Page 50 of Obsession

Adrian follows me over, pulling his cock from inside me and squirting his cum onto my stomach with a groan. It feels obscene to have him paint me like this, like he’s visually claiming me.

And for some reason, that only makes me like it more.

TWENTY-FIVE

Adrian

There’s a dark-haired vixen running circles through my mind when I should be focused on my work. On my revenge. But there’s nothing in my head except the taste of Madi’s lips, the sweet noises she makes when I bury my tongue in her cunt, the way her eyes rolled back when I thrust deep inside her.

Scrubbing a hand over my face, I try to pull the addiction from my head. I’ve never been addicted to anything; no vice has ever been strong enough to wrap its claws around me and dig in.

Until her.

“Congratulations.” Fede’s voice breaks through my inner turmoil. “You’re officially on Sam Costello’s defense team.”

I’ve been so wrapped up in Madi, I almost forgot what’s been happening outside the four walls of my house. There’s a civil war, and I have myself trapped in the midst of it. Trapped is the wrong word. If I play all my cards right, I won’t be trapped at all.

I’ll be the one pulling the cards from the bottom and toppling the tower.

“Good job,” I say to my brother. Fede stops in front of my desk, his head tilting as he looks me over.

“You look…better.”

I’m still bruised, mostly in places my suit covers, but I am better than I was a week ago. I have a sneaking suspicion my newly doting wife has something to do with that.

“Thanks,” I mutter. “What else?”

“Sam wants to meet with you. I scheduled an attorney client meeting at the prison for you tomorrow. One p.m.”

“Good.” I lean back in my seat. “I think it’s about time I talk to the Costello prodigy, see what his angle is in this thing.”

Fede slides into the seat across from my desk. “Are you going to do what he’s asking? Get him out of prison?”

A small smile rises on my lips. “If I get Sam Costello out of prison, he’s going to kill Damien Romano.”

“And that’s a bad thing?” Fede asks, not following my logic, yet.

“Not at all. That’s one more Costello man gone. And if I follow him…then I can put him right back behind bars. If I’m lucky, him and John Vitale.”

Fede grins as he processes my plan.

We’re only a few chess moves away from having all the Costello men dead or in prison.

At the end of the day, the only one left standing will be me.

Royal Street isa hub for artists, so it seems fitting that Madi’s studio is among them. According to Marcus, Carmine Sr. bought the studio for Madi as a birthday gift when she turned eighteen, much to Marcus’s chagrin. He was more worried aboutmarrying her off to someone than her being able to explore her passion.

I never cared one way or another if she had the studio. But now, knowing that she spends most of her days here or frolicking through the French Quarter suddenly has me curious about what my little minx is doing in here all day.

I nod at David as I turn the knob on the studio door, finding it open. Ever since John kidnapped me and killed the guard I had on Madi, I’ve had David watching her. Not that I think John or Sam would do anything to hurt their cousin, but still, it bothered me that they were able to get so close.

The door opens right up for me, and it’s on the tip of my tongue to chastise her for being so reckless as to keep the door unlocked, but then I spot her. She’s at a wheel in the back corner of the studio, wearing overalls that are coated in clay and nothing but a sports bra underneath. She’s a little temptress looking like that. Even covered in the gray mud that runs up her arms, I still want to pick her up, bend her over the table in the center of the studio, and have my way with her.

She’s too distracted by her work to notice me, which gives me a moment to look around the studio. It’s filled withstuff.Paint bottles, abandoned canvases, cups of brushes, buckets filled with who knows what, some of them open with gray sludge spilling over the sides. The whole space seems to have a dusting of old clay everywhere. I find a shelf with colorless pieces that look like they’re drying — bowls, mugs, planters. And then on the shelf next to it looks to be finished pieces. I laugh when I see them. There’s a whole shelf of mugs with what looks to be boobs carved into the material. On another shelf, there are ones with the breasts molded to the outside, complete with little nipples. Some have uneven boobs and there are even a few where one breast is missing entirely, instead in its place is what looks to be a scar. For breast cancer, I assume.

“What are you doing here?” Madi’s voice sounds panicked, and I watch as the piece spinning on the wheel collapses beneath her fingers. She huffs and lets her foot off the pedal, bringing the wheel to a stop. Grabbing a rag from the table next to her, she wipes the gray sludge from her hands and stands, looking at me.

“I came to visit my wife. Is that a crime?”

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