Page 270 of Obsession

Every inch of my skin seemed to catch fire.

“And how long do you think you can go without sex?”

My question made him smile as he continued to kiss my neck.

“I can go as long as I want without sex, I can control my body. But without you… that’s a different story,” his breath brushed over my neck before his kiss became insistent.

I shivered uncontrollably.

“I’m…”

“No,” he interrupted me, biting my skin and making me wince, “Don’t tell me you’re ready for this, don’t torture me any more than you already do, baby.”

I smiled and closed my mouth, because that’s exactly what I wanted to say.

He pulled back when he seemed to be a second away from giving in, rubbed his palms over his face, and muttered a curse.

I was still standing with my feet on the edge of the chair, and he grabbed my ankles and clamped them between his thighs to keep them closed, which seemed to calm him down.

He placed the mirror in my lap.

Oh, God, he wanted to it like that.

“Don’t move,” he warned.

I nodded, trying to be good, and leaned down to give him a quick kiss. He squinted, but then started laughing as I pretended to zip my mouth shut.

My skin prickled as he began to wipe his neck with a cotton ball soaked in rubbing alcohol. He ran his finger over the spot and examined it, as the red mark I had left was still visible. I hoped the soreness wouldn’t bother him now.

I could feel my legs trembling as he picked up the tattoo machine. He had a few other tattoos on his neck, but not on the right side. Did that spot hurt a lot?

“Does this spot hurt a lot?” my mouth spoke again without my brain, and he looked up at me as he rearranged the mirror above my thighs.

“For me it’s the same as any other spot. It’s just more complicated because the skin is sensitive and it’s above the pulse line.”

I swallowed and nodded.

“You do it directly on the skin? Without sticking the sketch on first?” I pointed to the picture on the tablet and he giggled because I couldn’t keep my mouth shut.

“No, I don’t need it. I just drew it to sort out a few details, but I have drawn so many wings since I have known you that I’m sure it’ll turn out fine without a stencil.”

Right, I knew the thing had a name.

“Can I see them?”

“Some other time,” he winked.

I nodded and assumed the position of a holder, which I was. A happy holder.

The hum of the machine made every fine hair on my arms stand up.

It was as if I felt the pain of the prick as the needles pierced his neck, pumping the ink into his skin, into his blood.

He didn’t react, but I felt like he was tattooing me as my body was completely paralyzed. I felt like my head would explode if I moved.

The blood quickly spurted from his skin in fine droplets and Harris handed me the handkerchief and silently asked me to wipe it off. My hands trembled as if I were touching a deep wound, but I was happy to help.

He wasn’t gentle with his skin, and if he was in pain, he didn’t show it, even though blood kept coming out. The area around the drawing began to redden, and I expected him to do the wings first, but I smiled when I could decipher the K on his neck.

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