Read Online His Obsession by Ava Lore - Free Book Online Page B

"It's not about winning. Stop thinking like that."
    "I can't. It's a disease." He tossed his head and looked behind us at the water churned white by the engines of the yacht.
    For a terrible moment I had a vision of him throwing himself into those turbulent waters and going under, never to surface again.
    A hard knot tightened in my stomach and I hugged myself, sobering.
    "Anyway," Malcolm said, breaking the spell. "Prepare to be boarded."
    "Said the pirate to the pretty maid," I joked, though I didn't really feel it. The reality of the situation was starting to sink in. The big question hovered over us, and I was afraid to put voice to it.
    I was lying on one of the deck chairs. One of the three thousand dollar deck chairs, and I realized I hated it. It was a nice deck chair, but it was just a fucking chair. In fact, I hated this boat. Malcolm talked a good game about enlightenment, but he wasn't even close to it. Giving up one's worldly possessions was supposed to be part of it. I stood up, abruptly feeling gross and confined by the tiny world of the boat, by the threat of Malcolm ending it all. How could I have hoped to convince him the world was worth hanging around in if we were on such a gaudy boat?
    "It'll be thirty minutes before we're out of international waters," he said after a second. "Would you like to have one last fuck, for old time's sake?"
    "Are you going to kill yourself?" I blurted.
    He turned his face from the white-churned wake and stared at me. "I haven't quite decided yet," he said.
    My heart suddenly felt lighter. "Is that so?"
    "Of course, if I don't, that means you win..." The tone was grave, but his words were flippant. I couldn't get a read on him... but I allowed myself to hope.
    I took a deep breath, sucking cool sea air into my lungs. "Malcolm Ward," I said, "you are one dumb motherfucker."
    To my surprise he laughed. "Only you could make 'dumb motherfucker' sound like a term of endearment."
    "It is, you dumb motherfucker."
    "Come here."
    I went to him willingly. He was so fine and good, and he made me feel things I had never thought possible. When he bent his head to mine and captured my lips in a sweet kiss, I tried not to think of it as goodbye.
    We were so used to fucking by now that it came easily, quickly. Heat built, spreading through me like a flower taking root, and my clit stood at attention as he guided me to the deck chair I'd just vacated. We had done a lot to devalue those chairs, and this time was no exception.
    Grasping my hands lightly, he turned me over and held them behind my back and forced me to kneel down. The deck bit into my knees, but it was a good pain, so familiar by now that it made me gasp with anticipation of what was to come. His grip was loose on my hands, but I knew that if I attempted to break free it would tighten like a vise. A gentle binding, as severe as any chain.
    His other hand went to my ass and he moved the shirt I wore up over my hips. I no longer put on his boxers—it was too much trouble to take them off when we decided to screw—so when his cock slotted snugly into my slick core it was swift and sweet. I breathed in, my face smashed into the cushions as he picked up a gentle, rocking rhythm, pumping his shaft into me, his hips smacking against my ass.
    My toes curled as he leaned over me, tracing his mouth across my back, touching the tattoos there through the linen. and I closed my eyes and let him drive me over the edge. My breasts scraped over the canvas beneath my chest, rough against my nipples, and when I came it was a whole-body orgasm, every inch of skin shivering and shimmering with pleasure.
    When it was over, we knelt there for a long time, sweaty, gasping, and my heart in my chest was a cold lump. When Malcolm slipped out of me, he replaced the linen shirt, and I heard him adjusting his clothing so he was decent. Making a pretty corpse, or, perhaps, a pretty prisoner?
    I swallowed my hope and turned over, letting myself collapse against