Page 60 of The Art of Obsession
When Acheron turns his chin slowly, violent and calm all at once, and trains his deeply hooded eyes on me, my insides are leveled.
He’s going to strangle me!
Girl, don’t blink twice—you’ll miss the part where he starts monologuing about how impressed he is. This is “power couple goals”! Besides, stabbing alphaholes is trending. And blood rituals.
His penetrative gaze does squirmy things to my insides. He doesn’t say anything. He’s so still, so brutally tranquil, it makes me want to scream. But the endorphins are still coursing through me, the high of it all, and I feel… I feel like I’m floating. The pain and the pleasure, the agony and the ecstasy—I can’t tell where one ends and the other begins.
Acheron’s eyes are dark and full of something I can’t name, but I see the satisfaction in them. He’s made me his. He’s marked me, I’ve marked him, and there’s no going back.
A slow, predatory smile slinks across his face, disappearing beyond the edges of his mask. It turns my blood cold. And then…he pulls out the knife, licks the damn blade, and presses it to my lips, smearing the remaining droplets there. I’m frozen. My limbs are paralyzed. Not my voice.
“Please don’t kill me,” I whisper.
“Kill you? You fucking killedme, Little Quill.” I’m about to protest and say I didn’t stab him that hard, but his lips are on mine, kissing me with such fury and passion, it rattles my bones and twists my heart into hundreds of knots. I arch my throat and touch my fingertips to his wound, reveling in how he trembles beneath my palm and the groan resonating into my throat.
He twitches inside me. I squeeze again, unable to stop from feeling him, feeling everywhere.
“That’s my girl, sucking my cock. Such a sweet, little slut.”
He doesn’t try to stop me. He doesn’t flinch when I touch his mask and smear some of the blood there. He simply regards me with that dangerous smile, proving how sick and twisted he is…and I guess he’s reallyrubbedoff on me.
So damn proud of you, Cherry whimpers with emotion.My little stabby muffin all grown up.
Acheron touches his lips to my brow. Then pulls out abruptly.
All of the adrenaline is crashing, the endorphins fading. I double over onto my side, moaning from the pain. Blood and cum spills out of me, staining the antique duvet.
“Acheron,” I spit, my voice stinging as I stab a finger at the duvet.
He tips his head back and laughs. I give him my best death glare as he fists his cock, expelling the remaining cum before he lifts his hand, now covered in my virgin blood.
How can I be angrier about the goddamn duvet than the pain in my pussy, than him taking my virginity? My cunt is burning, inflamed, stretched to its excruciating limits.
I freeze as the God of Art leans down, kisses my cheek, and murmurs, “Be right back,” before he exits the exhibit. My jaw drops. He has no shame as he strolls right out in nothing but his birthday suit with my blood and our juices on his dick. And the small, gaping wound in his shoulder.
My mouth waters, and heat fills me at the sight of his backside. Why should I be surprised? Every inch of him is steel. His ass is no different, those globes packed with rock-hard muscle. And…scars. Oh, god! Horror splits me at the knowledge that someone else did that. The scars are old. How old?
By now, all the men have put their privates back in their pants. But I notice semen on the glass. Pools of semen.
“Gentlemen!” He sweeps his arms to each side, then bows exaggeratingly, dripping blood from his shoulder. “You are dismissed. I trust you enjoyed the exhibition. I will contact you for the date and time of the next in the series: The Art of Obsession.”
No shame as he turns around, enters the exhibit again, and advances to me.
The men disperse. But there’s semen on the glass.
Acheron stands before me, drowning me in his towering shadow.
Gathering the sheets around me, I turn a trembling finger to the walls. “S-s-semen on th-the g-glass.”
Acheron smiles down at me before taking me in his arms, stealing my breath.
“There’s semen on the glass,” I blubber into his neck.
I feel sick. I feel like I’m going to pass out. Bile swirls in my stomach.
The next thing I know, I’m doubled over the toilet in the luxurious bathroom down the hall. Acheron’s body heat surrounds me as he holds my hair back and urges tenderly, “Let it out, Little Quill. That’s my gorgeous girl.”
“There was semen on the glass!” I sob as he pushes the handle, flushing the toilet.
