Page 27 of Possess Me

He wanted her. Craved her.

Not like this. This wasn’t right.

But it felt right. So damn right. His wife. His woman.

His Vivien.

No.

He jerked back, his body desperate for release, his mind spinning.

She was Nikki.

She was his wife.

Then take her. Prove it. Claim her. Make her yours.

Yes. Dammit, yes.

With two fluid movements, he kicked his jeans the rest of the way off, then pulled them both down to the couch. She straddled him, her smile one of pure victory. He didn’t care. He no longer knew if this was right or wrong. He didn’t even know who he was. Who she was.

All he knew was her.

That she was his, and he had to have her. Had to take her if he was ever going to find his sanity again, because the feel of her—the heat, the pressure, the desperation—was undoing him.

“Yes,” she said, her hands pinned on his shoulders. She offered him a smile of victory before her lips descended on his, fierce and demanding. He gripped her hips, his fingers digging into her flesh as she moved against him, their bodies colliding with a force that was both passionate and brutal.

“You’re mine,” she whispered, her voice a rasp. Her nails raked down his chest, leaving faint red trails in their wake. “Say it. Say you’re mine.”

“I—” His words dissolved into a groan as she ground herself against him.

Her hands cupped his face. “Say it.”

“Yours.” The word tumbled from his lips. “Goddammit, you know I’m yours.”

A smile curled her lips, but it was wrong. It wasn’t Nikki. And that realization clawed at the edges of his mind even as his body betrayed him, responding to her with a ferocity he couldn’t control.

Nikki, Vivien, Carlton, Damien.

He didn’t know any of them. Right then, he didn’t care.

They moved together, their rhythm wild and frantic. Her nails dug into his back, her teeth grazing his shoulder, her breath hot against his ear. He wanted her. Needed her. And he hated himself for it. Because, dammit, the woman he was fucking wasn’t Nikki. Not really.

And what the hell did that say about him?

12

Damien stood outside the Pavilion Hotel, the night wrapping around him like a too-tight jacket. The rhythmic thrum of the nearby surf blended with the melodic tangle of voices drifting from the bar. Normal sounds—ordinary, even. And he wondered how the world around him could go on as usual when his own world was spiraling into danger and mystery.

He drew a breath, part of him wanting to turn away. To forget about this appointment. To ignore the answers he so desperately needed.

To go back to Nikki.

Is she Nikki? Is she even still your wife?

For three days now, he’d been asking himself that horrible question. Ever since the night with the dress. With the blood.

Nothing felt real. Three children. Years together.