His Darkest Obsession

PROLOGUE

I’m naked and spread-eagled on the bed.

My hands are anchored above my head to the headboard, my legs parted and vulnerable to the cool penthouse air.

And I am aching.

A deep, desperate, hollow throb pulses between my thighs, so intense it makes my entire body tremble against the black Egyptian cotton sheets.

My pussy clenches over nothing, slick and humming around the tiny, relentless bullet vibrator buried deep inside me.

Every nerve ending is on fire, begging for the one thing, the one man, who is currently seated on a chair across from me.

He holds a sleek black remote in one hand and nurses a glass of scotch with the other, watching me squirm like I’m his favorite show.

He is raw, masculine perfection.

Fully shirtless, his broad shoulders taper into a dangerously narrow waist, his chest and abs carved with hard, visible muscle that glistens beneath the low lights filtering through the floor-to-ceiling windows behind him.

Lower down, a pair of loose black lounge pants ride sinfully low on his hip bones, exposing the razor-sharp V-lines of his lower abdomen.

V The discipline required to have a body like that is mind-boggling.

C

And then there’s the tattoo.

Dark, intricate ink stretches like a shadow from his lower ribs, curving around his torso and disappearing up his broad back.

But it’s his face that really gets me.

Especially the glasses.

Thin, silver wire frames perched on the bridge of his nose.

They give him the look of a ruthless, calculating strategist who could cold-bloodedly strip a company of its assets in a boardroom.

Then again, that same man is currently sitting there watching me fall apart.

Rowan depresses his thumb on the remote, bumping the vibration up a single, agonizing notch.

A muffled gasp tears from my throat as the sharp buzz sends a wave of liquid heat straight up my spine.

He takes a slow, unhurried sip of his scotch.

His dark eyes, magnified behind those delicate lenses, track every twitch of my thighs, every frantic heave of my chest, every reaction.

My hands pull against the restraints.

“Still fighting the ties, sweetheart?”

His deep voice is smooth as velvet.

Calm. Disciplined. Completely in control.

I stop moving.

“No,” I rasp.

My toes curl tightly against the relentless pressure building inside me.

“No?”

A slow, dark smirk curves his lips.

He sets the scotch glass down on the side table with a quiet clink.

“Because from where I’m sitting, it looks like you’re still trying to dictate the terms.”

He turns up the pressure another notch.

I throw my head back and cry out as sparks dance behind my eyelids.

“Look at me, sweetheart.”

I force my eyes open.

“Remember, you do not come until I allow it.”

“Please, Rowan. I’m burning up.” I arch my back, my hips tilting upward in an embarrassingly needy plea for relief. “T-turn it off.”

He tsks.

Then he slowly rises to his feet.

All six-foot-five-inches of him towers over the bed.

“Still trying to dictate the terms,” he says.

He steps toward me with the deliberate, predatory grace of a man who already owns every inch of the territory.

“What am I going to do with you, sweetheart?”

He climbs onto the bed, crawling over me until his broad frame traps me against the sheets.

The cool air vanishes, replaced instantly by the overwhelming heat of his bare skin and the rich scent of cedarwood and mint.

His low-slung pants brush against the bare skin of my inner thighs, teasingly close to where I’m already trembling for him.

His calloused hand moves slowly up my ribcage.

His fingers brush teasingly against my clamped nipples before wrapping firmly around my throat.

He applies enough pressure to make me lightheaded.

“You have no idea what you stepped into, Joanna.”

He leans down until his lips brush the hypersensitive shell of my ear.

The cool metallic rim of his wire-frame glasses brushes my cheekbone, sending a shiver straight down my spine.

“You think this is just a quick thrill.”

His voice drops lower.

“But it’s going to be so much fun turning you into my obedient sub…”

His fingers tighten slightly.

“…stripping away every last bit of control you think you have until you’re begging me for rules.”

A sharp gasp escapes me, my pulse hammering wildly against his palm.

“Starting with how you address me in this bed,” he adds smoothly.

His thumb traces the swollen line of my lower lip.

“You don’t call me Rowan when you’re tied to my headboard. Is that clear?”

“Y-yes…” I whisper.

He stares down at me, his whiskey eyes sparkling with challenge and dark amusement.

Then I hear another click of the controller.

The vibration kicks up another notch.

Rowan lets out a husky chuckle that vibrates through my chest as I let out a broken moan.

My vision becomes hazy and hooded.

I bite my lower lip, steeling myself against the sensation threatening to overwhelm me.

His fingers tighten around my jaw, tilting my head back until my eyes lock onto his behind those sharp lenses.

“Look at me.”

He says it softly.

The absolute authority in his voice leaves zero room for resistance.

“No hiding. No second-guessing. No coming until I tell you to.”

His dark gaze burns into mine.

“Tonight, this sweet, aching body is my prisoner.”

The promise in his eyes sends another shiver through me.

“Tell me who owns you tonight, sweetheart.” He pauses. “And say it properly.”

“Y-you do,” I pant, my heart racing. “You do… Sir.”

“Good girl,” he purrs against my lips.

Then his mouth slams onto mine.