Page 108 of Obsession

I nod. “Got it. Assassins plan to succeed.”

I gasp when he snaps a towel out on the bed for me to kneel on. He has plans for me tonight. Dirty, naughty plans, and I’m here for it.

When the towel’s secured to catch anything messy, warmed oil licks down my back. The cinnamon candle. Heated through, it melts into a massage oil that can be used anywhere on the body, and I do mean anywhere. I close my eyes at the glow the heat creates across my skin, then moan when I feel him rub it into me.

“Assassins get paid up front. No credit. No payment plans. Cold, hard cash.”

The oil seeps into my skin, and I’m enveloped in the scent of warmed spice. My grip loosens on the headboard from my palms slick with sweat. His palm cracks across my ass.

“Hold onto that headboard like I told you.”

I quickly obey and repeat the rule. “Assassins get paid up front.”

“Good girl. Next rule, and this one is vital. Are you paying attention?”

“Mhm,” I say absentmindedly, just to get him riled up.

“Violet.” He tweaks my nipples.

I gasp. “I’m listening!”

When he’s satisfied he has my attention, he continues, speaking deliberately so his words hold weight. “Assassins kill with their heads, not their hands.”

That’s so hot. Oh, God, why is that so hot?

He strokes between my legs, then pumps two fingers into my core.

“Oh, God,” I moan. “But you do know what to do with those hands don’t you?”

“I do,” he says with a low chuckle. “Now repeat the rule before I take my hands away.”

“No,” I moan, rocking my hips against his hand. “Don’t go.” I’m panting. “Assassins… kill… with their heads… not their hands.”

“Good job. We don’t need brute force, though proficiency with a weapon works well. We need to be astute and on point, prepared to pull the trigger when the time is right. Taking a human life isn’t as easy as it sounds, because we’ve muted our responses to such things with video games and movies. It’s a hairline fracture we walk, and we always,alwayshave to be alert, ready, and mentally prepared.”

I nod. “Understood.”

“Any numbskull with a knife can kill someone. To be a professional, you have to know your shit.”

He stops stroking, and my temper flares.

“Is that a rule, or are you just elaborating?” I say tightly, earning me another slap to the ass.

“Watch your tone of voice. You wouldn’t want to be punished by going to bed without your dessert, now, would you?”

Goddamn.

“No,” I say, as repentant as could be. He continues his perfect, brilliant stroking, until I’m panting and nearly begging him for more.

“Assassins trust no one.”

What an odd rule, considering he’s asked me to trust him over, and over, and over. Could it be that he’s gone so long without trusting anyone that he needs to know there’s still someone who can?

I moan at the feel of the head of his cock at my entrance. He swirls the hot tip through my swollen, slick folds, releasing a moan of his own.

“Assassins don’t get fancy,” he says. “This isn’t the movies. This is real life. We don’t use car bombs or poison fucking appetizers at a ball when a simple bullet or slit throat will do.”

“Got it.”

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