Page 98 of Arran's Obsession

Unseeing, I stared at the steel ceiling rafters.

He protected the women in the club. He set up a game to unite people in love, albeit with a vicious start. In all the time I’d been his captive, I’d barely thought about the meaning behind that. Had he designed that game because it was what he wanted, a method to break through his damage? Yet he’d operated it with no intention of being a participant, watching all those other couples pair up, giving him an outlet to handle his trauma.

Up until I walked in and gifted him a reason to enter.

I shivered, bringing myself back down to earth with a bump. Whatever I felt for him, and however real that might be, there was no guarantee he’d ever feel the same. I wasn’t foolish, even if I’d been a fool for him over and over. I couldn’t kid myself that a man with that much damage would miraculously heal because we’d slept together.

So why did that make me want to curl up in a ball and cry for him?

Outside the window, the faint streaks of dawn pierced the night, and I rolled away, facing Arran instead of the daylight.

Fuck it.

I curled around his back. Wriggled my leg between his. Wrapped an arm around his upper arm so I could hold him then kissed one of his round scars.

After a beat, Arran, the broken king of the sex workers, tucked my hand against his chest. My heart beat out of time, and I clung on to the feeling, letting it wash over me until I closed in on sleep.

One thing was certain—this moment of traumatic peace wouldn’t last.

When next I woke, it was to a night-dark afternoon, a summer storm lashing the city. Rain spattered on the arched window in Arran’s bedroom.

I stretched against him. Both of us were still naked under his midnight-blue sheets. We smelled of sex and disaster.

“Morning.”

I blinked up at him, conscious of his wary tone. Without giving a second of thought, I reached for him and pulled him onto me. Wrapped my legs around his hips, the ridge of his dick between us.

“Give me back my permission to fuck you whenever I want.” Arran’s voice came out low and deliciously rough.

“Granted.”

He drove into me, my body welcoming him, that insistent need never far away.

I’d dreamed of this, having fun in a bed with him. But in my imagination, we’d been happy. Not dragged down by all the other factors in our lives.

Arran kissed me and thrust in lazy, half-awake slides. He found my clit, easily getting me to the edge of pleasure. When I was close, he stopped his strokes and just moved his hand, groaning with deep need when I hissed out, convulsing around him in the way he’d told me he loved. It only made the climax more devastating. The knowledge of what I did to him and our shared desire and need. Then his control broke, and he rammed over and over until he came, too, triggering all kinds of echoed explosions throughout me.

Fuck, I was in such trouble.

We cooled together. I risked a glance.

He swatted my backside. “Go shower. If I come in with you, we’ll never get anything done today.”

I rose and skittered away, naked, and with the sticky essence of him seeping from me. Weird that I liked that.

Loved it.

I wrinkled my nose, not looking back. I loved him. How had I let that happen? Frustration broke over my afterglow. This wouldn’t end well, and losing him was going to hurt. Better not to think about it.

In the shower, I blushed to recall the last time I was in here, and took my time cleaning myself thoroughly. Arran had shampoo and conditioner that I hadn’t noticed last time. Both were specifically for blonde hair. Surely not his. I laughed to myself then got out, dried off, and used a moisturiser and waiting toothpaste and brush.

Back in the bedroom, the man I loved was on the phone. He pointed to a hairdryer on the dresser and then the wardrobe, stalking out to the living area. I opened the door, finding shelves of women’s clothing plus more hanging up.

All my size. Huh. Suspicious. He probably wasn’t having women sleep over often. Holding my towel closer, I extracted a gorgeous dress and took it to the door and peered out. He noticed me. I held up the item in question.

His lips curved into a boyish smile that did things to my stupid heart.

“Lara,” he mouthed.