HIS FORBIDDEN OBSESSION

The sheets were already ruined.

Bella’s thighs trembled as she forced a third finger inside herself, the stretch sharp enough to make her bite down hard on her lower lip. Wet, filthy sounds filled the quiet bedroom—obscene, rhythmic, desperate. Her free hand pinched her nipple until the ache shot straight between her legs. She was soaked, arousal dripping down her wrist and onto the silk beneath her.

She didn’t think about being nineteen.

She didn’t think about the perfect daughter she was supposed to be.

She thought about *him*.

Lucian Cross.

Forty-one years old. Six-foot-four of controlled power and expensive restraint. The man her father hated more than anyone alive. The man who had looked at her once, years ago, like he already knew exactly how she would sound when she broke.

In her head he was between her legs, one heavy hand pinning both of her wrists above her head, the other working her open with two thick fingers while those cold grey eyes watched every flicker on her face.

“You’re already this wet for me,” she imagined him saying, voice low and rough against her ear. “And I haven’t even fucked you yet.”

Bella’s hips jerked. Her fingers curled, searching for the spot that always made her vision white out. She was so close her stomach clenched and her toes curled hard against the mattress.

“Please,” she whispered into the empty room. “Please, Lucian—”

The orgasm ripped through her hard enough to arch her entire body off the bed. Her cunt clenched greedily around her fingers, pulsing, dripping, soaking the sheets. She kept rubbing her swollen clit through every wave, chasing the pleasure until her legs shook and a broken little sob left her throat.

Only then did the guilt arrive.

She lay there panting, fingers still buried inside her twitching pussy, staring at the ceiling while her heartbeat tried to slow. The same thought always came after: *He is the last man on earth you should want.*

But tonight the guilt felt different.

Softer.

Hungrier.

Because somewhere deep in the secret part of her that she never admitted out loud, a quiet, dangerous hope had started to grow.

What if this was her chance?

What if the universe had finally opened a door she had only ever dreamed of walking through?

What if Lucian Cross—cold, powerful, forbidden—actually wanted her the way she had wanted him for years?

She didn’t know.

And that uncertainty made the ache between her legs throb all over again.

Her phone rang.

She yanked her hand free, wiped it roughly on the sheets, and answered with a voice that still sounded wrecked.

“Bella. Downstairs. Now.”

Her father’s voice was tight. Scared.

She cleaned up fast, pulled a thin white sundress over her still-sensitive skin, and skipped underwear. The cool air between her legs made her shiver as she walked downstairs. Every step reminded her of what she had just done. Of whose name she had cried out.

Victor Vale stood in the middle of the living room looking like a man who had already lost everything.

“I’m in trouble,” he said without preamble. “The kind that doesn’t go away. There’s only one person powerful enough to keep you safe while I fix this.”

Bella’s stomach dropped.

“Lucian Cross.”

The name alone made heat pool low in her belly again. She hated that it did. She also couldn’t stop the small, traitorous spark of excitement that lit beneath the fear.

“You two hate each other.”

“I already made the deal.” Victor wouldn’t meet her eyes. “You’re moving into his estate tonight. Pack. The car will be here in an hour.”

She didn’t argue. There was nothing left to argue with.

But as she walked back upstairs, heart hammering, one thought kept looping through her mind like a secret she wasn’t supposed to have:

*This is my chance.*

*I just don’t know if he’ll take it.*

---

The mansion sat high above the city like it owned the skyline.

Bella stood on the wide stone steps with one suitcase and a racing heart as the front door opened.

Lucian Cross filled the doorway.

Black shirt open at the throat. Sleeves rolled once. Grey eyes that didn’t bother hiding the way they dragged over her—slow, thorough, lingering on the way the sundress clung to her breasts, the bare length of her thighs, the faint flush still coloring her cheeks from what she had done to herself an hour ago.

He didn’t smile.

He stepped forward until she had to tip her head back to hold his gaze. The scent of his cologne wrapped around her, expensive and dark. She could feel the heat of his body even though they weren’t touching.

“Bella.”

Just her name. Low. Controlled.

His eyes dropped to her mouth for a second too long, then lower, as if he could still smell the pleasure she had given herself while thinking of him. A muscle ticked in his jaw. For one dangerous heartbeat, the mask slipped—hunger, dark and sharp, flashed across his face before he locked it down again.

“Welcome to your new home.”

She swallowed. Her pulse was loud in her ears. “Mr. Cross—”

“Lucian.” The correction was quiet and absolute. “You’ll call me Lucian. Rules will be discussed inside.”

He didn’t move out of her way. She had to brush past him to enter, and the brief contact of her shoulder against his chest sent a jolt straight between her legs. She felt him go still. Felt the way his breathing changed for half a second.

Behind her, his voice followed—soft, almost thoughtful, and far too close to her ear.

“And Bella… try to behave yourself.”

She walked into the vast, glass-walled foyer with her thighs pressed tightly together and the unmistakable knowledge settling in her bones:

He already knew something.

And whatever this arrangement was supposed to be, the air between them was already too charged, too heavy, too full of everything they were never supposed to want.

Lucian closed the door behind them with a soft, final click.

Then he spoke again, voice lower than before.

“My office. Now.”

Bella’s heart slammed against her ribs.

She turned to look at him.

And for the first time, she saw the exact moment the control in those grey eyes cracked—just a fraction—before he forced it back into place.

Whatever was about to happen in that office…

it was not going to be a simple conversation about rules.