The Maddest Obsession (Made, #2)

by Danielle Lori

I didn’t sleep in my bed that night. Not the next night. Or the next.

My frown deepened. “What if someone arrests me while you’re in the bathroom?” “I’d bail you out.” “If you couldn’t?” “I’d be locked up beside you.” I couldn’t stop a smile from appearing.

“We knew this would come to an end eventually.” His teeth clenched. “This might come to an end for you, but it will never be over for me.”

“When I said this was new to me, I meant I can’t fucking think when it comes to you. I shouldn’t have said what I said, malyshka. The thought of someone touching you, taking you from me . . .” His gaze flashed with darkness. “It makes me feel fucking crazy.”

“I don’t know what biocoenosis is,” I said softly. “You’re not missing out.” “I can’t have intellectually stimulating conversations with you.” “I was bored out of my mind.”

“There are plenty of women who could make you happier, Christian.” “You’re the only one I want.”

“Moya zvezdochka.”

I didn’t know how I’d gotten here. Walking down the sidewalk with this dirty fed’s jacket on my shoulders and his hand in mine. But now I wondered just where I’d be if he had never been around.

Love might have been an annoying, elusive word I’d never understand, but I knew right then and there, I loved the feel of his hands on me, the complete attention he gave me as he washed my body and hair, as if I was the only woman he’d ever seen. As if I was perfect.

“I feel used,” while rolling over onto my side. Amusement coated his tone. “How so?” “You eat my dinner and then don’t fuck me afterward. It’s rude, Christian.”

But a couple times, I woke up to use the bathroom and found him shaving at the sink. “I have to pee,” I told him. “Then pee.” He made no move to leave.

My fingers trailed lower to his ribs, to a tattoo I hadn’t noticed before. It was a constellation; I recognized the open-squared shape. I’d found it with a telescope before, all because of a single night on a terrace. Andromeda. It looked darker, fresher than the rest of his tattoos.

“Are you telling me, as long as I’m somewhere near a camera, you could find me and watch me on your computer?” “Yes.” “You haven’t done it, have you?” “That would be morally questionable.” “Yes, it would,” I said pointedly.

That night, I was so far past sexually frustrated, I decided to be a bit craftier. I wore the sexiest underwear I owned, a pair of knitted thigh-high socks, and nothing else. I was in the middle of making dinner when he came home. He stilled, his eyes going dark as they traveled over me. He sat at the island, pulled off his tie, and narrowed his gaze. I’d screwed up his routine. The heat of his eyes followed me everywhere in the kitchen. I made sure to bend over slower and more often than necessary. If there was one battle I was going to win between us, it was this one.

“God, I want you,” I breathed into his mouth. He made a tortured noise in his throat and pulled back. A thumb ran across my cheek, his eyes conflicted. “Say it again.” I rocked my hips against him, desperation coating my words. “I want you so badly.” “Why?” he asked, his voice hoarse. “Because . . .” I sighed, searching for the reason and then just letting my first thought escape. “Because it’s always been you.” I might not have ever realized it before, but as the words left my mouth, I knew I meant every one of them.

The next evening, while waiting to cross the street, I got a text from an unknown number. My dinner is late. Schoolgirl giddiness filled me at the fact he was texting me, even though I’d let him hold me down and screw the lights out of me last night. Me: I’m sorry, who is this? Christian: Funny. Me: Todd? Christian: I’m going to spank your ass. Me: Promise?

I ran my hands down his chest, flashing him my new sparkly crimson nails. “What do you think?” “I love them, malyshka.” He grabbed my hand and kissed it.

The next day, he came home, paused, then picked up the “Russian for Dummies” book sitting on the coffee table. He raised a brow at me. I returned the look from my spot on the couch. “How else am I going to eavesdrop on all your phone calls, malysh?” It was the male form of the endearment he called me. A half-smile pulled on his lips as he dropped the book back on the table.

As the next week passed, each day, I fell in love with something else. With his smell—the way it made my eyes half-lidded and my toes curl in satisfaction. With his hands—the way they made everything else go away. With his voice—the way it could be so rough and sweet at the same time.

He didn’t like it, though, when I moved his stuff around. I’d hear a grumpy, “Gianna,” and something like, “There’s a reason I put my stuff where it is.” I was sure it was somewhere between crazy and nutso.

“Would you visit my grave if I died?” His eyes grew dark. “I’d die before you were ever in a grave, malyshka.”

I loved his possessive side. And I loved his dark side, too.

“Where are you going?” he asked as I got out of bed and stretched. “Church.” I yawned. “It’s been, like, a month since I’ve gone, and every time I have premarital sex with you, I swear, I can feel the fires of hell creeping up my back.”

“I’ll come with you.” I froze. “What? No. Christian, you can’t come with.” “Why not?” “Because . . .” I sputtered. “People will think we’re together.” His eyes hardened. “You sleep in my bed every goddamn night, Gianna.”

“You’re not even Catholic!” “I’m what...

“I’ll be outside, malyshka,” he said in my ear. And then he turned my face and kissed me on the lips. It was short and sweet but possessive, letting everyone know Christian Allister was screwing me nine ways to Sunday.

“Wow,” Valentina breathed, fanning herself with her Bible and watching his retreating form. “Tell me everything.”

“It was supposed to be just sex,” I complained. Val nodded. “A lot of people bring their fuck buddies to church.” “Could you please control your sarcasm today?” I rubbed my temple. “I think I’m getting the flu.” It felt like I’d been about to catch it for over a week now. Must be a persistent stomach bug. “Okay, let’s back it up a little. Just whose idea was this just sex relationship?” “His! I have no self-respect, so, of course, I agreed. But now, he’s taking me to dinner parties, making me sleep in his bed but not even having sex with me, and next,”—my voice rose—“he’s kissing me at church!” “Honey,” she laughed. “I’m sure you’ve just been blinded by the incredibly beautiful man he is, but I’m here to tell you, he has never wanted just sex from you. All anyone has to do is look at him when you’re in the room to know he’s obsessed with you.” I frowned. “What do you mean?” “I mean, he’s obviously tricked you into a relationship.”

“He, what? He wouldn’t—” I cut myself off because, yeah, he would.

“What do you want from me, Christian?” He turned to me, eyes dark. “Everything.”

“This was never about sex.” He reached for his belt and unfastened it, sardonic amusement passing through his gaze. “No.” “You played me,” I accused. “Yes.” “Do you feel bad?” “No.”

It was like he was trying to prove something to me, like this was all I needed. And for a moment, I almost believed it.

“Haven’t you heard? Love is an obsession. Some would even say . . . the maddest obsession.”

“Either you have a hundred children from Russia to Seattle, or you’re being deliberately abstruse.” He chuckled, correcting softly, “Obtuse, malyshka.”

That elusive feeling, close to panic yet far enough away, was something else entirely. And, as my heart ached with every breath, I suddenly knew what it was.

They called me kholodnyye glaza. Said there was something missing in my eyes.”

“Why do you kiss me?” I sighed into his mouth when he kissed me with a sweet pull. “Because you’re the only woman who’s ever tempted me.” His lips brushed mine. “Because you love it.” The last one was soft, with a possessive bite. “Because every part of you is mine.”

I’D MADE A MISCALCULATION. I couldn’t say it happened often, but the mistake was glaringly obvious in the lotions, hair products, and perfumes that were scattered across the bathroom counter. It looked like a beauty salon threw up in here. I’d thought I could keep her separate, in a box of her own, all neat and tidy like the rest of my things. She’d already occupied my mind, been so deep beneath my skin, but, fuck, now she was everywhere else, too. My kitchen, my bathroom, my bed. Surprisingly, all the shit she left lying around didn’t bother me like I’d always thought it would. Occasionally, it made the back of my neck itch—like how she left the toothpaste cap open every time she used it—though, I found it more bothersome when she wasn’t around. So bothersome I was fucking apologizing to her to make her come back. Things had gotten ridiculously out of hand.

“I’m always thinking about you, malyshka.”

“We should get married.” I coughed, eyes watering. Slowly, I set the glass on the island and wiped some juice off my chin. “I don’t think I heard you right.” He turned to face me, his eyes deep and unfathomable. “I said, we should get married.” My chest flared from hot to cold. “What?” “You heard me, Gianna.” My pulse raced. “We’ve only been seeing each other for, like . . . a month.” He let out a sarcastic breath. “You’ve been mine for fucking years.”

“I can’t marry another man I don’t know.”

“Fine.” He shook his head, his eyes flashing with darkness. “How about because I love you, Gianna? Because I think I have since the moment I saw you? Because if you weren’t in this world anymore, I would find a way to take myself out of it?” My heart stopped. Went cold. And then lit with fire. We stared at each other, silence and the vehemence of his voice touching my skin with rough fingers. “You don’t mean that,” I breathed. “I meant every goddamn word I said.”

“I can’t be with you and only get half of you anymore.” Something conflicted flared in his eyes. I turned to leave, but his words stopped me. “Try and leave me, Gianna.” It was a threat, but there was something else—something rough and untamed—behind it. Something close to panic.

One to the bank, and one to Val’s. As soon as she opened the door in a silk robe, I slapped twenty grand cash into her hand. Her laugh followed me all the way to the curb.

I pulled off a piece of bread. “Here, birdy, birdy.”

“You sound like an impressionist.” A smile touched his voice. “I think you mean pessimist.”

“That wasn’t about what you told me . . . but because I’m pregnant, Christian.” His gaze dropped to search my face and then it filled with something dark as sin and satisfied. “You’re sure?” “One-hundred percent. I know it might come as a shock and all, considering how careful we were being—” He cupped my face with a palm, running a thumb across my cheek. “Moya zvezdochka.” I felt the intensity of his relief in the way his hand shook slightly, and it made my throat tighten. I suddenly knew this was the only man I wanted to do this with. Happiness pinged off the walls of my chest, leaving me feeling raw. He wiped a tear from my cheek. “Are you happy?” I nodded. “So happy.” “Good.” His voice was coarse.

“Tell me you love me again.” “I love you, malyshka.” “I love you, too, you know?”

“I’m never letting you go now.”

I wasn’t sure how I’d gotten here. How the next few years would play out, let alone days. Or the problems we might face. But one thing was for sure. As I walked down the street, with a bag of bread and a hoard of vitamins, holding the hand of one of the most morally questionable men in the city . . . I knew I loved him.