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I drag my fingers on her tongue, down her throat. My cock jerks when she gags. When she moans at the taste of me and her combined.
I’m not going for another round, though. My heart is starving for her warmth like her mouth is for my cum.
Cradled in my arms, she takes a moment to look me over. My face, my chest, the rest of my body. I don’t have to guess what she’ll say next when her nails trail the new ink on my bicep.
“What’s this?”
My second tattoo was hidden under a sterile pad at home. Neither she nor Ry were supposed to see it. When Ry asked about it, I lied, saying it was a mosquito bite I scratched until it bled.
Even though I haven’t bothered hiding it here, Leighton hasn’t noticed it so far. She’s had other things to absorb.
She sees me now.
Whatever happened to her during this last trance, I’m grateful.
Twisting slightly to offer her a better angle, I wait for her to talk first.
“Is this…” Her voice drifts into silence.
“Yes. I tattooed your birth date right over Ry’s.”
Leighton’s brow scrunches. “Why?”
“I love you, Leighton,” I say the words I haven’t told any woman before her. “I love you. That’s fucking why.”
Blue eyes glint. Hope shines within them. Doubt too. “A tattoo means forever, Marcus.”
“My obsession doesn’t bother you anymore?” I’m confused. “My commitment does?”
“Psycho.” Her faint smile has me barking an incredulous laugh. “I’m just happy, I guess. I’m just happy.”
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
Leighton
“Good morning, Miss Irvine.”
We’re in Marcus’s study-slash-clinic-slash-torture-chamber.
Well, a torture chamber is a stretch. Then again, I fidget and freak out about the unknown as I sit on his therapy couch. So maybe it is?
What’s sure is, unlike now, I was at ease before we entered this room. When we were walking outside when I stretched my limbs. Marcus showered me afterward and took care of me.
I felt free. With him. It was just the two of us, the sun and our small talk.
In here, things are different.
I’m a willing participant in his experiment. Curious to find out why I’m obsessed with his crazy and at the same time scared of him.
I’m scared of what our talks will unravel.
He said whatever it is, I’ll be okay. That I’m not flawed. That I’m special. Wonderful in my own way.
It’s hard to trust an obsessed man’s affirmations. It’s a struggle to stay calm when I’m freaking out. My mind could have locked up a terrible memory that made me love and fear Marcus.
Do I want it out in the open?
My eyes dart across the room. From Marcus to his desk, to the bookshelves he’s rearranged. Toes tapping on the floor, my fingers pinch the soft material of the mini retro pleated pink dress he chose for me this morning.
