Thirteen Years of Obsession

Can't wait to get laid

I couldn’t stay in that damn master bedroom another second.

The white silk dress lay crumpled on the floor like evidence of my surrender. I yanked on my old jeans and a thin sweater, desperate for anything that still smelled like freedom instead of him.

My skin still tingled where his fingers had traced my neckline. My n****e still ached from the way his thumb had teased it through the fabric. My core throbbed with shameful, unwanted heat.

I slipped out of the bedroom and moved silently down the long marble hallway, heart hammering. The penthouse felt like a luxurious prison — cold, beautiful, and completely under his control.

I reached the main living area and pressed my forehead against the massive glass window, trying to calm my racing pulse. The city lights glittered far below like distant stars I could never reach.

The elevator dinged behind me.

I spun around.

Lucian stepped out, black shirt sleeves rolled up, exposing powerful forearms. His dark hair was slightly tousled. Those storm-gray eyes locked onto me instantly, narrowing with dark displeasure as they took in my casual clothes.

“Seraphina.” His voice was low, velvet over steel. “I thought I made myself clear. You were supposed to be in that dress. In my bed.”

I lifted my chin, even as my body betrayed me with a fresh rush of heat. “I needed air. Or does the contract say I have to ask permission to breathe now?”

He stalked toward me like a predator who had already decided I was prey. Each step made the air thicker, heavier with his scent — sandalwood, whiskey, and raw masculine dominance.

He stopped so close I could feel the heat radiating from his body. His hand shot out, fingers wrapping around my throat — not squeezing, but firm enough to remind me who held the power.

“You test me at every turn,” he growled, thumb brushing my racing pulse. “It makes me want to bend you over the nearest surface and f**k the defiance right out of you.”

My breath hitched. Slick heat flooded between my thighs. I hated how my body responded to his filthy words, how my n*****s tightened painfully against my sweater.

“You’re a monster,” I whispered, voice breathy.

Lucian’s lips curved into a cold, predatory smile. “And you’re already wet for this monster, aren’t you, little wife?”

Before I could deny it, he backed me hard against the cold glass. The contrast between the icy window and his burning body made me gasp. His thigh pressed between my legs, forcing them apart as his mouth crashed down on mine.

The kiss was brutal. Possessive. Devouring.

His tongue invaded my mouth, claiming every inch while his hand slid under my sweater, palming my breast roughly. His thumb circled my n****e, pinching just hard enough to make me moan into his mouth.

I kissed him back. God help me, I kissed him back — fingers tangling in his hair, pulling him closer even as my mind screamed danger.

He ground his thick, hard c**k against my hip, letting me feel exactly how much he wanted to ruin me.

“You feel that?” he rasped against my lips, voice dark and rough. “That’s what you do to me. I’ve waited thirteen years to have you like this — trembling, soaked, and completely at my mercy.”

Thirteen years.

The words barely registered through the haze of lust, but they sent a chill through the heat.

His hand dipped lower, popping the button of my jeans and sliding inside my panties. His fingers brushed my slick folds, finding me embarrassingly wet.

“f**k,” he groaned. “Soaking for me already. Such a good little slut for your husband.”

Two thick fingers teased my entrance, circling my c**t with maddening pressure. My hips bucked against his hand before I could stop myself.

“Lucian—” I gasped, half plea, half warning.

“Say it again,” he ordered, biting my lower lip. “Beg me with my name.”

I was losing control. My body was on fire. One more stroke and I would shatter right there against the window.

Then his phone vibrated sharply on the coffee table. Once. Twice. Insistent.

Lucian snarled in frustration, forehead pressed to mine, fingers still buried between my thighs.

“Isabella,” he muttered, voice dripping venom.

The redhead again.

He silenced the call without removing his hand from my panties. His eyes burned into mine, wild with lust and something darker — obsession.

“Bedroom. Now,” he commanded, voice rough. “Strip. Get in my bed. Tonight you sleep naked beside me, feeling how hard I am for you. But I won’t f**k you yet.”

He slowly withdrew his fingers, bringing them to his lips and sucking my wetness off them with a low groan.

“Tomorrow after the wedding,” he promised, eyes locked on mine, “I’m going to spread these pretty thighs and bury my c**k so deep inside you that you forget every man who existed before me.”

My legs were shaking. My panties were ruined. My mind was spinning with his filthy promises and that haunting phrase — thirteen years.

He stepped back, adjusting the massive bulge in his pants with zero shame.

“Go,” he ordered. “Before I change my mind and take you right here against the glass.”

I stumbled toward the bedroom on unsteady legs, body aching with unfulfilled need.

As I reached the doorway, I looked back.

Lucian was watching me with pure, terrifying obsession burning in his storm-gray eyes.

“Sweet dreams, Seraphina,” he said softly. “Dream of your husband’s c**k stretching you open. Because tomorrow night… there will be no mercy.”

I closed the bedroom door behind me, heart pounding, core throbbing.

Tomorrow I would become Mrs. Lucian Voss in front of the world.

Tonight, his touch and his dark promises had already marked me.

And the scariest part?

A traitorous voice inside me whispered that I couldn’t wait for him to keep every filthy word.