Page 84 of Assassin's Obsession

I don't know how long he does his vampire imitation, but when he lifts his head, he makes a noise of deep satisfaction. "I want to mark you everywhere. "

Maneuvering up onto my elbows, I look down my body to see a red mark on my leg. "You gave me a hickey?"

"I prefer the term love bite."

People have preferred terms for stuff like this? Or maybe it's just Angelo? "Okay."

Regardless of what he wants to call it, I have an unexpected reaction to seeing his mark on my skin.

A sense of rightness washes over me. I sort of love knowing that tomorrow there will be something I can look aton my bodythat is proof of what's happening right now.

This connection between us is primal and my reaction to him marking my skin withlove bitesis just as primitive.

A long way from done, Angelo licks a path up the inside of my thigh. His hot tongue and soft bites sends arrows of ecstasy directly to the bullseye that is my still pulsing clitoris.

Pushing my thighs wide, he fixes his hot gaze on my most intimate flesh.

"You have such a pretty pussy. Puffy lips I fantasize about when you dance in your G-string, now on display just for me."

"Only for you." There's a reason the privacy panels on my G-strings are lined and made with fabrics that don't indent at my slit.

Other dancers wear thinner, clingy G-strings for the opposite effect.

"Only for me." He brushes one fingertip along my outer labia, barely touching me. "I want to take pictures so I can have a painting done."

A roll of laughter takes us both by surprise, but I shake my head. "No way are you going to take a picture." I pause and consider that. "Well, maybe a picture would be okay, but I am not letting you have some kind of portrait done of my ladybits."

"We'll see."

"Yes, we will." How is he going to be okay with something like that being done? "What are you going to do, kill the artist after it's finished?"

Angelo's level of possessiveness is definitely on the unhinged end of the spectrum.

He cocks his head, like he's thinking about it.

"No, just no."

"I'll do what I did for the portrait of your eyes and the mosaic of your silhouette in the shower. I hired artists in Eastern Europe with the understanding they would destroy all source material upon completion of the artwork."

I gulp. "Why Eastern Europe?"

"It should be far enough away."

"For what?"

"For me to feel the need to kill them." He inhales deeply. "Your juices smell so good."

"I'm glad…not that I smell good down there, though that's good too…" I ramble when I never ramble. Only with this man. "I mean I'm glad you wanted to figure out a way not to kill people you hired to do you a service."

"It would be a waste of talent and when I'm ready to commission more likenesses of you, I would have to find someone just as good."

Self-interest for the win. "Now you want to have someone paint a picture of me down there? Where would you hang it?"

"My gun room. No one else has access," he says immediately, indicating this isn't the first time he's had this thought. "I'll have the artist who did your eyes. She caught your essence perfectly and is working on a series of your smiles now."

He looks up at the ceiling and my gaze follows his. He wasn't joking when he said my eyes were above the bed. There's a tryptic of paintings, all about two feet high by six feet wide.

Each painting shows a segment of my face up to my eyebrows and down to the top of the bridge of my nose.

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