Page 74 of Beautiful Obsessions
For a long moment, there was nothing but the sound of our breathing, the way our skin stuck together with sweat, the scent of sex hanging thick in the air.
Then Tone’s fingers carded through my hair, her voice soft.“We’re so fucked.”
I laughed, the sound dark, humorless.I pressed a kiss to her shoulder, her skin still warm under my lips.
“Yeah,” I murmured.“We are.”
22
Tone
Iwoke before him.
There was a rare, fragile quiet where the world hadn’t caught up yet, and it was just the slow, steady rhythm of his breathing beside me.
Archie Popovich.
The man who was never supposed to exist in my life.
For a long moment, I don’t move.I just lie there on my side, watching him and memorizing the shape of his presence.
His face was soft in sleep.The sharp edges were dulled, and gone was the eternal smirk.There was no threat of danger, just a man who was tired, worn, carrying things I’d never fully understand.
My fingers twitched at my side.I wanted to touch him.
I shifted slightly, careful not to wake him, my gaze dragging over him in slow detail—the rise and fall of his chest, the faint shadow of bruising along his ribs, the marks of last night still written across his skin like a language we both spoke too fluently.
A mistake.That’s what this was.A beautiful, catastrophic mistake.
And yet… my throat tightened.Because it didn’t feel like one.
It felt like something I’d been walking toward for a long time without realizing it.Every single moment where the line blurred just enough for me to pretend it hadn’t.
I crossed it.I didn’t stumble.I stepped right over it.
And now I was here.In bed with him.Allowing him into my space, my world.
The man I was raised to distrust, to fight, to keep at arm’s length—because he wasn’t just anyone.
He was Bratva.Russian.The enemy.Or at least… he used to be.
A bitter exhale left me as I rolled onto my back, staring up at the ceiling.
What are we now?
The word frenemy drifted through my mind, and I almost laughed at how pathetic it sounded compared to the reality of it.There was nothing casual about this.This was the kind of thing that ended in blood.
I turned my head again, looking back at him, my chest tightening in a way that had nothing to do with fear.
I’d already fallen.
The thought landed heavy.Unwelcome and undeniable.
It was there in the way I watched him last night—not just with heat, but with something that slipped under my guard when I wasn’t paying attention.
It was there now, in the quiet, in the stillness, in the way my body felt anchored beside his.
A slow, creeping heat was starting to build low in my belly, uncurling like a snake.I bit my lip, my eyes adjusting to the dark, tracing the line of his jaw where the shadow stubble was starting to grow in.He looked dangerous even in sleep, all hard lines and relaxed muscle.My gaze trailed down his chest, rising and falling with every breath, to the sheet that was pooled low around his waist.The memory of how he felt inside me, how he stretched and filled me until I couldn't think, was refusing to fade.I was already wet, a dull ache throbbing between my legs that demanded attention.
