His Obsession by Ava Lore Read Free Book Online Page B

because you don't know I hate waffles."
    I stared at him, incredulous. "Then why do you have a waffle iron?" I asked. "It's just sitting here, begging to be used."
    "Every kitchen should have a waffle iron," he said.
    "Even if you hate waffles?"
    "Especially if you hate waffles. Every time I see it, it reminds me of how lucky I am to not be eating waffles right now."
    I stared at the black waffle discs. "I suppose we could play frisbee with them."
    "Or just throw them into the sea."
    "That was the eventual goal, yes." I put my hands on my hips and blew my hair out of my face. "Well, what do you want to eat instead?" We were well-provisioned with dry and canned goods, but pre-processed crap was getting awfully old. The waffles, at least, would have been fresh made.
    Malcolm grabbed me by the hips. "I can think of one thing I'd like to eat," he said and lifted me onto the counter top before sliding the boxers down my legs and letting them pool on the floor.
    He knelt down and began to lick my pussy, quick and sharp. I gasped, my head lolling. "I... I think this violates some sort of health regulation..."
    He paused. "Good thing we're in international waters, then." His smile was wicked, and I didn't object when he returned to his task.
    ––––––––
    "So how did you become so fucking rich? This boat is still blowing my mind."
    "My father made me get rich."
    "Haha! Oh, you're serious."
    "I am. Hold still, you are going to mess up the exposure."
    "But my nose itches!"
    "Suffer for art."
    "You. You are the one who's supposed to suffer, not your model."
    "Is that so? You see, my father taught me that in business it doesn't matter who is hurt. We all enter with the same expectations. Kill or be killed. If you get killed you might as well lay down and die in the street."
    "Jesus Christ. That's fucked up."
    "Is it? It's held true for most of my time in business, and it's made me quite a lot of money. Hold still."
    "The itch has moved to my boobs now!"
    "I will lavish them with attention when we are done if only you will hold still for one more minute."
    "That attention had better be good."
    "I promise it will be."
    "I am entering into this agreement with the expectation to get screwed over now."
    "I wouldn't blame you. I have crushed many an enemy under my heel and heard the lamentations of their interns. But for you, I think I must make an exception. Though we are at war, with two disparate goals, I believe I may fraternize with the enemy as long as I don't let my guard down. You will not convince me to change my course, Sadie. I see what you are doing."
    "I'm not doing anything. And shit. I'm really depressed now. Do you really think of every encounter as a war?"
    "Of course. What else could it be?"
    "Creative. Collaboration. Lo—Sex isn't a competition."
    "...It is if you do it right. And shit, this isn't it either."
    "The photograph?"
    "What a mess."
    "Forget it. Come her and lavish attention on me."
    ––––––––
    "Where did you go?" he asked me one day, and I realized I had been staring at the waves. I couldn't have said how long I had been watching them, and when I turned to look at Malcolm, their patterns and swirls continued to spiral across my vision.
    "I don't know," I said. "I just stopped thinking for a while." I smiled while I said it. "Feels good."
    "I wouldn't know," he said, walking up behind me and slipping his arms around my waist, snugging me in close. I felt the swell of his erection against my ass. "My mind has started to run away with me, too, and I have never been able to meditate."
    "Mm," I said. I rubbed my ass cheeks over his cock, and he sighed, grinding into me. "It's not all its cracked up to be," I told him. "You start thinking about nothing and the next thing you know your ramen is boiling over or someone's cat just threw themselves under the wheels of your car."
    "Perhaps you shouldn't meditate while driving." His hands were slipping under the waistband of the boxers I wore,