The Maddest Obsession (Made, #2)

by Danielle Lori

“I have an addictive personality.” Sasha Taylor Ph.D. couldn’t stop a spark of surprise from lighting in her eyes, and to hide the human reaction, she dropped her attention to my file resting on her lap. The blonde’s pantsuit didn’t hold a wrinkle. She’d gone to Yale and was from old money. The thirty-one-year-old was everything I looked for in a woman: intelligent, beautiful, classy. “Alcohol?” she asked. I gave my head a shake. “Drugs?” Might’ve been easier. “Women?” Woman.

She was so goddamn beautiful I couldn’t even stand to look at her some days. Because I didn’t know what to do with her—to make her scream my name or to punish her for making me feel this way.

“Hmm,” I replied. “Why do you kiss me?” His gaze dropped to my lips, his jaw ticking in thought. “I wanted to know what you tasted like.” We both knew he hadn’t answered the question. He’d known what I tasted like three years ago, if that had been the only goal. “What do I taste like?” His eyes drifted back up to mine. They were so deep and serious they held me captive. His next two words tugged at my heart, even though I didn’t know the meaning. “Kak moya.”

"like mine"

I asked him what moya zvezdochka meant. He said it meant, my little star.

I ran my hand over her hip, memorizing the curve and velvety feel of her skin. She had two dimples on her lower back I’d always been infatuated with, framed right above the sweetest ass, and it was all pressed up against me. Her hair was in my face and it smelled like vanilla. All of it was sensory overload. Like an injection of dopamine. My heart beat heavily. The blood rushed through my veins so fast my hand felt unsteady. When you’re obsessed with something for so long and finally obtain it? It feels like coming home to God. And nobody gives up their fucking spot in Heaven.

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.”

“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.” He chuckled and sat up on the side of bed. “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 whatever you are.”

“I can’t marry another man I don’t know.” His voice was rough, dipped in something sharp. “I’ve told you more about myself than I’ve ever told anyone else.” “That’s not a good enough reason for me to marry you, Christian.” “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.