Page 47 of The Art of Obsession
God, I hate how gravelly his voice is. “I did, thank you.”
“What was that?”
Shit. I reach for the red wine and take another few sips before setting the glass down, turning to him, and narrowing my eyes. “You heard.”
“Are you finished, Everleigh?” He motions to the food selections, and I nod.
He rises and sweeps me into his arms, stealing my breath. “What are you?—”
I freeze, not saying anything when Acheron opens the one glass door on the east side of the exhibit. He carries me down a short hallway, his mask on me the whole time. He pauses before a door with a gold handle. One brief twist, and he kicks the door open.
The sight sends my heart soaring.
The room is a masterpiece. The walls are glass, but not just glass. It’s an aquarium alive with vibrant tropical fish darting through makeshift coral reefs, their colors shimmering in the dim, aquatic light. Larger, more ominous shapes glide through the depths—sleek, predatory sharks, their presence commanding and mesmerizing. The entire space feels like being suspended in the ocean, surrounded by life and danger.
At the center of the room, carved into the floor, is a massive bath, its edges smooth and polished like obsidian. Black rose petals scatter the surface. Water ripples reflect the glow of the tank and cast gentle, wavering patterns across the ceiling. Steam rises, curling into the cool air, inviting and luxurious.
I can’t stop staring. This isn’t just a bathroom; it’s an escape, a sanctuary, a piece of another world.
Acheron sets me down gently, his hands lingering on my arms as he steps back to watch my reaction. “I had this roomspecially commissioned for you. In my world, there is grace, there is allure. And you are at the center of it all.”
I gaze at the surroundings, following the school of fish that darts away from a prowling shark. This isn’t just a room. It’s a statement. A reflection of the emotions he stirs in me—beauty, danger, and the undeniable pull to dive deeper.
Acheron escorts me to the edge and turns me to him. “Strip, Everleigh Lennox.”
I’m paralyzed beneath his hardened gaze. But my hands move of their own accord. I try to rationalize it, that it’s my desire to wash the wax from my skin, but I lower the lace bra straps down my shoulders and unhook the back, spilling my breasts before him. It doesn’t take much to shimmy out of the still-wet panties.
I’ll never shrink in front of him. No matter how much I want to cover myself, I force my chest out, lifting my breasts with their beaded tips—too much like an offering. I’m not ready when he cups them. I hiss, clenching my eyes as he thumbs my nipples, kindling all my senses. Before I can lose myself, I step back, swing around, and step into the water.
A dark chuckle resounds behind me. And I turn in just enough time for Acheron to begin stripping.
Breath caught in my throat, I watch as the God of Art slowly undresses. His movements are deliberate, controlled, every inch of him commanding attention. His clothes fall away, piece by piece. Each motion is calculated, like a ritual, and my eyes follow every line of his body, every shift of muscle beneath his skin.
He doesn’t rush, and neither do I. I lower my eyes to his chest, mesmerized by the tattoos. Blood droplets, intricately inked, mirror the designs on his masks. Like his dark history of bloodshed, they’re scattered across his chest and down his sides. But they are not the most impressive.
Faint silver lines, raised, show the scarification in his skin. They outnumber the tattoos by a multitude. Acheron carved his artistry into his very flesh!
My pulse quickens. The tattoos, the scars are danger and mystery—as much a part of him as his mask.
He doesn’t remove his boxers, but his cock is tenting, hanging like a narrow log against his lower thigh. He’s a shower. Not a grower. And he has the sort of length that could split me open. Literally since I’ve…
It’s not a dirty word, Evie,Cherry breaks in, and I purse my lips, nodding in my mind.
Does it even matter?
Oh, trust me, it matters for men like Acheron.
I don’t want him to look at me like that,I deny, my voice sharpening.
He won’t, Evie. He’s been looking at you like you’re the sun, and he orbits around you since the second you woke up with his finger in you. It won’t change.
Regardless, I don’t betray anything. I force myself to breathe, to focus, but the air thickens with each movement he makes. The way he stands, poised and confident, makes me feel small and yet strangely empowered. He’s not just revealing his body—he’s showing me something deeper, something raw and intimate.
No resistance. Once he’s in the bath with me, Acheron hauls me into his arms and sits me on his lap, back to his chest. “The water has oils in it. And as I wash you, Little Quill, you will tell me about your penchant fordissociation.”
20
“Crawl to me.”
