The Maddest Obsession (Made, #2)

by Danielle Lori

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

He leaned in, brushing his lips against mine. “Moya zvezdochka.” “I think I’m getting the flu,” I breathed. Once he realized I’d given in, he made a noise of satisfaction and kissed me deeply, slipping his tongue into my mouth.

Then, he held my face and kissed me softly on the lips. “Thank you for dinner, malyshka.” That was when I knew I loved his soft side.

“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. Satisfaction, dark and lazy, flared in his eyes. His lips pressed against my ear, his voice sending a shiver down my spine. “You win, malyshka

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

“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.

“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.

“Well, he’s certainly a man capable of knocking you up.” She pursed her lips, looking at my body. “If you aren’t already.” I rolled my eyes. I’d had my period not long ago.

As soon as his apartment door closed behind us, I blurted, “What do you want from me, Christian?” He turned to me, eyes dark. “Everything.”

“I didn’t come here for relationship advice.” “No.” She smiled sadly. “You came here for me to tell you it gets easier, that it blows over, and you’ll find a sense of control again. It doesn’t, and you won’t. Love only gets worse.” A sardonic breath left me. “I thought you believed it was just an obsession.” “Haven’t you heard? Love is an obsession. Some would even say . . . the maddest obsession

I slept in my own bed that night, for the first time in weeks. It was quiet. A little cold. A tear ran down my cheek, and I told myself I hated him for making me feel this way. But I didn’t hate him at all. 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.

was fifteen,” he said. Confusion flickered through me, but then I realized what he was telling me. How he’d lost his virginity. “I’d been in Butyrka for a few months by then. I was in on murder, but trust me, malyshka, they fucking deserved it.” I’d seen him kill a man for annoying him, but, by the vehemence in his tone, I believed him.

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

“I don’t know her name. I can’t even tell you what color hair she had, malyshka. That’s how little I looked at her.” The fact he’d always noticed when I changed my hair seemed so much more significant now. A heaviness tugged at my chest.

I pulled myself out of the pool, water sluicing down my skin as I padded over to stand between his legs. I ran a hand into his hair, and a rough noise sounded low in his throat. He grabbed my hips, pulled me closer, and pressed his face against my stomach. “Fuck, I missed you, malyshka.” Water dripped off my body, soaking his suit. My throat felt tight as warmth and relief coalesced in my chest. “I apologize for making you leave.” “Don’t ever do it again.” “I won’t.”

“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.”

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.

“About?” How to keep you pacified without letting you into my past. How to make sure you always look at me like this and not with disgust. “You.”

A corner of my lips lifted. I turned around, cupped her face, and ran a thumb across her cheek. “I’m always thinking about you, malyshka.” Her lips parted, a blush rising to her cheeks. She rose to her tiptoes, and breathed against my lips, “I really like you.” Satisfaction ran hot through my blood, even though I wanted more than that. I wanted everything she had to give and more. I’d take it slowly, I’d make her love me, and maybe then, she wouldn’t leave me when she realized I couldn’t give her everything of me she wanted.

She blinked. “Aren’t you going to say it, too?” I chuckled. What I felt was so far past that it was laughable. I would have told her right then, but she wasn’t ready. “I really like you, too,” I said, then leaned in to nip her bottom lip. She sighed in my mouth. That was the only scenario I needed. I picked her up and carried her to bed.

“Marry her, Allister, and we won’t have a problem.” If only it was that easy. My jaw tightened. “She’s not ready.” “Tough shit. If I’d asked my wife to marry me, she would have said no. So, guess what? I didn’t fucking ask her.”

I couldn’t force Gianna to marry me. I wanted—needed—to be different than the other men in her life. She liked me. I knew I couldn’t handle seeing the betrayal in her eyes now, not after she’d told me that and how much better it had felt than hearing she hated me.

“I told you, I would run.” “And I told you, I would find you.” His tone was dark. “You know this is where you belong, Gianna.”

“Why?” It rushed out of me, my eyes burning with emotion. “Why do you want to marry me?” His jaw ticked in thought. “Some people might see you . . . differently by being with me unmarried.” My heart dipped and squeezed in disappointment. This was all about appearances? I guessed I should have known. “I don’t care how people see me.” “I do,” he growled. “I don’t want anyone to think you mean less to me than you do. You might not see it now, but eventually, it’ll get to you, Gianna, and you’ll resent me for it.”

“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?”

A tear ran down my cheek, and my throat tried to close around the words before they could escape. “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. My gaze met his. One last parting look, and then I walked out the door. Once I was in the hall, my pulse jumped at the sound of a glass breaking. I imagined my orange juice pooling on his kitchen floor right next to where my discarded heart lay.

He let out a mocking noise at my expression. “Sorry I couldn’t give you the white-picket-fence story you’ve been waiting to hear.” I ran to the bathroom and threw up everything in my stomach.

He’d told me all that thinking I wouldn’t want to be with him anymore. I knew by the regretful look on his face before he’d even begun. He thought I would see him as a victim, or maybe even less of a man. And as for his mother, I felt no remorse. I didn’t see him any differently than I had before. Now, I only felt closer to him than ever. And I wanted to be closer, to know more—everything—like what had happened to him and his brother afterward. I wanted to tell him I loved him.

got up, stomped over to the test, and picked it up. There was a quiver inside me. It started out slow, working its way to my extremities. It trembled in my veins and burned in my eyes. And when it reached my heart, it squeezed it in a vise, leaving a tight, warm sensation behind. I slid down the bathroom door, staring at two pink lines. And I bawled like a baby.

It was called breakthrough bleeding. Considering I was already eleven weeks pregnant and everything had looked good on the ultrasound, the doctor wasn’t concerned about it. By my calculations, that meant I’d gotten pregnant the very first time Christian and I had sex. I should have expected nothing less from the man.

“I don’t care about what happened in your past. It doesn’t matter to me. And if you think I would see you differently because of what happened to you as a child, or even what you might have done, you don’t know me at all.” His gaze coasted above my head, his jaw ticking in thought. “You reacted differently.” “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.

I rose to my tiptoes and kissed him. Heat burst in my chest, sinking into my blood. He held my face and kissed me back. Soft and slow yet deep enough it touched my heart. I breathed against his lips, “Tell me you love me again.” “I love you, malyshka.” “I love you, too, you know?” He stilled, and then a rough sound rumbled in his chest. He lifted me so my eyes were level with his, brushed his lips across mine, and said in a deep, almost apologetic rasp, “I’m never letting you go now.”

Twenty-nine years ago, when I’d stolen it from someone’s pocket, it held an optimistic shine. That shine had brought me here, to the United States, to my wife and daughter.

To be exact, three-hundred-and-eighty-five days. I’d proposed to Gianna again with a ring, a bended knee, and even a nice dinner. She hadn’t wanted another wedding, so we’d gotten married at the courthouse. I had the date tattooed on my ribs right next to Andromeda.

“You said believed in fate, as in, you are a believer now.” Her voice touched my back with inquisitive fingers. “What made you change your mind?” The thought of Gianna and Kat never existing without me in the picture wasn’t possible. They were a static pair. I’d merely reached into the right pocket at the right time and made them mine. “I stole someone else’s fate, Sasha.” I twisted the knob and opened the door. “And I’m not going to give it back.”