why I find you so fascinating?" he asked. "Why I envy you so much?"

  My mouth dropped open. "Envy me?" I said. In a hundred million years that would never, ever have occurred to me.

  He nodded slightly. "Envy you," he repeated. "Part of me wants to break you, you make me so jealous. Part of me just wants to hold you and make sure nothing touches you again. Keep you just the way you are."

  His words left me feeling queer and messed up inside, defensive. "You can't break me," I blurted without thinking. "I won't let you."

  Silence descended on our table, and I licked my lips again. His intense stare made me nervous, but I refused to show it. Well, mostly. Beneath the table, my hands fiddled with my napkin, twisting and turning it, rhythmically pressing it into a ball and letting it spring back.

  "I'll see which side wins out," he said at last.

  "Okay," I told him. "Then I guess we're both going to try our best."

  He smiled. "Yes, we will. Now why don't you eat? You'll feel better after you do."

  With a sigh, I finally acquiesced to his urging and dug in again. The food was delicious, and for a while we ate in silence. My mind whirled, revolving around the bombshells that had just been dropped onto my mental landscape. I had been worried my life was becoming boring, but now it was far too exciting for my own good. I already had second thoughts about this; Malcolm Ward needed therapy, not an affair, but as it was this was probably the best he was going to get.

  After I had finished my main course, I set my fork and knife down and dabbed at my lips with my napkin. He was right, a bit of food had done me a world of good, and my thoughts were beginning to calm from the turmoil of his revelations and my own planning. "So," I said at last, "what do you want to do now?

  He smiled and polished off his wine. To my admittedly-drunken eyes, he didn't seem at all inebriated. "I think we should board my boat and head out into international waters," he said. "Shut off our cell phones, cloister ourselves away where no one will bother us for a while. Float around on the sea. Make art. Make love."

  Make love. The very words sent a delicious stab of heat through me as I remembered the passion of our previous fuck sessions. I wanted very badly to sleep with him again. I felt addicted to him. And I was already here. Already a party to his flight. The only thing I had to lose was my sanity. It'd been a while since I'd done that, though the older I got the less the idea appealed to me.

  But he had said I was alive, and he made me feel alive. I'd been drifting along for a while, taking care of business, taking care of Felicia and her numerous problems. Maybe I was just a fixer at heart.

  You really have no business trying, I told myself. This is a fool's game, and you are not a fool.

  If only I could convince myself of that fact, my life would be a lot easier.

  "I imagine this is much like becoming involved with someone who is terminally ill," Malcolm said, interrupting my thoughts. "But all things end. That is the way of the world."

  I reached across the table and grabbed his hand, and it was cool and dry in my hot palm, as though he were already halfway to dead. "I don't want this to end just yet," I said. "Let's go sailing."

  Chapter Eleven

  Malcolm didn't waste any time. After our final course—a warm chocolate souffle—he drew a small pad of paper from his back pocket and wrote something down—in French, of course—before carefully selecting an enormous wade of bills from the depths of his wallet, wrapping them in the piece of paper, then placing the whole burrito on the table. He put a heavy glass on top of them, to keep the half-folded stacks from popping open again.

  Hush money, I thought to myself. Money to pay for the meal, money to keep Dominic from spilling the beans to the FBI. Or would it be the CIA, since we were out of U. S. jurisdiction? I had no idea. The famous infighting between departments was probably why we weren't already on a prison plane back to the states.

  Smoothly, Malcolm stood, and I sensed a change in him. A purpose. I couldn't help but let my eyes wander over his body, and I noted, before it was obscured by the fall of his coat, that his cock was hard and straining against his trousers. My breath caught.

  He looked down at me, his face cool but his eyes burning. "I have to make a few quick phone calls. I think you should go to the ladies room and remove your panties," he suggested mildly, but I could tell from the hard edge beneath his voice that it was more of a command than a suggestion.

  Well, I'd agreed to this. I nodded and stood up, tottering back to the bathroom again, toting my purse. When I reached it, I took out my cell phone and turned it off so it couldn't be used to track us, then I hiked up my skirt and slid my panties down my legs. The crotch was already wet with anticipation, and I stuffed them into my purse for safekeeping.

  The wine was wearing off, and I was starting to get a headache, but it didn't matter. I stood in the middle of the tiny bathroom and smoothed my skirt over my generous hips, adjusted my bra over my modest breasts, and tried to look presentable. Civilized, even. Not like a tramp from Jersey who was about to get fucked good and hard.

  The very thought sent a rush of heat between my legs, and I had to take a few deep breaths to cool the flush from my cheeks.

  Throwing my shoulders back, I left the bathroom and re-entered the dining room.

  Malcolm was behind the bar, talking on the phone in what I recognized as Japanese. I wondered who he was calling, but decided it didn't matter. He was making arrangements. That was what he did. That was how the moneyed world operated, I had learned. You made arrangements, and things happened, just the way you wanted them to. I gathered my coat from the chair where I had left it and noted the stack of bills was already gone.

  After another minute, Malcolm hung up the phone. He turned to me. "Put your coat on," he said. "We're going for a walk."

  That much was obvious, but something in the way he said it made me think the particular walk we were going to go on would be a bit longer than the walk we'd taken to get here. I nodded and shrugged into my coat. Malcolm put his broad, warm hand on my back and, to my surprise, ushered me into the kitchen.

  It was small, but very modern. Slick steel gleamed, brushed and burnished to a fine shine. The great sink was full of dishes, and Dominic was standing over it, washing them with a curious intensity that I only realized was deliberate when we slipped past him and out a back door into an alleyway. He hadn't looked at us, I realized, because he was pretending to not know where we had gone.

  Did Malcolm think the police were already on their way? I realized that his cell phone was still back at the ap
artment. If it had been tracked, Don would know Malcolm's haunts in Dubrovnik. It was obviously a place he came to often, or often enough to have an apartment here. My heart picked up the pace and a queer feeling spread through my belly, a tight anticipation not unlike desire. The thought of being on the run from the feds in a foreign country, a handsome billionaire at my side—well, I'm not totally immune to the thrill of sex and danger. Malcolm took my hand and led me out into the dark, medieval night.

  Together we wove through the back alleys of old Dubrovnik, my hand clutched in his, though neither of us said a word. Would we even make it to the boat? I wondered. Or did Malcolm think we had enough time to go back to the flat and get our things? All those clothes, just wasted. I had the important things I needed in my possession, but I felt a pang at all those warm clothes newly bought languishing in a flat, never to be worn.

  Oh well. It wouldn't be the first time I'd fled and left everything behind.

  After what seemed like a hundred twists and turns, Malcolm led me up a narrow staircase and into a higher alleyway. Above us the clouds had parted, letting the moon shine down for a few moments, and the ghostly light bathed the curiously quiet city. Far away I could hear the occasional car in the city outside the walls, but here it was quiet. The chilly ocean breeze whistling past my ears was the predominant sound. We came to a halt, and all the hair on the back of my neck stood on end.

  Two white and black scooters were parked in the alleyway next to a door leading into the building we'd just scaled. Policija was emblazoned on the sides. Malcolm turned to me, and I was gobsmacked to see him smile.

  "They're in here, watching the street outside my apartment," he whispered. "Let's see how good you are at submitting to me now."

  My whole body tensed, and to my utter shock he unbuttoned his fine coat, unzipped his pants, and freed his erection to the night air before mounting one of the scooters. Placing one hand on the back and one on the handlebars to brace himself, he smiled at me.

  "Suck my cock, Sadie."

  I'm not ashamed to admit I was quietly freaking out. This was... well, this was serious. What if they came back? What if someone saw us? His hot, hard shaft thrust at me from his trousers, and I felt a blazing, melting heat twine its way through my core. It was terrifying, and unbearably arousing. Like fucking your boyfriend in your parents' bed, when they could come home at any moment. Except way, way more dangerous.

  My eyes met his, and he smirked. He didn't think I would do it.

  Maybe we were more alike than I'd thought, because I found I couldn't back down from a challenge either.

  I stepped forward and wrapped my hand around his cock.

  The hiss of breath between his teeth was all I needed to spur me on. Acutely aware of how exposed we were to whoever might decide to walk down the alleyway, or peek from between the curtains above us, I let my hands glide over his thighs and bent down, my hair falling around my face, shielding me from his gaze.

  His cock thrust up at me. I'd been wanting to taste it since he first touched me and made me come. Now was my chance. I extended my tongue and gave it a soft, tentative lick, swiping the tip of my tongue against the soft slit, lapping up the sweet precum beaded there.

  Malcolm hissed again. "Jesus," he muttered, and I smiled. Another chink in his armor. Feel it, I wanted to say to him. You want to leave this behind? But I didn't. Instead I opened my mouth as wide as I could and swallowed his cock whole.

  His hips bucked, thrusting down my throat, and I gulped, savoring the dark, earthy taste of his skin, the heaviness of his cock lying against my tongue. I wanted him to lose himself in the sensation, wanted him to feel as alive as he thought I was. I sucked hard and pulled back, and his pelvis followed me, as though he couldn't bear to give up the heat of my mouth and the tight seal of my lips.

  Loosely I looped my fingers around his shaft and picked up a quick rhythm, giving just enough friction to tease him as I sucked and licked the soft head of his cock. I must have been doing something right because he groaned and nearly fell off the scooter as he tried to reach my mouth.

  I denied him, pulling back and back the further forward he thrust, until he was standing up and I was kneeling in the street. Cold cobblestones bit into my knees, but the heat rolling from Malcolm was enough to keep me warm.

  Abruptly he reached down and pulled me to my feet. His breath was hot and fast, and he shoved me up against the wall of the building behind me, trapping me in the dangerous curve of his body as he curled around me. His hands scrabbled, clumsy, at the hem of my skirt before lifting it up over my hips and ratcheting my thigh up over his hip. His cock probed my pussy, seeking entrance, and his lips and teeth found my throat as he slid home.

  Stars exploded across my vision as the sudden sensation of being filled to the brim took me over. I gasped, suddenly lost. Legs turning to water, I sagged against the cold wall, trapped between it and the inferno of Malcolm as he began to thrust his hips, grinding his pelvis against my clit, lifting my whole body from the ground and slamming into me.

  I had to bite my lip to keep from crying out. One strong arm held my ass in the air as the other raked over me, fingertips digging into my back, nails scoring down my thigh. The tight, hot center of me ached and quivered and I struggled, pinned to the wall, my hands on his shoulders either pulling him closer or pushing him away. I couldn't tell. The cold air caressed my flaming cheeks, and I couldn't help but moan softly.

  "Shh," he said, and the fingers of his free hand found their way between my lips and into my mouth.

  He tasted good. Salty. Clean. I sucked hard on his fingertips and he grunted, a strangled thing deep in his chest that I felt more than heard. My cries were muffled by his hand, and I bit down lightly, scraping my teeth over his flesh, my hands bracing myself on his shoulders as his thrusts became harder and faster, more wild and uncontrolled. He bit my nipple lightly through my sweater, and I squirmed and mewled around his hand, my legs locking high and tight around his waist. Any second I felt like I was going to fall, but each time I felt myself slipping his thrusting hips caught me and pushed me back up, filling me up far better than I had ever been filled before.

  Our gasps echoed in the empty alleyway, the sound of the soles of Malcolm's fine shoes scraping over the gritty cobblestones with each rock of his hips loud against the silence. Around his pumping cock, I felt my body curl up and squeeze, a powerful orgasm building fast and tight inside me. My hands found his hair, dug in, gripped him hard, and he growled around my breast and nipped me again. Sharp little sparks of pain flashed and danced across my body, and I clung to him like a woman drowning.

  "Fuck," I whispered. "Fuck me, Malcolm."

  He shuddered at the words, his hips hammering into me even faster, and suddenly we were coming together, hot and hard. Cum pumped into me and I felt my body suck it in as I came around him, quivering and tightening, milking his cock for all I was worth. My toes curled and my head banged against the wall behind me, but it was inconsequential compared to the intensity of the orgasm rocketing through me.

  Malcolm's knees buckled and we staggered. Stone scrapped across my back against the fine wool of my coat, and I held my breath as the spasms of pleasure spread over my body, rippling over my limbs and sending my head spinning.

  Malcolm was done before I was, and he pulled out suddenly, abruptly, leaving me to sink against the wall, a tiny trail of cum leaking from my pumping core as I struggled to stay upright. A quick kiss to the forehead and his hand was around mine, pulling me up, and then we were walking briskly down the street as I tried to keep my footing, the rubbing of my thighs over my slick, swollen pussy lips an almost unbearable sensation. My face burned against the cool night air, and I barely had enough sense to keep myself from speaking. Wherever we were going, it wasn't back to the flat.

  Again we wended through the back alleys, heading down, down, down to the sea, and Malcolm's hand was hot around mine. I couldn't help but feel a little pleased by his warmth—no longer half dea
d, I had woken him up, given him something to feel—but as our pace picked up I realized he was nervous. The twisted streets flashed by me, and before I knew it we were on the docks, hidden inside a dark alleyway, watching the harbor.

  "My boat's coming," Malcolm said, his voice hoarse. "We'll run out to meet it. I don't think the police are watching the dock. I gave orders to the skipper before we even landed in Dubrovnik, and Dominic has arranged for him to meet us here. Don't worry, it's well stocked and provisioned, with art supplies as well as food." He smiled. "Perhaps we will find the perfect medium for my masterpiece out on the sea."

  I could barely think straight. Slippery cum was running down my thigh, and I only had enough brain cells untouched by blazing pleasure to hope it didn't run into my high-heeled boots. That'd make things awfully squishy down there...

  "I should call Felicia," I whispered suddenly. "She's going to be worried about me."

  "No," he said, "don't turn your phone back on. In fact, you should throw it away."

  "I need it," I said. "I won't turn it on, but I'm taking it with me."

  In the dark, he smiled at me. "You can't cling to things forever, Sadie," Malcolm said. "All things fade."

  "That's dumb. I'm not the one who's planning on killing herself, so I'm going to need it regardless. Is that some of your Buddhist wisdom?"

  "Not mine, no," he said, his smile deepening, "but that doesn't make it any less true. Desire is the root of suffering, as the Buddha teaches us. Holding onto that which should be let go is the root of our suffering."

  "But does the root of our suffering include a list of contacts twenty miles long that I can't possibly remember on my own?" I asked.

  He laughed quietly. I heard the hum of a boat motor in the distance "It most definitely does."

  I regarded him thoughtfully as he turned and watched the harbor. The moon still shone, but wispy clouds had begun to shroud it, dimming the light. Feeble lampposts beamed out in the dark, barely touching the great, hungry blackness of the ocean. I could hardly make out his face in the dark, but the set of his jaw was pensive. A man who still desired things. He desired to board that boat. He desired to fuck me until we both couldn't walk. He was a hypocrite, and I wondered if he knew it. "Hey," I whispered.