The Obsession (Filthy Rich Americans Book 2)

by Nikki Sloane

  “Was it?” A wicked smile lurked in his voice. “It felt short to me.”

  Adrenaline ran hotly through my veins, making me agitated. Couldn’t he see how badly I wanted this over with? I itched to tear off the blindfold and take off running. “Can we start, already?”

  He inhaled and exhaled, slow and deep, and I had the terrible feeling he was stretching, warming up his muscles. Fuck. Should I do that?

  He spoke before I could make my decision. “We’ll start whenever you’re ready. I’ll begin counting when the blindfold comes off.”

  I wanted it to be a statement, but it came out sounding like a question. “You’ll count out loud?”

  “Yes.”

  Oh, my God, this was really happening. I sank my teeth into my bottom lip as I mentally prepared for my task. I was unnaturally tight, and I sucked in what I hoped would be a calming breath. I’d never been a fast runner, but a fifteen-second head start should be more than enough. The hedge maze was big, but it wasn’t endless.

  You can do this.

  My hands shook as I raised them to the back of my head and my fingers found the knot. The silk slipped free faster than I expected, falling to hang around my neck like a loose scarf.

  “One,” Macalister said.

  He stood before me, one side of his rich black suit coat pushed back and his hand resting on his waist. His other was raised in front of him, and as I blinked my newly uncovered eyes, he lifted his gaze from his watch to meet my eyes.

  I didn’t have time to waste evaluating his authoritative expression. I turned my attention to my surroundings. We were standing in a corridor, and to my right the hedges broke, so I had three options. Go right, go forward, or reverse. I whipped my head around and spied the ornate urn decorating the dead end, a root curling over the edge of the base.

  If I’d had time, I would have laughed. Not because this was the same spot where Royce had rescued me in the rain, but because I’d anticipated this move. This place was the farthest distance from the entrance. If I had to chase someone through this maze, I would have picked this as the starting line too.

  “Two.”

  It also meant Macalister was standing in my way, blocking the exit, either hoping to deter or slow me down. Not a chance. I grabbed the tie hanging around my front and flung it to the ground as I took off, sprinting past him.

  “Three. Four. Five.”

  Pebbles whooshed as I skidded around the first turn.

  “Six. Seven.”

  I tore down the path, pumping my arms to propel me faster.

  “Eight. Nine. Ten.”

  I took the next turn so tightly I clipped the corner and rough branches scraped across my arm. It kept stinging as I ran, but I didn’t glance down to see if it had drawn blood. It’d slow me down in more than one way, as I couldn’t stand the sight of it. It made my knees turn to jelly, and that was the last thing I needed right now.

  “Eleven. Twelve.” His voice was quieter, muffled by the hedges and the distance between us. “Thirteen . . . Fourteen . . . Fifteen.”

  When the counting ceased, my heart hammered in my chest. I huffed my breath, ignoring the throbbing scratches on my arm or the painful slap of my bare feet on the errant twigs that had fallen on the path. My freedom was still so far away.

  When he’d stopped counting, Macalister became the Minotaur, and I ran from him as if my life depended on it. I didn’t hear his footsteps dashing behind me, but each beat of my heart was a cannon booming in my ears, drowning everything else out.

  When I made the second to last turn, the muscles in my legs were hot and screaming. There was a painful stitch in my side, right below my Medusa tattoo, as if her snakes were biting at me, spurring me on. I had to keep going. For myself, for Royce, for the promise that we could be more someday.

  I raced through the final turn, and hope swelled as the entrance came into view, but I didn’t ease up. For all I knew, the monster wanting to devour me was right on my heels.

  The myth of Orpheus leapt into my mind. The fabled musician had lost his wife and made the harrowing journey to the underworld to try to bring her back. He impressed Hades and Persephone so much with his music, they released her on the condition she walk behind him and he wasn’t allowed to look back until they were safely out of Hades’ realm. Too anxious and impatient, the distraught husband reached the threshold for the mortal world and turned to see her.

  I would not be Orpheus. I was too close to getting what I wanted to have it all vanish right before my eyes.

  The thrill of escape grew exponentially with each step I took. In one more breath, I’d be out. Every cell in my body wanted to sing with elation—

  No.

  No!

  It wasn’t possible.

  The Minotaur didn’t catch me from behind.

  He materialized ahead of me, stepping through the entrance, and blocked my escape, all while wearing a smile that announced I was doomed.

  FIFTEEN

  I STOPPED DEAD IN MY TRACKS, sending gravel skittering everywhere. My mind couldn’t make sense of what I was seeing, but my body took over. It forced my legs to start churning, only this time, they carried me away from the exit. The only goal now was to blindly run.

  Panic was a great motivator, but it couldn’t do the impossible. It didn’t make me as fast as the goddess of speed Nike or give me wings like Icarus to escape the Labyrinth. In fact, I only made it past the first turn before the Minotaur ensnared me in his powerful arms. His hold was a cage, and I ran at the bars, trying to escape.

  “Marist, stop. It’s over,” Macalister said.

  “How?” I sobbed. “How did you get ahead of me?”

  He turned me to face him, and his pale eyes held me just as captive as his arms. Sweat dampened the hair at his temples, and he was breathing as hard as I was. He’d run in his suit and his dress shoes in the lazy September heat, and it’d taken its toll on him.

  His hands were splayed out on my bare back, casing me to him while we both struggled to catch our breath and adjust to the shocking outcome of his game. His eyes hooded and his gaze swept down over my heated face, continuing further south.

  I’d thought he was staring at my breasts, but his gaze shifted, and he frowned. “You’re hurt.”

  I followed his eyeline and saw the angry red scratches across my bicep, the thin threads of blood seeping from them, and it pushed me past my limit. My knees gave way, and I sagged into his arms, drawing a startled noise of surprise from him. I clutched at the fabric of his suit as I went down, trying to halt my collapse, but it was pointless.

  Macalister fell to a knee with me in his arms, slowing my descent. There was concern in his expression, and I found that more disorienting than anything else he’d tried to do. He wasn’t supposed to be capable of feelings.

  “Tell me what’s happening,” he demanded, although there was an edge of nervousness to his voice that made him sound less like the monster I’d pictured him as.

  But tell him what was happening? How about the world was upside-down? I’d lost. God, I’d lost everything. Instead of admitting defeat, I was a stupid girl and went with the most practical answer. “I don’t like blood,” I croaked.

  He held me firmly as he shrugged out of his jacket, one arm and then the other, until it lay in a heap on the ground. Then he seated me on the path, the smooth stones pressing uncomfortably against my bottom, while he knelt beside me.

  He jabbed a finger at the jacket. “Put it on.”

  I let out a painful breath, a mixture of fear and relief. I didn’t look at him as I struggled into his suit coat that was far too big for me and smelled like a man who wasn’t my fiancé. But once I had it on and folded across my body, my nakedness and the blood covered, I found myself again. My bones solidified, and fire raced through my marrow.

  “How the fuck did you get ahead of me?”

  He climbed to his feet and wiped the gray dust marks from his knees before extending a hand to help me up. “I built this m
aze.”

  He said it like that should be more than enough explanation. I swatted his hand away and went to stand, but he didn’t like that. As soon as I was on my feet, he lunged at me, wrapping his arms around my thighs and lifting. It bent me over his shoulder into a fireman’s carry.

  “Put me down!” My heart rocketed into my throat, making it hard to talk as he righted himself and began to walk toward the exit.

  “I don’t believe you’re in any position to tell me what to do.”

  It wasn’t just shocking being possessed like this—it was uncomfortable. Every step he took made his broad shoulder dig into my belly, and I felt like a helpless maiden being carried back to the monster’s lair.

  Except he wasn’t going deeper inside the maze; he carried me out the entrance and then around the side of it. What was he doing? I squirmed and wriggled, trying to escape, but his arm was banded tight around the back of my thighs, locking me in place.

  He turned the corner, following the outer wall of the hedges, until he was halfway to the other end. And there he abruptly put me down, setting me dizzyingly on my feet. He kept one arm around my waist, but I wasn’t sure if this was to keep me upright or prevent me from escaping. Maybe it was both.

  I watched with stunned disbelief as his free hand disappeared into the bush in front of us and a moment later an entire section of the hedge swung open. The fake foliage covering this secret door was the perfect seamless match.

  I couldn’t breathe, but my voice still worked. “You cheated!”

  Macalister had the nerve to look insulted. “Where in the rules did it stipulate I couldn’t leave the maze? I only had to catch you before you escaped.”

  My eyes filled with tears of rage. “You cheated.”

  “I did nothing of the sort.”

  His hold on me changed. It grasped my wrist, covered by the overly long sleeve, and guided me through the passageway. He brought me stumbling into the long corridor that dead-ended with the urn on the other side—the starting line of the race I didn’t realize was unwinnable. Then the door swung closed behind, locking us inside.

  I couldn’t fathom words. All the fury I felt was overwhelmed and drowned out by my trepidation. It kept me silent as I was led down the path and back to the center of the maze. My shoes were there, my bra and underwear discarded right beside them. It was a shocking sight, and I looked away, desperate not to see.

  When Macalister pulled me to a stop and turned to face me, his expression cautiously eager, it broke me.

  “I can’t do this,” I whispered.

  Rather than look angry, he looked . . . worried. Like he was confused and unsure and it was fucking terrifying to see him like that. This version of him, I didn’t know how to handle. He set his heavy hand on my shoulder, and I was grateful it was covered by the coat to prevent him from making true contact with me.

  “I have no interest in forcing myself upon you,” he said. “But I can’t deny how much I need this.” He set his hand on my other shoulder, boxing me in under his hold, and his expression filled with longing. “I cannot deny how badly I want this. Once it’s done, I’ll be able to let you go. If you honor our agreement, I’ll consider the one I made with Royce null and void.”

  My breath caught. He was saying I’d be free. Not from his house or his control, but at least from his interference with my relationship with Royce.

  His hands crept inward, drifting up my neck until my face was trapped between both of his palms, ensuring there was no escape from his hypnotic eyes. He was so close, his warm breath rolled over my skin. It slid down my neck and caressed the bare skin it found between the lapels of the jacket.

  “I understand your reluctance. I believe I can make it easier on you.”

  “How?”

  He took one hand off my face, and it glided down my front so it could delve inside the jacket. I flinched at his cold fingers, but he wasn’t attempting to touch me. He was only trying to reach into the interior pocket. The red tie spilled out into his hand.

  “You want to blindfold me again?” I both did and didn’t like the idea. On one hand, I wouldn’t be able to see him, which might give me the chance to pretend he was someone else. But on the other, I worried about giving up that much control.

  “No,” he said. His eyes were cryptic, his thoughts hidden too far behind them. “I’ll show you, but I’ll have to remove my coat you’re wearing.”

  I bit my bottom lip. It was hot under the coat, and the silk lining clung to my sweat-dampened skin, but it was far easier to stand before him with it on than completely naked. When I didn’t say no right away, he must have taken that as a yes, because he hooked his fingers under the neck and eased it down. The coat fell in a jerky cascade, catching for a moment on my elbows before falling to the stones at our feet.

  His tone was soft but direct. “Give me your wrists.”

  My blood turned to slush, making it impossible to move.

  “If you do this, it’s the only thing you have to give tonight. Everything else I will take.” I didn’t understand what he meant. He slowly blinked his deep and intense eyes. “If you tell me to stop, I’ll stop. But I am persistent and patient, and I won’t give up until I have what I want. What I’m suggesting is the illusion of giving up control.”

  It would be just like the hands that had held me during the initiation. All I had to do was say the word, and I’d be released. Even more, with my arms bound in front of me, I’d still have the option to push him away or run. He was offering a false ‘out’ for my mind. A way to lie to myself so I could let it happen.

  “Surrender your hands,” he said, “and then tell yourself you had no choice.”

  I closed my eyes, knowing what he’d said was true. He was a man who wasn’t denied anything, so he wouldn’t give up until he’d had his two minutes with me. Perhaps I shouldn’t have traded them away in the first place.

  Macalister was . . . inevitable.

  I lifted my hands, my entire body trembling, and heard his quiet, pleased sigh.

  The silk draped over my wrists then cinched them together. My eyes fluttered open as the second knot was looped and pulled tight.

  And then it was done. My hands were bound, and I’d submitted to him. Dark satisfaction streaked through his expression. Now he’d take what he wanted.

  As he’d warned me, it started with his hands. He set his cool palms on my shoulders and glided them down my arms, his fingers flowing like water. His touch was meant to be sensual, and my body tried to like it, but my mind refused.

  He commanded it in a hushed but powerful voice. “Look at me.”

  I’d been staring off into nothingness, not seeing the fountain or the hedges, and avoiding him. My reluctant gaze shifted his direction, working slowly up along his fitted white dress shirt until I reached his face.

  His expression was the same one he’d shown me only a handful of times. It was full of shameless desire. He looked at me like a king surveying his new bride.

  “Some part of you wanted to lose,” he said, just loud enough to be heard over the dripping fountain. “You secretly hoped this would happen.”

  “No,” I blurted. It came from me in such a rush, to him it probably sounded forced. Like I was overcompensating, but what he’d said wasn’t true at all.

  Right?

  His half-smile said he didn’t believe me.

  His hands were firm but not rough as I was turned to face the fountain. Its steadily flowing water was hypnotic, and I fell into a kind of trance as I stood on the path and endured Macalister’s reverent caresses. He gathered my hair in his hands and pushed it gently over my shoulder, exposing every inch of my back to him. It was his favorite part on a woman’s body, he’d said.

  A fingertip traced a line across my shoulder blades and down my spine, moving like a slow drop of water finding its path down into the hollow of my back. It drew a shiver from me, and he gave a soft noise of satisfaction, enjoying my body’s response.

  When his hand
s slid around to cradle my hips, he moved in. The length of his body pressed to mine, emphasizing the opposition between us. I was shorter, he was tall. I was nude, he was clothed. And I was female, while he was male.

  Distinctly male.

  He wasn’t physically aroused, but the shape of him pressed to me made all the air vanish from my lungs. The line of buttons down his shirt and the buckle of his belt kissed my skin, and as his hands continued to rise, I pressed my lips together.

  It’d been two months since anyone had really touched me besides myself, and since I wasn’t facing him, I tried to think these hands didn’t belong to Macalister. But every time I attempted it, it was like he knew. There was the flash of his Cartier watch, or the smell of his cologne, or his heavy sigh of contentment in my ear that couldn’t be anyone but him.

  His hands stroked up over my breasts, and I swallowed an enormous breath. I didn’t want to like the way it felt, but my neglected skin enjoyed the sensation. My nipples firmed into tight points as he massaged and explored. I issued a sound of surprise when he pinched one between his thumb and forefinger, hard enough to verge on pain.

  It was shameful how I felt the sensation between my legs in a dull ache.

  He didn’t follow his script exactly as he’d laid it out, because his mouth came down on the curve of my neck while his hands encased my breasts. He’d told me he wasn’t going to start with his mouth until he was done with his hands, and there was a very crucial place he hadn’t touched yet.

  Was he not going to? The thought caused the faintest of whines to float through my mind. What the fuck was wrong with me?

  It was undeniable how his kisses on my neck felt, coupled with his sensuous hands, and I gave up fighting. My hands were tied, after all, so I allowed myself to acknowledge I liked what he was doing—only a little.

  Try to enjoy it.

  It was what Alice had whispered to me before the initiation, when she knew what was going to happen. What her own husband was planning on doing to me. What a fucked up blessing she’d given that day. Would she feel the same way if she found out his two minutes had been deferred?