Page 85 of Assassin's Obsession

My eyes.

In the top painting, it's clear I'm smiling. In the middle one my eyes are thoughtful. And in the bottom one I look angry. Those are the three emotions he chose to look at when he went to bed at night?

"Why one of me angry?"

"Because you're beautiful when you're pissed off."

"Says every romance hero ever."

"You read romance?" he asks.

"It's something to read." And sometimes getting lost in a fictional world is the only way to deal with the real one. "Mrs. Kowalski down the hall gives my mom a grocery bag of them once a month when she's done reading them."

Why are we talking about my reading habits right now? Oh, yeah. Because of the tryptic. The resemblance is unbelievable. It's so close it's like looking in a mirror.

The giant images of my eyes looking back at me are a little disconcerting, even more so the thought that Angelo lays in bed at night and looks up at me looking down on him. No wonder he felt like we were dating for the last year.

He's been totally obsessed with me. What happens when that obsession burns itself out?

What if I catch feelings and my sociopath is actually a psychopath and unable to return them despite his belief that his obsession is love.

"What does that look mean?" His finger slides inside of me.

"You don't expect me to answer when you're doing that." He can't.

"I could stop." He withdraws his finger. "Tell me."

"Go back to fingering me and I will," I bargain.

His grin tells me I fell right into his neatly laid trap.

"Do you really need to know my every thought?" I ask.

"Yes."

"You take the obsession and stalking thing to whole new level, don't you?"

His fingers push back inside me and he presses upward against something that makes me see stars. The good kind.

"Wha…what if I don't want to tell you?" I ask.

"Then don't tell me."

Is it really that easy? "Will you stop touching me if I don't?"

"Even I don't have that much self-control."

Something loosens that had gone tight inside me. "Good, because I don't want to be manipulated with sex."

"I will never do anything you don't want me to."

"So, you just assumed I wanted you to stalk me?" I ask with disbelief.

"You never said you didn't." His fingers slowly piston in and out of me, sparking what should be an impossible renewal of sexual need.

How? How does he make my body sing for him like this?

"If I asked you to stop watching me, would you?" I gasp out, turned on but needing an answer to this question.

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