Page 187 of Maddening Fixation

His voice was rough, thick with raw desire. “Your stomach...”

I forced my gaze up to meet his, bracing for an insult, a cruel remark—anything to shatter the unbearable tension.

“Too ugly, I know,” I finished for him, my voice steadier than I felt.

I had always known.

He shook his head slowly, eyes dark with hunger.

“I hate the way you affects me,” he said low, voice rough with open resentment.

The confession struck me harder than another insult would have.

This wasn’t affection.

It was conflict.

A battle he was losing with himself.

My heart pounded so loudly I was certain he could hear it.

The silence stretched until it became almost unbearable.

I glanced down and saw the unmistakable bulge straining against his trousers, the zipper threatening to give way.

Heat flooded my face.

I tried to look away, terrified someone—my mother’s nurse, an aunt, or uncle—might walk in at any moment.

But Romeo grabbed my chin firmly, forcing my gaze back to his.

My mind drifted to the slick wetness dripping down my inner thighs.

I was soaked, aching, and shamefully horny.

Was this because I had loved him for so long? Because I had fantasized about him as my husband even while he was in prison—imagining his hands, his body, the way he might take me? Dreams I never thought could become reality after his life sentence.

I tried to find the words to reject him, especially after he had made his hatred so brutally clear. But instead, I nodded gently, giving him silent permission to proceed despite the insane risk of our location.

His hands moved behind my back with expert speed.

My bra fell away instantly.

How skilled was he? The thought barely registered before he lifted me effortlessly and carried me to the large dining table.

He lowered me onto the table and took one nipple into his mouth, sucking with a raw, almost angry intensity—like a man who despised the craving and still couldn’t stop.

His large hand caressed the other breast, barely able to contain its fullness.

I moaned louder than I intended, wrapping my legs around his waist, desperate for more.

He switched to the other nipple, sucking harder, like a man who’d been denying himself and finally stopped caring.

My moans spilled into the room, uncontrolled.

I no longer cared if my sick mother or the nurse could hear.

His hand slid down, tugging my jeans and panties off in one swift motion.