Obsession. Kayla Perrin

      MILLS & BOON

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      This book is for my editor,

       Susan Swinwood.

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      prologue

      The tip of the feather inched its way along my bottom lip. Such a light, wispy touch, but it sent a jolt of heat through my body, causing me to part my lips and emit a shuddery moan.

      Another stroke. This time across my upper lip. My naked body quivered.

      Quivered with anticipation of the pleasure that was to come.

      The feather traveled lower, over my chin, then crossed the expanse of my neck from left to right. Right to left. All with agonizing slowness.

      Then it stopped. Abruptly. Five seconds went by. I held my breath, waiting for what would come next. The blindfold over my eyes prevented me from seeing, but also heightened my sense of excitement. I could hear every sound in the room, smell everything. Mostly, I heard only my own raspy breaths and the whirring of the ceiling fan above the bed. But I could smell the desire in the room, clinging to drops of warm moisture in the air. I could smell the sweat dampening his skin. The scent was musky and heady.

      And arousing.

      When the feather caressed my left nipple, my body jerked, making my wrists and ankles pull against the ties that bound me to the bed.

      “Do you like that?” he asked.

      “Yes,” I responded, surprised to find my voice faint. “Yes,” I repeated, louder this time.

      Once again, nothing. My hips writhed. I groaned softly. I was eager for his touch now. Desperate for it.

      “Patience, bella,” he murmured.

      “Easy for you to say,” I told him. “You have total control over my body right now.” Total control over my pleasure.

      “Have I disappointed you before?” he asked.

      “No,” I answered honestly. “Never.”

      “And I will not disappoint now.”

      The feather touched down between my rib cage, then traveled south, where it dipped into my belly button. It continued its lazy journey into my strip of pubic hair, then stopped—just when I wanted it most.

      I whimpered. “Please, don’t make me beg.”

      He didn’t say a word. Several seconds passed and nothing. I strained to hear past the woo-woo sounds the ceiling fan was making.

      Soft footfalls on the carpet, then the creaking of the bedroom door.

      What? Was he leaving me here?

      I counted ten more seconds, and when he didn’t return, I began to struggle against the ties that bound me. The headboard rattled as I pulled and yanked. Futilely. The knots were too tight, preventing my escape.

      And then I heard the sound of footsteps again. He was coming back into the room. I exhaled audibly.

      “Look at you,” he said. “Your body writhing. Did you think I was going to leave you here while I went and watched a baseball game?”

      I didn’t answer. I suddenly felt foolish. I had been afraid that he’d left me here, totally exposed and helpless to escape until he freed me. I’d been under his complete control before, yet this was the first time I’d felt such a moment of panic.

       Why?

      Because he seemed different today. From the moment I’d arrived, I could sense a certain intensity level in his looks and his touch.

      Something darker.

      “I wouldn’t leave you,” he said. “I would never leave you. You and I, we’re connected in a way we can’t control.”

      I swallowed. Did I sense something ominous in his tone? Or was I a little

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