The Maddest Obsession (Made, #2)

by Danielle Lori

“You won’t fucking touch her.” The threat escaped me, so calm and deadly it stilled the air.

I wanted to tell her Allister was Russian. Italians didn’t have a great affiliation with Russians here in New York. The Cosa Nostra and Bratva didn’t clash often, but when they did, it was a time us women sat around wondering if our husbands would come home.

My gaze followed hers down the sidewalk to see Allister walking toward us. His eyes were already on me, filled with a magnetism that made everything beyond broad shoulders and straight lines disappear.

I finally noticed he had a companion. The stranger was dressed like a model in a magazine, in a charcoal suit and skinny red tie, but his eyes shone with the darkness only a member of the underworld could exude. He was handsome, but that was inconsequential compared to the intrigue that screamed with each step he took.

While walking past us, Allister pulled the cigarette from my lips and tossed it to the sidewalk before entering the hotel doors.

“Name’s Sebastian.” The stranger winked at me, and I could feel it straight in my toes. “Sebastian what?” Christian’s shoulders tensed. “Perez.”

I held out my hand, but before Sebastian could shake it, Christian grabbed my wrist and pulled it to his side. “I’m—” “Married,” Christian finished, and then shot the Colombian a look I couldn’t decipher.

“I find your presence bothersome. Go put yourself somewhere else.” “Fine. I do need to find out more about Sebastian.” I took a step in that direction, but he grabbed my wrist again. I frowned, looking down at where he held me. “I’m confused. I think this is called mixed signals?”

“Anyone will do. As long as they screw me with a little more passion than you.” I tried to pull away, but his hand slid up my neck, fisted in my hair, and kept my mouth brushing his. He stepped closer, forcing my back against the wall. “You seem to forget that I haven’t fucked you.”

His eyes were dark and terrifying; a reflection of skies lit up with smoke and fire. His lips pressed against my ear, words rough and threatening. “Run home to your husband before I make him a widower.”

My look was inspired by Clueless star Cher Horowitz’s closet—the small white dress her daddy had refused to let her leave the house in without a coverup. I had some issues with daddies, so here I was, in a small white dress—even

Wait, what? My breath stilled, and I asked my next question very slowly. “Did you say he had a badge?” “Yeah, FBI, if you can believe it or not.” My laugh was dark. “Oh, I can believe it.”

His eyes were on me, simmering with an anger that told me I was in deep shit if he caught me alone after this. I was suddenly more worried about his reaction than having to face Ace. Christian’s fury cooled and burned my skin as his gaze skimmed down my body.

“Touch one of our women against her will and see how fairly we’ll treat you,” Ricardo growled. “Against her will?” The Abelli laughed. “I could have her begging for my cock in no time.” Hardly.

A few laughs broke out. The Abelli’s face reddened. “I’d get more than that. I’ll tell you how her ass feels, Rus—” Without a look in the Abelli’s direction, Allister pulled a pistol from his jacket. Pop. The gunshot reverberated off the walls and rang in my ears.

A chill passed through me as Christian put the pistol away without a flicker of emotion. Tony Abelli wiped blood splatter from his face. Luca shook his head. Ace looked at his watch. “What the fuck, Allister?”

Christian Allister didn’t think twice about taking someone’s life. I suddenly feared the day he’d decide mine was too great of an inconvenience.

“What are you wearing?” He said it calmly and slowly, but the anger was laced too finely to be masked. “Dolce and Gabbana.” “The jacket?” I sawed my bottom lip. “Let me guess, it’s from the Vincent Monroe Collection.”

He slammed the car door. Stalked toward me. “You’ll never be done with me.” He grasped me by the throat, pushed me back against the car, and swallowed my next breath in his mouth.

The press of his lips against mine hit me with such intensity my first response was to push him away. I brought my palms up to his chest to shove him as hard as I could, but when he nipped at my bottom lip and then licked it, soothing the sharp sting with his tongue, want filled my veins with boiling water.

His lips left mine after I’d only had a single taste of him, and protest flooded my veins. I suddenly wondered how many women he’d kissed in Seattle, but the thought was only fleeting as he moved a hand into my wet hair, grabbing a fistful and tilting my head. He nipped a line down my neck, pulling the skin between his teeth and lightly sucking.

His fingers glided up the outsides of my legs, drawing my dress upward until a glimpse of my white thong showed at the junction of my thighs. He dropped his gaze, and the warmth of it seared through the material, brushing my clit as strongly as if he’d touched me there.

He was rough yet meticulous in his movements, as if he was infatuated with every curve and dip but hated himself for it. He slid a palm lower to grab a handful of my ass, and then he placed a slap on my cheek, caressing the sting with a rough palm.

“Christian . . .” His eyes were dark enough to emanate one of my nightmares. They fell to my mouth. He braced his hands on the car on either side of me and leaned in. I was so sure he was going to kiss me, I shook with the anticipation of it, but instead of meeting my lips, he placed a single kiss on my neck.

“If you ran, Gianna . . .” The words were malicious yet somehow as soft and desperate as sex in a war-torn field. He pressed his lips to my ear. “I would find you.”

sirrrrrr

He made a tortured noise and muttered some thick Russian word. Before I could lower myself, he spun me around and pushed my front against the trunk of his car.

He pulled my hair to one side and pressed his face into my neck. A shudder erupted beneath my skin, warm from his soft touch and cold from the volatile energy emanating from him. “I thought you were done with me, Gianna.” Oh.

“I’m not done with you,” I breathed. I’d always known it wouldn’t be that easy. A growl of satisfaction against the nape of my neck, and then a little nip. “Back seat.”

His suit jacket was only in the way, and he let me push it off his shoulders and toss it to the floor. The white dress shirt fit him like a second skin, highlighting his strength, his utter masculinity, and I was infatuated with every inch of him. He tensed as I ran my nails down his arms, wanting to sink my teeth into them.

His voice was dark. “No more Vincent Monroe, Gianna.” “You threatened him.” “Hardly.”

He ran a thumb down my landing strip, voice hoarse. “I’ve wondered if this was still here.” A smile touched my lips. “You’ve been thinking about me, huh?” I’d only been teasing him by repeating something he’d once said to me and certainly didn’t expect his response. “Only when I need to come.”

HA

A groan resounded in his chest, and then he kissed me. Slipped his tongue into my mouth. Pulled my bottom lip between his teeth. Kissing Christian Allister made me feel more alive than any drug ever could.

I pulled away, tugged my dress down, and reached for the door handle. “Fuck no,” he growled, grabbing my wrist. “You got me this hard, Gianna. You’re gonna stick around and fix it.” “Fix it yourself, stronzo.”

“You’re an attention-seeker, sure, but not a fucking tease.” “And you’re a selfish bastard who takes and doesn’t give anything in return,” I snapped. “Selfish?” He laughed. “I ate your pussy for so long last time I can still taste you three years later.” My eyes narrowed. “You’re crude.”

We stared at each other in a silent battle of wills. His jaw ticked. And then he pulled his dress shirt from his pants, grabbed my hand, and slid it over his stomach and up his chest. He was compromising with me, allowing me to touch him without taking off his shirt.

I gasped as he slid his hand into my hair and yanked my head back, pressing the rough words against my ear. “You’ll get off with me inside you, Gianna, no sooner.”

He cursed in Russian, tightened his grip in my hair.

Hot

I worked on his belt buckle, pulling him out. He was hot and heavy in my hand, and so hard I couldn’t resist pumping him in my fist once. He hissed against my throat, and before I could even get a good look at him, he gripped my hips and pushed me down until I’d sunk halfway onto his length. He groaned. I gasped.

“All of it, malyshka,” he commanded. The warmth in his voice drifted straight between my legs, soothing the sting and filling my stomach with heat.

Smash

“Fuck,” he gritted, looking down at where we were connected. He gripped my hips tight enough to bruise, tension radiating from him, every muscle in his body pulled taut. “Fuck, you’re so tight, malyshka.”

His heartbeat raced against mine. He was shaking. “Fuck me, Gianna.” He sounded on the brink of control, like if I didn’t start moving then I was going to get fucked, hard. That quickly set me in motion; I didn’t think I could handle him unleashed yet.

“You’re so goddamned lucky we’re in a car right now.” He pressed the threat against my ear, his words heavy with a Russian accent that was beginning to drive me crazy. Evoking such a lack of control from the cold fed was addictive. I wanted so much more.

I came so hard spots flew behind my eyes. The fire inside me burst, spreading a warm, tingling sensation throughout my body. “I’ve dreamed of that sound,” he rasped, nipping at my earlobe.

Hottttttt

Warmth filled me like sunlight. I shouldn’t take what he said to heart—he was often rude as hell—but, God, when he was sweet, it made me feel on top of the world. I wanted to please him.

I wanted to make him lose...

Reaching back, I rested my hands on his knees and rode him so he could see everything. His gaze caught fire, trailing from my parted lips, to my bouncing breasts, to where he slid in and out of me. I was so wet it was dripping do...

He suddenly stilled me. Ran his tongue across his teeth. “You’ve adjusted, malyshka?” With half-l...

“Oh, God, oh, God.” When I climaxed the second time, he swallowed the noise in his mouth. And, with a punishing last thrust and a shudder, he finished inside me. Then, he softly nipped my neck in a rough sort of appreciation.

“Say something in Russian.”

“Ty samaya krasivaya zhenshchina kotoruyu ya kogda-libo videl.”