Carnal Obsession (Insidious Obsession #4)

Chapter 1

ROMI

“Watch it, asshole,” I say to the guy blocking my way.

I ignore whatever he calls out behind me, as well as the worried expressions from my friends, with whom he was speaking, as I stumble through the party with a bottle of vodka.

I don’t give a shit what they think. They're the ones who dragged me out of the apartment to be here, so it’s on them if I’m not the ray of fucking sunshine they’re expecting.

I walk through the back door of Lorenzo Moretti’s house.

Lorenzo is the new beau of my childhood best friend, Lily Taylor, who’s throwing this going-away party.

They’re moving to Italy for a job promotion he got.

I’m happy for her, I suppose. Then again, it’s not like I feel much of anything these days.

Mainly thanks to the alcohol, I think appreciatively as I throw back a harsh swig from the bottle.

The fresh air hits me like a welcome slap to the face, and I walk down to the water's edge, taking a seat on the cool sand. I stare into the night, glaring at the bright city lights of Manhattan in the distance. I take another swig, trying to push down the lump of grief that’s been sitting there for weeks.

I close my eyes, trying to stop the thoughts of my roommate, Lorraine. A cold chill runs down my spine as the graphic memory of identifying her body flashes to mind.

Fuck, it’s stuck on a constant loop, and I can’t make it stop.

Mourning is never easy; it’s even harder to forget.

Luckily for me, I’m prepared. I hum as I pull a joint from my pocket. I search through my jacket for the lighter, cursing when I can't find it. I swear I put it in there.

“Need a lighter?”

I turn around and immediately sigh when I realize it’s the same guy I bumped into inside.

I regard him for a moment. He is objectively attractive.

Probably a few years older than me, with dark-brown hair and dark-brown eyes that look almost black in the night.

He clearly works out and stands a little over six feet.

I have no idea who the fuck he is or how he knows Lily and Lorenzo.

I’ve never seen him in our Manhattan social circles, but he oozes enough arrogance and wears designer clothing, so he’s most certainly a guy who comes from money.

“Well, if it isn’t Mr. Asshole himself. Hard pass.” I look away dismissively.

“As sharp as your tongue is, I don’t think it’s going to do you any favors in sparking a light for that joint.”

I turn again, looking him up and down. This guy irritates me; there's just a vibe he gives off. Then again, it doesn’t take much to piss me off lately.

“Is this your usual pick-up game? Prey on a drunk chick at a party by offering her a lighter?”

“I usually sniff out the ones who are trouble. They seem to be more to my liking. How much you drink in that time, I couldn’t give a shit,” he says, coming to take a seat beside me.

I roll my eyes and take another swig. “Great observation, but you missed the part where most people drinking straight from the bottle want to be left alone.”

He raises a brow as he offers me the lighter. I go to take it, but he pulls it back with a shit-eating grin. I really don’t like this guy.

“Let me light that for you.”

“I’m sure you’re popular with the ladies and all, but this shit doesn’t do anything for me.”

He casually shrugs. “If not for my outstanding personality, it’s certainly because of my dimples.

” He makes a point to smile, and I purposely squint, as if unable to see them in the dark.

I really hate guys like this, who think women will melt for them like butter.

Then again, I’m not above entertaining him, as long as I can light this joint.

Fuck it. I’m never going to see this guy again anyway, so who cares.

I lean in with the joint hanging from my lips as he cups his hand around it to block the wind, then lights it.

The tip ignites, flames flickering as I take a deep inhale.

I draw the smoke into my lungs, and for that brief moment, I appreciate the silence.

Then I exhale, and the world comes rushing back, caving in around me.

“Going to offer your knight in shining armor some?”

My gaze slices back over to him. I really can’t stand him, but I suppose it wouldn't hurt. I’m already fucked up from the vodka. Hell, this guy might even be doing me a favor.

I pass it over, and he brings it to his lips, takes a heavy draw, then looks down at it appreciatively before releasing the smoke.

“That’s some good shit,” he comments.

He hands it back over. I stare at it where it's dangling between my fingers, mesmerized by the small trail of smoke. Waves of thoughts try to come crashing back in, the lock on my chest squeezing tightly as I catch glimpses of the memories I want to forget.

I hear Lorraine’s laughter. I see her smile and her tears. I feel our friendship drifting further and further away, and the guilt of not being with her on the day she died painfully weighs heavily on my chest, as if trying to smash it further into oblivion.

I bring the joint to my lips and draw in a deep breath, embracing the momentary silence, then exhale again, in hopes that I’ll numb myself so much that the memories will fade away entirely.

When I glance over, I realize the asshole's watching me.

“What?” I demand, as I hand it back to him.

He chuckles before drawing another inhale, and while he remains quiet—just how I prefer most men—my gaze roams over him once more, noting the tight, long-sleeved shirt and lean muscles underneath.

A buzz erupts over my skin as a lightheadedness takes over, helping to lift all the things that burdened me only moments ago.

Something about being high makes me horny, and this guy, despite his irritable personality, might get the job done.

He exhales. “I was just reading your shirt. You don’t seem like a people-friendly type of person.”

I look down at my shirt that states, Don’t talk to me. It doesn’t get any more self-explanatory than that.

He hands me the joint, and as he does, our eyes lock. I take another inhale without looking away, sensing a rising tension between us.

I want to forget, to numb all the memories and the shame that constantly try to claw their way to the surface.

We lean toward one another, gravitating toward each other. Men are easy. If sex is on the table, they’ll always take it. No rhyme or reason. They’re carnal creatures, and I have no issues with adding this pretty boy to the list.

My hand shifts to his knee, my nails digging in ever so slightly as the corner of his mouth kicks up, and his hand moves over my jaw and behind my neck.

Not endearingly.

Not compassionately.

Possessively.

He leans in closer, his lips brushing against mine, as if imploring me to open up to him.

I exhale my last draw slowly, allowing him to breathe it in as a secondary hit of the joint.

We stare at one another, the tension rising as he holds his breath, and the moment he releases it, I lean into the stranger expectantly.

His lips are on mine demandingly, and I open up to him, conscious of his hand that trails up my side, hooks around my waist, and pulls me in. I shift to straddle him, lifting my black skirt as his hand goes beneath it to assist.

I pull back momentarily, looking down at him. An arrogant smirk tilts his lips, producing a single dimple.

“You don’t even know my name,” he remarks.

I thread my fingers through his hair and pull, arching his neck back. He chuckles as I glare down at him. “You talk too much.” I begin to grind my hips against his hand. “Now, are your fingers for display, or do you actually know how to use them?”

His eyes darken at the challenge, and he easily overpowers me, rolling me to the side through the wet sand.

His hand is beneath my head in seconds as he quickly pushes my underwear aside and inserts his first finger.

A gasp escapes me. I’m not surprised he met the challenge, but I'm thrilled he did.

“I don’t know what type of men you’re used to, sweetheart, but a word of warning. I’m not someone you fuck with,” he growls as he inserts a second finger, and my breath catches in pure bliss.

I don’t care to argue with him. I don’t give a shit who he is or what he thinks he’s capable of. All I want is to forget… and come.

He circles my clit with his thumb as he slowly pumps into me. Dangerously so. Irritatingly slow.

When I look back at him, I realize he’s smiling, and he’s edging me intentionally.

“Is this your first time?” I bite. “Don’t worry, I’ll be gentle.”

“I doubt you know anything about being gentle, sweetheart. I’m simply waiting for you to beg.”

I prop myself up on my elbows. “I don’t beg, pretty boy. Either you make me come, or I’ll walk back into that party and find someone who will.”

His gaze narrows, and a cold tendril of fear unfurls in my stomach. There’s something not entirely right about this man. Something dangerous. I should have better sense than to get involved with someone like this, but my standards for welcoming any distraction are low.

His other hand comes to my mouth, squeezing my cheeks together. “That mouth of yours is a problem. Maybe we should occupy it.”

He says this as he begins to undo his belt. When his cock springs free, I gulp in awe at its size and the piercing at the tip. He arches an eyebrow. “Don’t tell me this is your first time.”

This guy is such an asshole. “You’d better quicken your pace with those fingers, to make me even interested or tempted to suck your dick.”

He chuckles as he stretches onto his knees, hovering over me, and his pace begins to follow a faster rhythm.