Forever Him (An Obsessed Novella Book 1)

by Jeanne St. James

  I need to see you. I need to see you. I need…

  I must have screamed that out loud, because he hesitates, his body heaves. He sucks his lungs full of oxygen.

  “Please, I have to see you, Kane. Please, let me see you.”

  His fingers soften, release, and then he’s gone. The cushions are abruptly yanked from under my hips, and he flips me over, leaving me flat on the bed, still tied at the top. But now I can see him. All of him. And he’s glorious since his skin now has a sheen that emphasizes… every… single… muscle. The light plays off his body, making my mouth dry at the thought of how handsome this man is.

  And I have no idea why he’s with me.

  But he is. And I fight myself from being self-conscious. I beat it back. I will not let it fuck with my head, to ruin this moment and the moments to come. I want to appreciate and enjoy what he offers, to bask in his desire. Now is not the time to question it, to question his motives, his thinking.

  A corner of his mouth curls up. “Get out of your head, Lila. Stay here focused on me.”

  He’s right. Right now, the most important thing in the world is here in front of me. The most significant person is looking down at me with a smile that steals my breath.

  And possibly my heart.

  Kane settles between my thighs, somehow his large frame fitting just right. No waiting this time, he makes us as one again. I release a sigh and gaze up into his eyes.

  “Your body was made for me,” he murmurs as he moves in a slow and steady rhythm. Gentle. Caring.

  He pulls one of my nipples between his lips and sucks the peak roughly, his tongue flicking the tip. I squirm underneath him, my hips tilting upward, my back arching in an attempt to push my flesh farther into his mouth. He captures the other nipple between his finger and thumb and twists it back and forth. I squeeze my eyes shut as bolts of lightning run through me, down my limbs, landing in my core.

  “No,” he murmurs, a breath away from my damp breast. “You wanted to see me, so watch me.”

  My head rocks side to side as I stutter, “I… I…”

  His voice gets firm. “Lila, do it.”

  And I do it. I open my eyes, and he's inches from me, staring into my soul, his eyes dark.

  “That’s it,” he says before sinking his teeth softly into my collar bone.

  His slow, smooth strokes quicken and he slides his hands under my hips, lifting me slightly. The angle is perfect for us to mesh, for him to bring me to the edge of the crashing waves.

  As his pace increases, I don’t care if he sees my contorted face, my reactions. I want him to see it all. My pleasure, my pain. I want him to see everything he’s doing to me. I don’t want to hide. I need him to know how he affects me.

  Everything revealed in my face is because of him.

  And he pounds me until I tumble into the waves. I gasp for breath as I get washed away.

  Chapter Five

  His strict instructions were not to leave the bedroom until he returned.

  After he left, I wrapped his dress shirt around me and fastened a couple of buttons while inhaling his now familiar spicy scent woven throughout the fabric.

  When the bedroom door knob turns, my breath catches. My pleasure and relief at his return scare me. How could I fall so fast for a man I’ve only watched from a distance and fantasized about?

  I now know his body intimately, but nothing else. I’ve always had a good head on my shoulders, so why does this man make me lose it?

  As he enters the room, I’m once again drawn to the magnetism that permeates from him, seeps from his pores. But I’m disappointed that he’s dressed. Though, that can be easily rectified.

  My mouth waters, most likely from seeing the two bags of food he carries, but it could be from the sight of him, as well. My stomach joins along and growls loudly as soon as the smell of the takeout makes its way across the room and hits my senses.

  It smells as delicious as he looks.

  “We’re eating in bed?” I ask with surprise. His eyes rake over me, taking in the oversized shirt I’m lounging in. Hopefully he doesn’t mind me borrowing his dress shirt.

  “You’re not going to eat.”

  I furrow my brows in confusion. So, I will sit here and watch him eat?

  “I will feed you,” he continues, a hint of amusement on his face.

  Ah. That sounds even better than the food smells. Though, I now think I should keep a scorecard with all the “firsts” Kane is introducing me to in just these last few hours.

  I pat the bed and then prop the pillows up against the headboard next to me. “Please, join me at my table, good sir!”

  The deep rumble of his voice washes over me. “Do you prefer clothed or naked?”

  “Oh, naked, of course. We wouldn’t want to stain your clothes in case our food drops in say… your lap?” I wiggle my eyebrows at him, fighting my smile.

  His own smile broadens, and he places the two brown paper bags on a nearby stool and slips out of the casual workout clothes he donned to run for the order. While he looks delectable dressed, he looks even better naked.

  His blue eyes twinkle as he lifts his arms and circles slowly as if offering himself up like a piece of chocolate cake spinning in the dessert case.

  Holy shit. This man…

  He could easily become an addiction. I fear every minute longer I stay will make it harder for me to leave at the end of the day.

  He rips the bags open and removes two covered plates. Actual real plates. These are no cheap, plastic takeout containers. “This place is the best in the area. I know the chef personally.”

  My eyebrows raise, though, it shouldn't surprise me. “So, you have some pull?”

  “You can say that,” he says, then laughs as he approaches the bed.

  I tilt my head and look at him curiously. “Are you the chef?”

  He laughs again, his teeth bright white against his dark lips. “No, I’m definitely not a great cook. Remember? I told you I was passable.”

  “Tell me, Mr.—“ It floors me I still do not know his last name. But then, he doesn’t know mine either.

  After placing the plates on the nearby nightstand, he pretends to wipe his hands off on his invisible pants, and, with a flourish, extends his hand. When I clasp his warm fingers, he bows, though his eyes never leave mine, and says, “McGovern.”

  “Oh, Irish! That’s exactly what I expected your heritage to be,” I exclaim with a twist of humor. He rises but doesn’t release my hand, and I’m in no rush to pull it away. “Nice to meet you, Mr. McGovern. What part of the wee island of Ireland are you from?” I ask with a laugh.

  He chuckles and ignores my question by asking one of his own, “And you?”

  “Not from Ireland.”

  He shakes his head at me like I’m a naughty child. “You know what I’m asking.”

  “Flowers.”

  “Lila Flowers?” He cocks a brow.

  I don’t blame him. It’s usually the reaction I get. And then it’s typically followed by, “Why isn’t your first name Lily or Lilac?”

  But he's not typical, and he lifts my hand to brush his lips over my knuckles. "Beautiful name for an equally beautiful woman. A pleasure to meet you, Ms. Flowers."

  “The pleasure is all mine,” I retort. Definitely all mine. “Now that we have the formalities out of the way, can we get busy with our naked meal?”

  He bows his head. "Of course." When he releases my hand, I start to remove his shirt, but he stops me. "Leave it. I like seeing you wear my clothes."

  “But it may get stained.”

  “I have more,” he reassures me as he gathers the plates and carefully settles next to me, placing the plates on the firm mattress between us.

  As he uncovers the dishes, I have a difficult time pulling my gaze away from the scrumptious sight in his lap and directing it toward the delicious food instead. But when I do, I’m shocked. It’s all finger foods, but not of the tailgating variety. Oh, no. Colossal shrimp, so
me melty Brie cheese with crackers, strawberries, tiny pieces of toast topped with what looks like smoked salmon and red caviar. As well as crab cake sliders, and mouth-watering petit fours.

  “Now this is a picnic,” I murmur, looking at the variety.

  He lifts a caviar hors d'oeuvre to my lips. “Have you had caviar before?”

  I stare at the fish eggs on the tiny piece of toast. “No.”

  “Are you willing to try it?”

  For you, I’ll try anything, I want to say. Instead, I simply open my mouth, and he places the appetizer between my lips. I crush the crispy toast between my teeth, biting it in half. The smooth smokiness of the salmon, along with the salty creaminess of the caviar, combined with the crunchiness of the toast assaults my mouth. But in a good way. I close my eyes and chew, and when I finally swallow that heavenly bite, I open them to stare at him. He appears pleased. Probably because I didn't scrunch my nose and spit the mouthful out onto the hand he cups under my chin to catch crumbs.

  “Wow,” I finally say. He offers me the rest of the bite, and I take it greedily. As I'm chewing, and most likely rolling my eyes in ecstasy, he helps himself to one, popping the whole thing into his mouth. He then lifts a shrimp the size of a dinghy, and I gladly accept it. I have never tasted shrimp that sweet, succulent, and I groan. "I could get used to this."

  This isn't your average shrimp cocktail with scrawny prawns surrounding a blob of jarred cocktail sauce. No. The sustenance he offers is luxurious, and with him feeding me bit by bit, wiping my lips with a napkin between bites, I feel like a queen. A spoiled rotten one at that.

  Another first.

  He takes turns between feeding himself and me. Until, finally, the first plate is empty and only two small squares of dessert and a half dozen plump strawberries remain on the second plate.

  Though it didn’t seem like much at first, I surprisingly find myself full, but still eyeball one of the petit fours.

  As he brings one to my mouth, I open like a baby bird waiting to be fed by its momma. Instead of placing it in my mouth like the gentleman he is, he smears the cream center across my lips. I jerk back not expecting it, and he closes in, wiping me clean with his tongue.

  Now, that is dessert. “Good?” I ask him, smiling even though there’s still a little sweet residue left behind.

  “Mmm. Sweet. Luscious. So edible," he whispers and does it again. This time I'm ready for it and my tongue darts out to taste the delicate creamy filling before he steals it all. He kisses the rest of it away and finally offers the dessert to me. I snag it with my teeth, purposely nipping at his fingers.

  “Naughty,” he fake scolds me. “If you bite my fingers off, how will I ever touch you?”

  “You have other parts you can touch me with,” I remind him, tilting my head towards his lap. Me nipping him seemed to stir something in him, the proof now growing before my eyes. “But you liked that.”

  “I did,” he reassures me before enjoying the last dessert square. He raises a strawberry. "Berries are a great way to end our brunch. Come. Take a bite," he says and places one strawberry into his mouth, holding it between his lips.

  I think I like this idea of his when I lean over and nip the tip off the berry. It's sweet and juicy, and a red drip rolls down his chin. He starts to wipe it away, but I stop him. "Uh-uh.” And I lick from the bottom of his jaw up to the corner of his mouth. His erection is unmistakable now, jutting between us.

  He plucks another berry off the plate. “Another?”

  I nod, and instead of offering it to me, he bites the end off, then leans over to press his lips to mine. At the end of the kiss, he transfers the piece of fruit onto my tongue, and it's the best way I've ever eaten fruit. Hands down. Whether it's due to the quality of the strawberries or from him feeding them to me, it doesn’t matter. Either way, strawberries are now my favorite fruit.

  He removes the plates from between us and places them on the nightstand before turning back, holding another strawberry between his long, dark fingers. “On your back.” Not a request, but an order.

  I push away from the headboard and slide down until I'm flat on my back, his shirt bunched around my hips. With hardly an effort, he's straddling me, and I can’t wait to find out how he will feed me this particular strawberry.

  Starting at the top of my head, he traces the berry’s pointed end over my forehead, over the line of my nose, across my lips, and down my chin. He skips it along my neck, across my collar bones, and in between my breasts until he's stopped by the first fastened button. Shoving the shirt to one side, he uncovers my right breast, and he draws circles around it, starting wide at the base, lifting and narrowing the rotation until he reaches the tip. I can't believe how erotic it feels to have him brush the berry back and forth across the hard nub of my nipple. My pussy pulses, ready for him once again.

  He shoves the shirt to the other side and exposes my neglected left breast and creates the same wondrous sensations on that side, too. I’ve never loved strawberries so much as in that moment.

  With one hand, he expertly slips the shirt buttons loose, revealing my stomach little by little. Within his fingers, he draws the strawberry down, dipping into my belly button, and then circling. He spreads the shirt wide open, and now, with the tip of his tongue, traces all the paths where the strawberry had wandered. His warm, wet, skilled tongue pulls a groan from deep down inside me. I cup his cheeks as he closes in on my mouth, crushing me to him. His kiss is so thorough it steals the breath from me.

  Another piece of me gone. Another piece he now owns. When it is supposed to be the other way; he is meant to be mine.

  As he pulls back slightly, we breathe each other in. He's my oxygen, and I’m his. His blue eyes hold mine, and my breath catches as a smile slowly spreads across his strikingly beautiful, but masculine, face.

  I marvel at how I could be so lucky. I can’t be. So, before I can stop myself, I ask, "Be truthful, did you really come into the coffee shop every day to see me?" Because I still struggle to believe this. Why would this man need to do this? And why me?

  Kane frowns, his grip tightening around me. “I never lie, Lila.”

  He's clearly not happy, and I bite my bottom lip. Did I just make a fatal mistake by accusing him of being untruthful when he’s been nothing but good to me?

  I wish I could rewind to a few seconds ago when he directed his wide smile at me instead of his disappointment.

  “I’m sorry,” I whisper. “I just—"

  “Do you honestly believe I don’t find you fascinating? Even mesmerizing? You draw me like a moth to a flame, Lila. There’s no reason to question it, just accept it as it is.”

  Silly me wants to say, I never accept things as they are. That’s not my nature. I always need to know why, what makes people tick, what attracts couples to each other. It’s the writer in me, the hopeless romantic, the curious soul.

  I control characters’ thoughts and feelings. I know my own. What I don’t understand is Kane’s. And I can’t help but prod. But I remind myself, I have the rest of forever to discover his. I don’t need to know him inside and out at this very moment. I can learn things along the journey.

  But right now, I need to fix this.

  “Kane,” I start and take a deep breath before continuing. “I’ve never been popular, or ‘one of the girls,’ or even outgoing. I’ve always kept to myself and I use my imagination to create myself an exciting life. I’ve never been comfortable approaching men and I don’t date often, but when I do… Let’s just say, my options have been a bit lacking. Truthfully, I’m afraid I will turn into one of those crazy, old cat ladies.” I find it weird I’m telling him all this since I never admit this to anyone. Not even family.

  “How many cats do you have now?”

  “None.”

  He tilts his head back and barks out a laugh. When he finally sobers, he looks down into my eyes. “Lila, you don’t give yourself enough credit. When I walked into that coffee shop for the first time and saw you
, I instantly knew there was something special about you. I don’t know how or why, but I knew. And believe it or not, it wasn’t until I had been there three mornings in a row you actually noticed me. And once you did…” He drifts off and smiles. “I was a goner.”

  A little bit of disbelief still niggles at me, but I push it away. I will not keep questioning myself—or him—on why he wants me. I’m just going to—like he said—accept it as it is. And enjoy myself. And him. Definitely him.

  I trace my fingers over his brow and down his cheek. He snags them and presses the tips to his lips, kissing them, then sucks my middle finger into his mouth. As his tongue swirls around my digit, my eyelids lower while I watch his face and a shiver runs down my spine. You would think my finger was a luscious dessert or one of the ripe strawberries to savor.

  I breathe out his name. “Kane…”

  “You’re delicious and I want to taste you again,” he murmurs against the tip of my finger.

  I know what he means, but—

  He slides off the bed and disappears into the master bathroom. Within seconds I hear water running. He’s drawing a bath. A dark and delicious scent wafts from the room and my nostrils flare as I try to recognize the scent.

  Of course, it’s him. Whatever he’s adding to the water will make me smell like him, will mark me with his scent.

  Moments later he strides to the bed, and I squeal when he scoops me into his arms. I loop my arms around his neck as he carries me into the bathroom. Once he sets me on my feet, he tests the temperature of the quick-filling tub. It’s shaped like a curved triangle and large enough for both of us. It’s not the typical tub/shower combination. A frosted glass shower stall is tucked into another corner of the oversized en suite bathroom.

  He pushes his open dress shirt off my shoulders and it falls forgotten to the floor as he assists me into the jacuzzi tub. The temperature feels just hot enough not to burn my skin, but as I sink into the scented water, my muscles are soothed. I settle back with a sigh, and the water comes just high enough for my breasts to float. He motions for me to move up and when I do, he slips in behind me. As he lowers his weight, the water becomes dangerously high and threatens to sweep over the edge of the tub. In the water, I notice the contrast of his long, lean, dark legs hugging the outside of my lighter complexed ones. I slide my hands along the length of his muscular thighs, appreciating the contours and the strength contained within his flawless skin.