Page 24 of The Art of Obsession
I am his light. I am his muse.
His strokes become more frantic, his body twisting and contorting to the beat.
His cock now does the same. He’s treating this like an art form, too.
“Nothing but this, Everleigh. Stroke by stroke, breath by breath, feel the masterpiece I am creating in you. Give it to me! All your emotion. Your pain. Your pleasure.”
He releases my hair and cups my left breast, and I rise, hissing, gusting deep as he rubs the leather along my nipple. Overwhelmed by the arousal and the memory of the first performance I saw floods my consciousness.
Paint dripped down his arms, smearing across his chest, his face, until he looked like a living embodiment of his art—raw, messy, utterly captivating.
The canvas is no longer just a backdrop; it’s a battlefield.
I am his battlefield. And he’s conquering me.
He pulls out all the way, captures my slippery clit, lowers himself to just a breath above my lips, and commands, “Come with me.”
I gasp, jerk, and buck. Everything in me narrows to his words. I let go of everything.Everything but the vision of him painting, dragging his palm like a streak of blood and fire.
I explode. The orgasm sends me spinning, spiraling like his body on those twirling ropes as he finishes.
Acheron snaps. With a savage snarl, he releases streams of his cum all over my chest. Our climaxes surge together, nearly touching the edge of heaven.
We’re both gasping when I fall, coming down. My pussy squeezes, and I want nothing more than his shaft buried inside me. Like I’m on my knees, begging and pleading as I tremble in awe of him.
The crowd is silent, spellbound. No one moves. No one blinks. Or makes a sound, afraid they will break the spell he’s cast. I can feel the tension in the air, thick and electric, as if we’re all teetering on some great revelation.
Acheron is my Apocalypse.
This shouldn’t happen. I shouldn’t want this. I shouldn’t want him. He’s a murderer. He could be a serial killer. He killed because of me tonight. Guilt shreds my heart lining because Jake still didn’t deserve to die.
“My perfect panorama,” Acheron praises me again, holding a tender hand to my cheek.
Instinct has me leaning into that hand, and I swallow the knot of revulsion in my throat that says I’m betraying everything I believe in. But his breath is so heavy. And he tips his brow to mine. No words. We just exist in this moment. Perhaps tomorrow…I will wake up and find this is all an erotic dream—like the kind I read. But it’s too real, too raw, too bone-deep, and heart-splitting for it to be anything else.
When he crushes his mouth upon mine, so tender and yearning, I open beneath him. Only for me to realize he’s dripping his salty, masculine cum into my mouth. He pinches my nose to ensure I swallow. I clench my eyes shut below the blindfold and do as he wants.
“Good girl,” he whispers, then kisses me again and slides the blindfold from my eyes. At some point, he put his mask back on. The darkness could never hide the sight of those surrealblood drops streaming down the white mask, twisting patterns of dancing runes along the brow and cheekbones.
He flicks his tongue against mine, and I whimper, more desire rising within me. But it bows to the growing haze, promising I will soon fade to unconsciousness. Acheron tilts his head, changing the angle and depth of the kiss, holding me here with the strength of his jaw.
Once he parts, my dark stalker artist says above my lips, “Sleep, Everleigh. I will return to you tomorrow night. Tonight, you understand the lengths I will go to to keep you, to make you mine. You will know it more when you wake.”
I crash.
11
“You twisted, pretentious Picasso wannabe!”
Chapter Playlist:
“Bruises and Bitemarks” – Good With Grenades
“Take Me to Church” - Hozier
EVERLEIGH
When I wake up,my skin is crusty, and something hard and cold, steel-like constricts my stomach and…sweeping below. And pressure in my ass.
