The Prince Of Obsession Novels & Stories

He blows in like a king ready to receive his subjects. At six foot three and almost zero body fat, he’s tall and lithe and tightly muscular—and beautiful. Can a man be beautiful? Fuck yeah. His thick, dark brown hair has grown out, and the top strands are swept back off his forehead, carefully styled, the sides cut shorter. The lengthier hair on top is edgy looking, totally different from how he wore it last fall in a short fauxhawk. Douchebag Extraordinaire has lighter colors interwoven, giving it depth and accentuating ice-blue eyes. Another change? He’s sporting dark scruff on his jawline, giving him a slightly dangerous look.

She squeaked clasping her hands together. "Yeah.. a toasted one" I gritted out, and one of the men that accompanied the Mafia king chuckled softly, speaking of the Mafia king I finally got a good view of him, his striking green eyes which had flecks of brown in them gazed at me with a cold look, he was clad in a Black dress suit and black trousers, his raven black hair jelled neatly to the side, he was well built his muscles rippled whenever he moves. "We would be taking Amelia Starling today to the airport as she is to start work tomorrow," The Mafia King said his eyes trailing over me.

her voice shivered as that night ran in her mind. "What he did to you?" "He-he-he. All I know is that he is crazy. Wild. Violent. An obsessive enthusiast. He can kill with a flick of his finger, with a flutter of his lash," she kept on saying as if in a trance, "if you g-go against him, he won't kill you but extract your soul. When you are u-under him, around him, you have got no other option but to obey because at the end only that would happen what he had mentioned in the very start. I'm scared of challenging him,"

I rolled my hips down, dragging against his c*ck. Sebastian curled, cursing into the crook of my neck. "Stuffed tight in me, stretching me wide. I want you to c*m, to fill me so deeply, so richly, that it stains my hosiery white. I want that of you, Prince Sebastian of the Obsidian Moon pack." "By the dark pits of Tartarus, you will be the death of me, sweet one! Come here, do not make me beg again."

He takes a deep inhale of my scent, his nails digging into my waist. “I’ve tried to understand why Ismir has been hoarding you to himself.” He says and I bite my lip, my fear increasing. I wish he would drink me already and be done with it. “Your blood is exquisite but I find nothing special about you. What does the prince see in you?” I don’t know, and now I almost wish his favour wasn’t so obvious. “Is it your body?” He asks, his fingers sliding to the crest of my ass. I shiver with revulsion.

Ghost POV I sit there, staring out at the dark street, the estate looming behind me. Maybe he’s right. Right now, Prince is no doubt replaying that fucking video over and over, letting it sink into his bones, turning it into the only truth he can see. I need him to stop obsessing over it. To step back and see the bigger picture. To see me. But waiting? Waiting is going to fucking kill me.

“We speak of sense. You hunt with no plan, no pause, chasing down rumors. This is not a sound strategy, Your Majesty, it is an obsession.” The word struck hard, reverberating through the chamber. Obsession. I straightened slowly, sweeping my gaze across them. Their fear was palpable, but beneath it I saw what they would not yet voice aloud: doubt. Mutiny. “You call it obsession,” I said, voice low, steady, dangerous. “But obsession is the only reason you sit breathing in this chamber. Obsession united packs. Obsession crushed your enemies.” My eyes locked on the boldest of them, the one who dared meet my stare. “And you, lordling, dare question what you’ve never bled for.”

Meridian Water HELLFIRE I glided gracefully through the hall, following in the Prince’s footsteps with a captivating aura. As I greeted the nobles and servants present, I watched his expression—serious and impenetrable—taking in everything and everyone around him, until he finally settled into his armchair. While scanning the room, I felt lustful stares aimed my way, but I chose to ignore them. Jokes, off-color comments, and feeble attempts at flirting reached my ears in hushed tones, and I merely smiled discreetly and shook my head. I kept moving across the room, eventually positioning myself in the far corner, eyes fixed on the Prince. Our gazes locked—his, narrowed and watchful. Four nake

"Sir, I can't let you in right now. It's private property now. There's a new owner." Arian wanted to say something, but Raisa held his hand. "Stop. He's right. We don't need to go in there anymore." Arian was silent for a moment. Then he turned back toward the car. Before leaving, he looked up once more—that balcony, those windows, where he once stood dreaming of conquering the entire city. Now other people stood on that balcony, with other stories. Before getting into the car, Arian turned back and said to Raisa, "That throne of power was very expensive, but I had to pay for it with my peace. Today I have bought peace—that is even more precious."

For one fucking second, I imagine dragging him out of that seat by his throat and smashing his face against the edge of the table until he forgets his own name. Instead, I hold myself back just by a tiny thread of self-control. A man who loses his temper too quickly is a man who gives his enemies an advantage over him, and I have no intention of giving this bastard anything. At least not yet. Behind me, Marco’s voice carries over the music. “Who the hell is that?” Sergei answers before I can. “That’s the same prince at the Syndicate Court.” Marco blinks, staring back at the bastard. “The prince?” He repeats, “Then why the fuck is he sitting in our club?”