Obsessed

  Obsessed

  Lace Underground #2

  Tess Oliver

  OBSESSED

  Copyright © 2018 by Tess Oliver

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  Chapter 37

  Chapter 38

  Chapter 39

  DEVOTED

  About the Author

  1

  Angie

  My bare feet step one in front of the other as I trail obediently behind Blake, my personal assistant and only friend in the Lace Underground. My skin prickles from the cold air that brushes over my mostly naked body. But I'll be warm soon enough. Soon I'll be in his arms and my flesh will burn with wanting him. He'll be inside of me, and I'll be at the center of his world. Which is the only place I want to be.

  It's only been a few months but I can't recall the exact moment when I lost the threads to my past. I'm fully aware of Detective Angie Tennyson, that other woman, the woman who couldn't wait to pull on jeans and her gun holster. The woman who preferred danger and adventure to primping and pampering. The woman who stupidly allowed herself to fall madly in love with her partner. The memories are there, twisted and tangled with all the disappointing, happy and sorrowful moments of my prior life, but they are all muted by the new voice in my head, the woman who calls herself Tawny. Tawny, the woman who lives and breathes for the moments when she is with Kane.

  "I've never been to his office," I say quietly. My morning injection of nectar makes any rough edges smooth. Even my voice sounds different when I'm high on it. And it is a high. That is no longer a question because when I come down from it, the crash is more explosive with each dose. Explosive enough that I'm sure withdrawing completely from it will kill me.

  Blake stops at a door and winks at me before knocking. He's decided to cut his hair even closer to his head, possibly to camouflage the emerging bald spot. The short cropped hair with the bright blue contacts makes him look more severe. But there's nothing harsh about him. He's just a man struggling to survive in the bizarre underground world Kane Freestone has created. It's a wild, sordid and altogether strange life but for most of the people living in the complex, it's a far better existence than they had in the real world.

  Blake's knuckles tap the door again.

  A shudder of fear rolls through me. "Maybe he's called me here to let me know he's through with me." It's one of many insecure moments I'll fall into throughout the day. It's always in the back of my mind. It's always there, lurking like a dark shadow, reminding me that at any time Kane can decide he's bored of me. At any time he can toss me out to the club members, the rich men who pay ridiculous fees to be part of Kane's secret Lace Underground.

  "Stop that." Blake is unusually curt. "That's not going to happen." His reassuring words are dotted with sadness. Blake never wanted it to get this far. He told me again and again, I hope he tires of you soon. Not because Blake’s cruel but because he's caring. His boss has never kept a woman for his personal use this long, and he's convinced himself no good can come from it. The tiny sliver of intuition I have left tells me the same thing, but that does nothing to cool my desire for Kane. If anything, the fragility of the situation only makes my manic infatuation worse.

  "Come in," a voice replies, his voice, the deep mellow sound that can nearly drive me to orgasm just hearing it.

  Blake opens the door and ushers me inside. I look back to see if he is following. Instead, he casts me a weak smile and shuts the door. Kane’s dark head is leaned over the paperwork on his desk. His shoulders look tense as they strain the fabric on his shirt. My entire existence is for his pleasure. I know nothing of his business or, for that matter, his secret club. It’s a thought that nearly makes me laugh. I posed as a homeless girl to find my way into the Lace Underground. My mission was to find damaging evidence to bring Kane Freestone’s shady empire down and to find his connection to the murders of two former club members. But those goals have become just small nuisances in my conscience.

  After spending so much time on the police force, witnessing every horror a person can dream up and absorbing the stress of my profession, I’ve grown fond of having no worries or responsibilities. My whole frivolous, shallow existence is about pleasure. His and mine. Occasionally, I wonder if my coworkers are missing smart-mouthed Detective Tennyson. Or maybe they've already written me off as lost forever. It’s an idea that should depress me, but my emotions are too muted to give it much thought.

  Kane doesn't look up or acknowledge me. I suppress the momentary disappointment. His office is what I imagined, organized, elegantly understated with a large mahogany desk and storage cabinets. It’s a stark, cold room but with him sitting in the center of it, it pulses with energy.

  Kane finally pulls his focus from his paperwork. There are a few thin lines of worry on his otherwise perfect face which I brush off as business related. He sits back on his chair and stares at me from behind a curtain of black lashes. The brilliant blue of his eyes is dimmed by the lights in the room.

  "Come closer," he says. The gentle command turns my knees to jelly. I walk across the room to him. He rolls his chair back and motions for me to stand between him and the desk.

  I can feel his gaze on my body as if it’s a caress. He surveys me from head to toe. My pussy is throbbing with anticipation.

  "You’re just what I need this morning, Sweet Sin. But you’re overdressed for the occasion."

  Kane doesn’t take his intense, hungry gaze from my face as he reaches toward me. The paper thin bra and panties I’m wearing rip off with a quick tug. With the exception of my leather cuffs and anklets, I’m naked. He loops his finger around the ring on a wrist cuff and pulls me sharply toward him. My eyes drift shut as his strong hands take hold of me. I live to be in his grasp, to feel his power. His mouth presses against the bare mound of my pussy. The sensation sends a deep shiver through me. I brace my hands on his hard shoulders to keep from falling forward. I’m lost in the feel of his tongue flicking against my tender skin. I push against the pressure of his mouth. His groan coasts through the room.

  He leans forward and brusquely swipes away the papers and ledgers on his desk. His hands grip me possessively and he lifts my bottom onto the desk. The smooth polished wood feels cool on my naked ass.

  His blue eyes are dark and glazed. Like me, he is crazed with lust. It takes no drug for him to reach the feral, wild hunger. He just needs me. And knowing that I’ve stirred him to a frenzy brings me close to the edge of orgasm. It is like that with Kane. I cling to the edge of ecstasy and wait to be pushed over the edge again and again until I’m sure I will col
lapse into a puddle of exhaustion.

  None too subtly, Kane pulls my ass closer to the edge. He scoots his chair forward and spreads my knees far apart. But it seems I’m not exposed enough. He grabs the ring of each anklet and lifts my feet to brace on the back of his chair. The position forces me back and I place my hands on the desk to support myself. My arms shake like rubber.

  "This is where I’m meant to be, Sweet Sin." His hair tickles my thigh as he presses his face between my legs. His hands circle my ass to grip me tightly against his mouth as he invades me with his tongue. My pussy instantly dissolves into waves of pleasure. My feet push against the back of his chair urging him to penetrate me deeper. Instead, he pulls his mouth away. I whimper in disappointment.

  Kane peers up at me from between my thighs and licks his lips. "If you want more, I need to hear it," he teases. His games border on cruel, but they excite me more.

  "Yes, fucking yes. I want more. Please." I slide my ass to get closer to him, urging him to touch me again. He gently kisses the inside of my thigh knowing damn well it's not nearly enough. It's a tease, a mere tickle. I need more.

  "Please. The ache is too much to bear," I cry. "Only you can make me happy, Kane. Only you." Those are the words he wants to hear.

  He stands up between my thighs and opens his fly. I drop my anxious gaze to see his glorious, slick cock spring free. He pinches my chin between his finger and thumb and lifts my gaze back to his face. "Say it again." His tone is deep, serious.

  "Only you." I barely get the words out before he drives his cock into me. I come as he fills me. My arms can barely support me as my body vibrates and writhes against his thrusts. He rocks against me hard enough to inch the heavy desk across the floor. He grabs my face between his hands and slams his mouth over mine. My lips are forever swollen and bruised from his kisses, yet all I can think is I want him to kiss me harder. There is never enough of his mouth, his hands, his cock. There is never enough.

  Kane's frustrated growl fills the air. For him, it is never enough either. "I want to fucking devour you, Sin. I want to fucking devour you." He withdraws and takes rough hold of me, dropping my feet unceremoniously to the cold floor. His strong hands spin me around. He pushes his hard shoe between my feet and spreads them wider. I brace my hands against the desk to keep from falling face first. Kane wraps his fist in my hair and tugs my head back.

  "My sweet, sweet Tawny," he groans before impaling me again.

  He releases my hair and takes firm hold of my hips. It feels as if my wrists will break in two as I brace against the onslaught of his thrusts. My pussy clenches with orgasm again. I can no longer support my body. I fold down pressing my breasts against the cold surface of the desk. My face rests on a folder labeled new member applications. I grin faintly at the irony. I'm here to shut the whole fucking thing down. Instead, in the heat of passion, I'm collapsed over a file of possible new members.

  Kane's fingers dig into my hips. He holds me firmly in place as he withdraws from my tender pussy and slides his cock into my ass. Seconds later his hot seed is coating my naked skin.

  Kane lifts me away from his desk and sits back hard on his chair, carrying me along with him. I rest my head against his shoulder and revel in what I consider the cherry on top of the sundae, a long quiet moment in his arms. The scent of his soap is etched so deep into my senses, I can smell it in my sleep.

  I watch the eight deep scars on his forearm move in unison as he trails his hand along my skin. For the first time, I lift my hand to touch the scars. He flinches and holds a breath as my finger rubs along the ridges of each deep scar. His reaction doesn't stop my progress as I run my fingertip over each straight line, each crevice carved carefully, purposefully into his skin. They are hardened with age. They have stretched to accommodate an adult sized forearm.

  "You made these as a child," I say, even though I know nothing about the scars. It's rare when I ask anything about the man who I allow to play, punish and seduce me in any way he pleases.

  I don't expect him to respond and am mildly surprised when he answers. "They are reminders." He pulls his arm from my touch. "Like tally marks on a prison wall," he adds curtly.

  "Don't be mad. I was just curious." I cuddle harder against him, letting him know I need his arms around me for a bit longer before he sends me off again. He senses my need and curls his arms tighter.

  "Hmm," I sigh in the comfort of his embrace. "How can a pair of arms feel so secure and yet make me feel so insecure." The thought drifts out of my mouth before I can stop it.

  "How can someone feel so right in my arms when I know she is going to bring my downfall."

  Nectar makes my processing skills slow, and it takes me a second to comprehend his words. I struggle to sit up but he holds me tight in his grasp. A second of panic overtakes me. For an instant, I feel more captive than I want to be. For a brief second, I'm no longer his favorite plaything but his prisoner. When he finally releases me, I nearly fall off his lap in my attempt to be free of his grasp.

  I stand up in front of him. I've never been so aware of my nakedness. His cool blue eyes lock with mine. It's a rare moment of clarity in an otherwise drug muddled existence. In those few seconds, every emotion races through me, fear, excitement, heartbreak, homesickness. I'm close to dropping to my knees at the thought of being home, in the sunshine, sitting on some hot sidewalk bench eating a burger with Maddox. Breathing in car fumes, listening to street chaos and licking ketchup off my fingertips. The moment slips easily away. I'm pulled back to the present, to the hard face of the man who just took me in every way on the top of his desk.

  I don't want to leave him.

  I step to the side as Kane rolls his chair forward. His phone beeps as he picks it up.

  "Yes, sir?" Blake's ready to please voice comes through the speaker.

  "She is ready to be escorted back to her room." His order is dry and terse.

  I pick up the remnants of my torn panties and bra, but there is nothing left to cover me. I fold my arms across my breasts in a silly attempt at modesty and stand by the door to wait for my escort. I don't look back at the man sitting behind the desk, but I know he's watching me. I can feel his eyes on me. I can feel the heat of his gaze staring at my naked body. It gives me a sliver of hope that I have not lost him. It's insane and frightening and I have no idea what will happen next, but the thought of him not wanting me is far worse than anything else I can imagine.

  Blake's light knock startles me out of my tense trance. Tears fall down my cheeks the second Blake's familiar face peers around the door. He glances back at his boss and then reaches in and grabs my hand to pull me from the room.

  Blake leads me down the hallway back to the bedroom corridor. "Everything all right, darlin'?" He squeezes my hand. It's all I need to feel reassured of his friendship.

  "If you look past the fact that I'm going out of my mind," I say with a half sob and half laugh. "Everything is just fine."

  I don't need to explain anything to Blake. He knows. It's why he so badly wants Kane Freestone to grow tired of me. He knows just like I know that the dark, obsessive arrangement we have will not end well.

  2

  Maddox

  The front door opens and closes. Tiffany walks in with several empty suitcases. I get up to give her a hand. She puts up her palm to stop me. "I don't want your help. I thought you weren't going to be here so I could get my stuff out without seeing you."

  "Just thought we could talk. But now that you're here, I don't know what to say except that the timing was just wrong." I hate the hurt in her eyes. I want to kick myself from here to fucking eternity for diving into this so fast. I know now that more than anything I used Tiffany as a buffer and a way to convince myself that I didn't love Ten. The buffer didn't work. In the process, I hurt both women. Tiffany deserved way better.

  "Timing?" she asks. "Fucking timing? You break off the engagement and the relationship because it wasn't the right time for you? Fuck you, James. Just fuck you."
She shuffles past on her heels dragging her suitcases behind her. She stops at the hallway and turns back to me. "You can't even admit it now, with everything ended and broken. You still can admit that it's got nothing to do with timing or me or too many fucking wedding plans as you complained about time after time. It's all about her. Just fucking admit that it's all about your partner. Even now, after she's deserted you to do God knows what, you can't get her out of your big, thick head. Just admit it, you asshole. Admit that it's that rusty haired, smart ass detective, and you'll save both of us a lot of therapy sessions."

  I look at her from across the room. "It's her," I say, without hesitation. "It's Ten."

  3

  Angie

  I double check the bikini in the bathroom mirror. My ribs are far too prominent. My skin is sallow. I look like a prisoner of war. In truth, I'm exactly that, a prisoner. Only there's no war. With the exception of the one going on in my head. It's been two days since the visit to Kane's office where all went as expected, the usual routine of mind-blowing sex finishing with me cradled in his arms. Only this time it ended with his alarming claim that I would bring his world down around him. He'd said it so plainly, so matter-of-factly as if it wasn't just a heat of the moment notion but something he'd already solidified in his head.