Obsession (Magnetic Desires Book 4) by Misti Murphy Page B

coming from, or watch someone die because I couldn’t afford the medical bills.
    Mellie had never cared about the money. She’d only wanted me, and that had been a new experience in itself, one I had never wanted to end.
    “What’s going on with you?” Orion asked when we left the accountant’s office.
    “Nothing.” I shoved my hands in my pockets as I stepped through the sliding glass doors onto the pavement.
    “That’s funny. You usually bore me to sleep in those meetings. Today you may as well have not been in the room.” He frowned, glancing at me as though he expected I’d give him an answer.
    “You managed all right.” I glanced at my watch. “I’ve got to go. Dinner Saturday, right?”
    “Yeah. I’ll see you then.” Orion took off in the direction he’d parked, and I headed to my own truck. He was right. Normally our business numbers were a pie I would have my finger in, but I couldn’t shake the idea of other things I wanted to do with my digits later tonight, after I finally told her everything.
    She’d come. There was no way she wouldn’t. We’d tried to have this conversation before, and I’d always backed out. Not because I didn’t want to tell her, but because there was a certain amount of uncomfortableness that came with the idea. I reached down to readjust my balls. Well, one ball, really, the other a hard shell of silicone. That was a good part of the reason I hadn’t been able to voice why I refused to acknowledge the affair she claimed I had. At some point it was inevitable she’d call me one-nut. She wouldn’t mean to say it with any biting undertone, but I’d struggled with the loss more than she could possibly understand. The idea of hearing her acknowledge it made me cringe. But I wouldn’t back down. Since the night I reclaimed what was mine, I’d come alive. I’d found that sharp, driven instinct, and I damn well wasn’t the type to give up just because I wasn’t a complete specimen of manhood. Fuck letting my balls–or lack thereof–get in the way of what I wanted in life.
    Not anymore.
    So she’d come, and I’d tell her. I should probably cook her dinner. That pasta she used to like. The dish with olives, feta, and tomatoes. She used to love when I made that for her.
    Changing direction, I went to the market to gather what I needed. It was a simple dish, something I’d whipped up in the first few weeks we were together, when we’d spent all our time wrapped around each other, only stopping to take care of the necessities of life. I hadn’t been able to get enough of her, craved her like air. That hadn’t changed much. Even afterward… quitting something didn’t make the cravings go away.
    Basket in hand I raced through the supermarket, grabbing what I needed. I’d make her that chocolate mousse she liked, too. Serve it with fresh whipped cream and a few strawberries. A bottle of wine, pinot grigio was a good choice to go with the pasta.
    I’d tell her everything over dinner. There’d be shock, anger, and then, relief, acceptance? By the time dessert was ready, all the shit reasons that kept us apart would be out of the way, and I could smear the chocolate mousse and whipped cream over her body, lick it off with my tongue, until I got between her legs. Then I’d take my time getting reacquainted with every sweet inch of her, making her cum so hard in my mouth, she’d never forget her pussy was mine. After, it wouldn’t take much to pack up her possessions and put them back where they belonged. There would be no point taking things slowly, when we hadn’t managed to the first time.
     
    ***
    I pulled up to the house and carried the bags inside, dumping them on the counter so I could run upstairs and change. The loss of a ball, the cancer wasn’t the only reason I hadn’t told her. There’d been times I’d considered blurting it all out in the middle of our many heated discussions about the past. I’d been a fucking pussy about it. And then when