Mitchell's hands moved down to curl possessively around Samandriel's slim hips, fingers dipping beneath the waistband of his boxer-briefs as they kissed. He couldn't deny he thought of his slave in those possessive terms, even if it had been only in his head.
"I do think of you that way," he admitted, his voice lower, deeper, as he breathed against the blond's lips. "As mine. You can't know how it angers me to think of him touching you like this." Almost as much as it angered him to think of the angel being hurt.