Page 97 of The Art of Obsession
“At one point, I even opened the coffin,” I whisper, my throat tight. “I thought maybe there’d be something inside to help me—a brooch with a pin, anything. But it was empty. Completely empty. Not even a corpse. Probably a good thing.”
Let’s not forget, darling, I was the one who made that coffin seem interesting.Cherry winks, wings fluttering.Without me, it’s just a box. Not a vampire smut fantasy.
Cal’s fingers trace soothing circles on my back, his silence an unspoken promise that he’s listening.
“If it hadn’t been for those hikers…” My voice breaks, and I bury my face against his chest. “If they hadn’t found me, the red flag I left hanging from the bars, I wouldn’t have made it out. I know I wouldn’t have.”
Tell him the red flag was your undies.
“And ever since then,” I whisper, “I can’t stand being underground. It’s like I can’t breathe. That’s why I didn’t want to go back to the exhibit. I just needed to feel the air on my skin, even if only for a little while longer.”
Knowing I had something to do helped—cataloging priceless, significant artifacts. But once I got a taste of the outside world…
The silence stretches between us, heavy with the weight of my confession. When Cal finally speaks, his voice is a low rumble. “You’re stronger than you think, Everleigh,” he says. “You will overcome it as you overcame your menstrual trauma.”
I huff but nuzzle my head against his neck. “I didn’t overcome it. Not yet. It…helped—what you said about “miraculous”. But it’s not like it just goes away overnight.”
“Naturally. Trauma doesn’t work like that. But I will be here to remind you…again and again if necessary.”
“What will you do?”I snort. “Get me a fern you can fertilize with my period blood.”
“If you insist…”
A giggle escapes my throat. Ugh, I’m so crazy.
You’re not crazy, darling. Just… beautifully unhinged. There’s a difference.Out of the corner of my eye, I see her draped over the coffin, lounging with her red wingsrelaxed.But I’d have gone with a carnivorous plant. Much more dramatic. Like you.
I lift my head to look at Cal, my eyes searching his. And for the first time in what feels like forever, I feel like I can breathe.
Ugh, trauma bonding over ferns. Is this what romance looks like these days? Someone get me a fainting couch.She feigns a yawn.
Cal lowers his fingers until he is rubbing my clit. I gasp and cling to his shirt, fingers digging in as he pleasures me, rewarding me for finally opening up for him. When he captures one hypersensitive nipple between the red diamonds, I hiss, then whimper from the little burst of pain, but the endorphins work their wonder. I’m lifting my hips, begging for more. Heat drowns my pussy, and Cal slides two fingers inside my center, pumping, stimulating my inner flesh.
He opens his lips along the sensitive spot beneath my ear. “That’s right, Little Quill. Take your pleasure from me.”
“Oh! Cal, please!”
The next thing I know, he has my back against the crypt, my legs spread, and his face buried in my pussy. I scratch along the stone behind me with one hand and reach for his hair with the other—but he doesn’t let me. A low growl rumbles in his chest before he grips my wrists and pins them to my stomach, giving him all the control. He drags his tongue along my clit, licking and lashing the swollen nub. I buck, my pelvis jerking, my body needing more.
“Rewrite the story,” he purrs darkly against my pussy, kissing each side of my wet folds as I gasp. “Tell me how much you want this, how much you want me. Make me your vampire.”
“Cal,” I whisper, shutting my eyes. “Please don’t stop.”
“Tell me…” he blows cool air against my labia, flicks his tongue along my clit, then pauses, tormenting me.
“I want…your tongue there,” I moan, arching my back.
“Here?” he coos in a low voice, swiping his tongue against the hypersensitive bud.
“Uhm, Cal!”
“Fuck, look at you…” I lower my eyes to find him sliding two fingers inside me, my pussy making an embarrassing squelching noise. “Soaked for me. You love when I fucking dominate you, when I discipline you, punish you.”
He attacks my clit, tonguing me so fiercely, my toes curl, and liquid fire fills my veins with hot pleasure.
I’m so fucking close when he pulls his fingers out. I shriek my protest until he turns onto his back, positions me on top of him, and commands, “Ride me, my sweet, dirty girl. Grip onto the edge of that coffin…and ride your Master.”
The coffin is ice cold beneath my fingertips, but I grip the edge and start to move my hips. Cal’s cock fills me deeper than ever this way. He feels thicker, harder. And I’m so spent from everything, the flesh of my ass still red and pained. So, I don’t protest when he grips my hips and moves me up and down on his dick—lifting me up, then slamming me down, stealing my breath.
