Black Obsidian

by Victoria Quinn

  “You could say that.” He kept his eyes on the game and didn’t give me any more information. He brushed off the questions like an experienced lawyer deflecting an incriminating interrogation from the judge. “Rome’s had a hard life. She acts tough, because she is, but underneath that armor, she’s just as vulnerable as anyone else.”

  I drank my beer and tried to think of my best move. This guy was loyal to his sister, and he wouldn’t tell me a damn thing unless he thought it was necessary. “Sometimes it seems like she’s trying to push me away. I told her I was her boyfriend, and she seemed uncomfortable by the thought. When I wanted to move our relationship forward, she hit the brakes. I haven’t dated in a long time, but I know that’s not how it’s supposed to go.”

  “Why not?” He winked. “You’re a hit-it-and-quit-it kind of guy?”

  “Something like that.” I wouldn’t count my time with Isabella as a relationship, just an arrangement. I hadn’t asked a woman on a date in so long I couldn’t remember the last time. It was something I had no interest in until that fireball walked into my life and turned my world upside down.

  “I always thought when I met the right one, I’d keep my dick in my pants.” He chewed on a chip loudly, crunching it to pieces between his teeth. “But that hasn’t happened to me yet. I want kids and a house outside the city someday. But she’s gotta be hot, you know? Like, so hot that the sex never gets old.”

  “I understand.”

  “Is that what Rome is to you?”

  The question unnerved me because it was so personal. I didn’t want to lie through my teeth and pretend I was looking for a woman to settle down with. Monogamy was doable with the right partner but romance and marriage…never gonna happen. Christopher basically asked me if Rome was the one I’d been searching for. “I’m not sure. All I know is, I’ve never met anyone like her, and I want more than what she’s giving me.”

  “Well, I hope you have a lot of time on your hands because it’s gonna be a while. But if it makes you feel any better, she’s been easy on you. Other guys get maybe a date or two before she pulls the plug. And the guys are usually pretty nice too.”

  What was different about me?

  “So it’s safe to say you’ve got the best shot of any guy in this city. Whatever you’re doing, keep doing it.”

  All I was doing was making her mine.

  And she would be mine—eventually.

  When I was sitting at my desk at work the following morning, I couldn’t stop thinking about Rome. I pictured her underneath me, her wrists secured to my headboard with her legs wrapped around my waist. I was thrusting inside her, dominating that pussy and making it mine. The thought was so arousing I was hard in my slacks and seriously tempted to jerk off.

  Fooling around was satisfying, but it would never compare to fucking. I couldn’t wait for that moment when she finally spread her legs and allowed me to take her—to take all of her until there was nothing left.

  It’d only been two weeks.

  Two more to go.

  It felt like a goddamn eternity.

  I straightened my tie before I pulled out my phone and texted her. Sweetheart. I commanded her attention before I elaborated, wanting all her focus like the Dom I was.

  The three dots appeared. Sexy.

  My eyebrow immediately arched at the nickname. I was expecting a question in response, not a tease. You’re coming over for dinner tonight. Be there at 7.

  Bossy, aren’t we?

  Baby, you have no idea. I suppose.

  What are we having?

  For an appetizer, you. And for the main course, me. She didn’t know the half of what I wanted to do with her. If she did, she would run away screaming.

  Sounds delicious.

  I’ll see you at 7. No panties.

  Pardon? I could hear her attitude through the phone. I could even picture her hand on her hip, her eyes burning in molten fire.

  You heard me. No panties.

  The three dots disappeared. Instead of being concerned I chased her off, I was confident it pulled her closer. Her thighs had to be pressed together, and her pussy would be slick thinking about what my mouth was going to do with her. The second she walked over the threshold, I would yank up her dress and inspect her obedience.

  I hoped she disobeyed me.

  Because I would love to punish her.

  A little after seven, she arrived. She wore a black dress with a thick jacket on top. Knee-high boots were on her feet, and a red scarf was wrapped around her slender throat. She held a bottle of wine, trying to be polite.

  I didn’t care about the wine.

  I put it off to the side then inspected her further. Her long hair was straight and full, framing her beautiful face and highlighting the gorgeous color of her eyes. She didn’t wear tights under her dress, making for easy access.

  I didn’t say a word to her.

  She didn’t say anything to me.

  I wrapped my arms around her waist and pulled her close, feeling her tits press against my chest. I wanted her nipples to grind against me, hard and pointed. I wanted her to come to my doorstep wrapped only in a jacket and shoes—nothing on underneath. But this turned me on just as much.

  I brushed my lips past hers without giving her a kiss. A quiet sigh escaped her lips, so muted I barely heard it at all. She smelled like roses and Christmas, mixed together in a beautiful package. My hand automatically fisted her hair so I had the right grip on her, and I yanked her head back so she was exposed to me. The fact that she allowed me to do it turned me on more. She could easily fight me, but she didn’t.

  I kissed the corner of her mouth, covering her freckle with kisses. I loved that thing and that it contrasted against her pale skin. Naturally, it turned me on—the only flaw to her perfection. “I missed you.” My fingers tightened around her hair, securing her like a boat to shore. She hadn’t given herself to me yet, but I was taking her—bit by bit. I kissed the other corner of her mouth before I finally pressed my mouth against hers—right in the center.

  God, it was good.

  Her plump lips felt heavenly against mine, so soft and smooth. I remembered how that scorching mouth felt around my cock. So tight and wet. Just a simple kiss from her was erotic. My tongue slipped in when I tried to restrain it, and that made my cock press tightly against the zipper in the front of my jeans.

  I wanted to push her up against my door and fuck her.

  My hands glided down her back, feeling the curve until I reached the dip just above her ass. My fingers kept moving down, feeling her perky cheeks before I reached her thighs. I grabbed the fabric of her dress and pulled it to her stomach, revealing the lower half of her body.

  My fingers returned to her ass, and that’s when I felt the fabric of her thong.

  She disobeyed me.

  I kissed her harder, bruising her lips. “What did I say?”

  “I don’t care what you said.”

  I guided her against the door until her back was pressed into the wood. My mouth was still pressed to hers, and her hair was securely wrapped in my fingers. “When I tell you to do something, you do it. Do you understand me?” I kissed her freckle again before I finally pulled away. I looked into her eyes, dominating her with my scolding look. I wanted her to obey, but having her not obey me was hotter.

  “I don’t do what you tell me. I don’t do what anyone tells me.” She matched my fire, her dominance trying to overshadow mine.

  Like that would ever happen.

  My fingers slipped down the front of her panties and found her clitoris immediately. It was already throbbing, telling me she liked this game more than she let on. I rubbed it vigorously, moving in a circular motion that made her gasp immediately. “I’m the exception.” I pressed my mouth to her ear, my hand still fisted in her hair. “I’m your man, and you’ll do exactly what I say.”

  She breathed hard as I lit her body on fire. “You aren’t my man.”

  Now that just pissed me off. I rubbed h
er harder, rubbing the juice from her wet pussy over her clit. “I’m yours. You are mine. Period.” My cock ached from pressing so hard against my zipper. It wanted release—inside her tight little cunt. “Take off your panties.” My fingers slid across her soaked clitoris, using her own arousal as lubrication. I knew she enjoyed this and was about to come against my fingers. “Now.” I growled in her ear then stopped my fingers altogether.

  Her hips automatically bucked against me, wanting me to keep going. Her cheeks were flushed, and her eyes were watery from desperation.

  I bit her earlobe. “Now.”

  She struggled against me, not wanting to obey my command but wanting to come. The only way around her headstrong temper was her sexual appetite. I’d been down this road before, and I always knew which way would win.

  After a moment of hesitation, she pulled her black thong down her legs to her ankles.

  The sweet taste of victory flooded my mouth.

  I always won. Every single time. But winning against a worthy opponent made the triumph sweeter. “Good girl.”

  I hooked her legs around my waist then carried her to the top floor where my bedroom was waiting. It was dark inside, and I removed the comforter so only the sheets remained. I knew we were going to get dirty, so I was prepared.

  I threw her on the bed before I yanked her dress off then her boots. She was in just her bra, a sexy black push up. I left it on then undressed in front of her, letting my cock come free. He leaked from the tip because he was ready for that cunt. Like he had eyes of his own, he pointed directly at it.

  I got my shirt off then moved on top of her, her head on a pillow. Dinner was ready downstairs, and it was going to get cold, but the second I saw her, I needed to get off. And I could tell she did too.

  I moved between her thighs then shoved two fingers inside her. Like last time, I felt her tight channel. She was seriously narrow, the soft flesh of her pussy wet and tight. I felt the lubrication drench my fingers before I pulled them out and ran them across my cock. I coated myself in her pussy juice, lubing myself from my tip to my balls.

  She watched me, her green eyes darkening in desire.

  I pumped myself a few times, testing the friction. “That’s all you, sweetheart.” I moved on top of her and pressed my hard shaft right against her throbbing clitoris. Both slick, we moved together.

  She moaned the second our skin came into contact. Her hands moved to my arms and dug into my biceps, squeezing me like an anchor. She cried louder than when we dry-humped on her bed. Now she was delirious with pleasure, feeling our bodies mold together like they were made to become one.

  My cock loved the feel of her wet clitoris. Her lips opened for me every time I moved, and the moisture made a distinct sound as we grinded over one another. It was nothing like sex, but it was still so fucking hot I wanted to come. This woman made the amateur stuff feel like the greatest sex I’d ever had.

  “Calloway…” Her hands immediately went to my chest, her fingers spread out to feel the expansive muscle. “So good…”

  “I can’t wait to fuck you, sweetheart.” She had the wettest and tightest pussy I’d ever felt. My cock would be in heaven when it finally happened.

  She moved her hands up the back of my neck and into my hair, her palm cupping my cheeks as our bodies coiled around each other. “Fuck me now, Calloway. Please.”

  Holy fucking shit.

  I kept grinding against her, my cock twitching in anticipation. He wanted to be deep inside her, buried in that little pussy and claiming it as his own. He wanted to fill her with so much cum it leaked down her ass crack.

  “Please.” She looked into my eyes, the green flickering like a forest fire. Her lips were parted and desperate for mine. She was already on the verge of an orgasm. She dug her nails deeper into me, begging me with her touch.

  There was nothing hotter than a woman begging.

  Oh, fuck.

  I wanted to fuck her—so hard.

  But she made me promise I wouldn’t. If I broke my word, she wouldn’t hold it against me. Any man would do it after listening to her beg twice. I was only human, and my cock only had one goal.

  But I wanted her to trust me.

  If she didn’t, I would never get what I wanted.

  And that was more important than fucking her for the first time.

  Because I wanted to fuck her a lot more.

  I pressed my mouth against hers and gave her a hard kiss, crushing my mouth against those soft lips. My tongue danced with hers, playing a sexy game of hockey. I grinded against her forcefully, moving over her soft, wet folds until I reached my breaking point.

  I needed her to come.

  “Baby, come for me.” I gripped the back of her neck and rubbed my cock against her forcefully, making sex noises that amplified in my bedroom. It felt so good, and the burn blew up my shaft from my balls. I couldn’t hold on much longer, not after listening to her pleas, but I needed her to get off first.

  She obeyed my command unconsciously, and she came with a scream. Her nails dragged down my back slowly, moving all the way to the top of my ass. Her hips rocked with mine, wanting as much friction as she could get.

  My bedroom reeked of sex.

  “Calloway.” She looked into my eyes with a wide-open mouth, her eyes holding the satisfaction I loved to see on a woman.

  She finished, and now it was my turn. I exploded onto her stomach and chest, hitting her right below the chin and in the valley of her breasts. I kept squirting like a geyser, trailing all the way down to her belly button. My tip pointed into her navel, and I deposited the rest there.

  My handiwork was a turn-on in itself. She was covered in my cum, her bra stained with my semen. I wanted her to stay like that forever just so I could look at her. I didn’t go inside her, but I felt like I claimed her in an even more sexual way.

  And I wanted to claim her like that again.

  Instead of wearing the clothes she arrived in, she borrowed a pair of my boxers and a t-shirt. She looked sexy in my stuff, sexier than I ever did. She sat across from me at the kitchen table and sipped her wine.

  I put the plates in front of both of us and began to eat. It was chicken caprese with ravioli and a side salad. It was more food than I would normally make for myself, but since she always ordered a salad, I wanted her to load up on some calories. She probably didn’t want to eat what I made her, but I knew she was too polite to let it go to waste.

  She cut into her chicken and ate slowly, taking her time as she enjoyed the two different sides. She sipped her wine intermittently and stayed quiet. After sex, I was usually tired and in a quiet repose. She seemed to be the same.

  “Do you like your dinner?”

  “It’s amazing,” she said. “You’re a great cook.”

  “I’m glad to see you like other things besides salad.”

  She held my gaze but stopped eating. Her gaze was unreadable, but my words clearly meant something to her. She turned back to her plate and kept eating, not making eye contact with me again.

  Did I hit a nerve?

  She took a few bites of her ravioli, eating so slowly she reminded me of a sloth. Slow and steady, she continued the race and eventually ate everything on her plate, not leaving a single crumb behind. When one of the tomatoes fell off the chicken, she stabbed it with a fork and placed it in her mouth.

  I was impressed. “You must have been hungry.”

  “I don’t like to waste food.”

  “So you weren’t hungry?”

  “I was. I just don’t normally eat that much.”

  Tension hung in the air, and instead of letting it continue to grow, I decided to cut through it. “Is there a reason why I hardly see you eat?”

  She directed her callous eyes on me, her defenses coming up. I could tell when she was provoked. There was a metallic gleam in her eyes. Methodically, her brain worked to find a suitable answer. The question was simple and nearly harmless, but she absorbed it like it was a question under o
ath. “I feel guilty.”

  I hadn’t finished my dinner, but now I lost my appetite. Without knowing exactly what she meant, I knew she was opening up to me, revealing an aspect of herself she’d never showed me before. The careful choice of her words and the strength of her voice told me it was a serious matter. “Why?” I set my fork down and gave her my full attention.

  “I feel guilty eating when there are millions of people who are starving.” She held my expression like a ruthless queen, absorbing every single reaction I made with my features. My house was unnaturally quiet. The sounds of traffic couldn’t even be heard from outside. It felt like just the two of us in the known world.

  “Starving yourself isn’t going to change anything.”

  “I don’t starve myself. I just consume as little as possible so nothing goes to waste. There’s a difference.”

  This was a tense subject. I could tell by the tightness of her shoulders and her jaw. Instead of speaking my mind, I had to tread carefully. “You grew up hungry.” I didn’t phrase it as a question because that would feel like an interrogation. I would put my curiosity on the table and leave the door open, inviting her to elaborate or end the discussion altogether. Her mystery and majesty intrigued me, obsessed me, but I wanted her to confide in me because she wanted to, not because she was pressured to.

  “Sometimes, I was locked in a basement without food or water for days. The longest I’ve ever gone is five.”

  I held her gaze but immediately felt my spine prickle with destruction. A kind of pain I’d never experienced washed through me, burning me with satanic fire. My sympathy only extended so far, but with her, she took all of it. She told me not to pity her, but I did. I felt terrible for her, so bad that I wanted to do everything I could to fix it. I wanted to buy her a new apartment, a car so she wouldn’t have to take the subway, and anything else she could possibly want.

  “When you’re hungry for so long, you stop feeling hunger. It’s a relief, but it’s also the moment when your body starts to feed on itself, cannibalizing your muscles for energy. You barely have enough strength to move, let alone think. It’s the most terrifying and humbling experience anyone can ever know. It makes you understand just how fragile you are, that you’re susceptible to something everyone else takes for granted.”