Page 80 of Obey

First thing I clock: it’s dark out. Either a few hours have passed, or I slept the entire day, and given the way my body feels, I know which one I’m putting my money on.

Exhibit A in the ongoing case for why I don’t drink.

The penthouse unfolds around me in floor-to-ceiling glass, buttery leather, and the kind of lived-in luxury that prioritizes comfort over showing off.

Then I see the kitchen.

Massive gas range. Double-door fridge. Counter space for days.

Yeah, the Southern Black woman in me is ready to drop and die of joy.

My fingers hover over a burner knob, tempted to light it just to confirm this is all real, but then I hear the unmistakable hiss of running water. I follow the sound down the hallway until I reach a partially open door, warm steam drifting through the gap.

I should leave. I should definitely leave.

Instead, I push it open, and the bathroom hums, mirrors fogged and onyx floors slick with condensation. But the shower appears empty. Just a glass wall with mist curling off stone, nothing human in sight. I take one step, intending to look around, when a hand shoots out from the hidden corner.

My gasp doesn’t even make it past my lips before rough, wet fingers circle my wrist and yank. I stumble forward, colliding with a wall of dripping wet male muscles.

Jace is naked. Fully, gloriously, shouldn’t-be-possible naked.

“Looking for something, Sugar?”

My eyes follow the watercolor tattoos inked into his tan skin. I don’t mean to—or maybe I do—but by the time I get to the part that makes my mouth go dry, I’ve already forgotten that I have a hangover.

He backs me into the shower, my back meeting the tiles as his dick presses against my stomach, and my brain short-circuits completely.

“Damn, Sugar.” His voice drops, awestruck. “All this time.”

I follow his gaze downward and immediately regret it. The soaked white shirt is transparent at this point, which means my nipple and navel piercings are visible beneath the fabric.

My face burns. “Can we not talk about my piercings while you’re naked?”

Jace grins. “Depends. Can we talk about how you slept for almost sixteen hours?”

I blink. “What?”

“We were starting to get concerned, Sugar.” His expression softens as he brings his knuckles up to my chest, brushing one of the rings. “Nate and Elias were rotating shifts checking to make sure you were still breathing.”

“Yeah, this is why I don’t go clubbing." I pant, subconsciously arching into his touch. "The recovery period is hell.”

His gaze lingers on my soaked shirt. “Can't say I'm mad about the aftermath, though.” His palm glides down my ribs. “Really like the gold, Sugar. What else are you keeping from me?”

He glances toward the open bathroom door, then back at me. For half a second, I think he might actually remember how to behave. Then his arm hooks around my waist and hauls me flush against him as his mouth closes over my nipple through the wet cotton.

“Fuck—”

The ring catches carefully between his teeth, and I lift off the tile, my back bowing against the sudden rush of heat .

“Mierda. Your tits are this sensitive, huh?” His tongue circles the ring again, slower this time, and a sharp pulse of pleasure shoots straight between my thighs. “I’m going to find out just how many times I can make you come from these perfect little things before you beg me to stop.”

Another moan escapes me, louder than I intended, and I feel Jace smile against my skin. Then his mouth is on mine.

I grab the back of his neck and pull him closer, fingers tangling in his wet hair as the kiss turns hungry almost immediately. His tongue slides against mine, stealing whatever breath I manage to catch between one kiss and the next.

His hand moves beneath the hem of the shirt. Fingertips skim the inside of my thigh, climbing just high enough to make my hips follow.

“Jace,” I breathe against his mouth.