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I shivered as he pressed a kiss to the sensitive skin behind my ear, pushing aside my loose hair and making my nipples pebble beneath my sunset dress. I’d bought this for me—to give the final finger to Ethan as he receded into my past, but knowing how it affected Aslan made the night all the sweeter.
“How is it that I’ve had you three times today and I want you again?” he murmured.
I choked on a moan.
The receptionist giggled and looked away. I had no doubt she knew exactly how I was feeling. How flushed Aslan could make me with a single word, a single glance, a single graze or touch or look.
“You want to mark me with ink?” I whispered as he pulled away and pinned me to the spot with his stunning ebony eyes.
“If you’ll let me.”
“I have no idea what design I would get.”
“I do,” he murmured. “I’ve already sent it to the tattooist.”
“You have?” My eyebrows rose. “What is it?”
He chuckled. “You’ll have to wait and see. The women in your books don’t get a choice what mark their mates give them. You don’t either. But I promise you’ll like it.”
Goosebumps scattered down my arms at his intensity.
This wasn’t just something he’d randomly decided.
He wanted this.
He wanted something on my body to say I was his, and that sort of animalistic need made my heart leap with desire.
I didn’t care what he’d decided to mark me with.
I didn’t care where he wanted it to go on my body.
Every inch of me belonged to him.
And it did hot, delicious things to me to know just how much he meant it when he said I was his.
Dad would probably kill me for getting inked.
He’d had a fit when I’d demanded to get my ears pierced when I was ten. Then again, I was no longer living under his roof. I was, for all intents and purposes, a married woman living with her husband.
A rush of giddy eagerness filled me. My heart raced. “Ben seninim, Aslan.”
His nostrils flared; he swayed on the spot. A black, ferocious look filled his stare as he towered over me. Bending his head, he hissed in my ear, “Telling me you’re mine in my language makes me so fucking hard, askim.”
I bit my lip and looked down his toned and powerful body. The tightness of his jeans strained, and he balled his hands in front of himself, hiding evidence of his arousal.
“Behave,” he growled. “Otherwise, we won’t make it to dinner.”
“Eh, sorry to interrupt,” the receptionist said. “But...if you’re booked in with Tate, he’s ready now.”
With a swallowed groan, Aslan stepped away and looked at the pink-haired girl. “Great, thanks.”
“Go right through. His station is the last on the left.”
Taking my hand, Aslan practically dragged me around the brown leather couches, past a wall of tattoo sketches, and through the large room where multiple workstations waited to create body art. Two were taken: one with a young girl getting something tiny on her ankle and another with a guy with a beard down to his naval, his beer belly slowly transforming into the roaring head of a tiger.
A slim guy with a purple, blue, and green mohawk smiled as we slowed at the end of the buzzing, music-pumping space.
“You Aslan and Nerida?” He came forward, his hand outstretched.
