Page 102 of The Art of Obsession
My throat dries. Tears form in my eyes as I gaze at the crimson glint in his eyes, knowing he’s about to fuck me again. My bitterness and resistance disappear. No matter how much I resent him, I can’t…can’t fight him. His power crushes me, his energy sizzles my blood.
In a moment, I’m in his arms with his steel cock buried inside me, impaled on his shaft. My breasts bounce against his chest, the pierced nipples rubbing his skin. I moan from the action. Gooseflesh sprouts all over my skin.
The silhouetted figures in the background dissolve. It’s only me and…Acheron. It’s wishful thinking to believe he’s Cal in these moments. But he only unveils himself when we are alone. Whenever he wears the mask, he’s Acheron. It’s a shield. He’s a stranger to everyone else but not me. He lets me see him in ways no one else has.
He’s let you take off his mask, Evie.Cherry softly kisses my cheek on my side.That’s practically a marriage proposal and you know it. Girl, you’ve won.
And yet, I wonder how much he hides, how much of him he keeps locked away, even from me.
His eyes—those deep, black eyes—hold a certain darkness. It’s like he’s torn when between Cal and Acheron, bound to his dark hunger, his desires, and his control. And I can’t decide which part of him I’m drawn to more.
All I know is I’m the only one who knows the truth.
And it terrifies me, in the most intoxicating way.
The rope appears, a thick, coiled thing that unfurls like a serpent, twisting and curling Acheron’s hand moves through the air with a practiced grace, and the rope obeys, lifting him—lifting us—off the ground.
I lurch, gasping, my body already trembling from the slow, relentless rhythm he’s set inside me. We are flying, dancing in midair—and he’s still softly thrusting inside me. Sweet, fucking god!
The rope twirls around us, tightening, lifting us higher. It’s as if we’re weightless, floating, suspended in the air by his will alone. Like the laws of gravity bow to him. A fever engulfs my body. I forget who I am. I forget everything but the way he moves within me and how the rope twirls us in a perfect choreography.
His hands grip me, steadying me as the rope dances us through the air, wrapping us tighter, pulling us closer. I can feel every taut muscle. I can’t tell if I’m more afraid of the height or how he’s making me feel.
Liquid fire spills through my blood and kindles all my nerve endings. I clench all around him. Between the adrenaline, my mind whirling from the aerial dance, and the pinching sensation of the hooks, it’s unfathomable that I haven’t orgasmed yet.
I know why. He’s brainwashed me, conditioned me to respond to his commands. I realize it then. I can’t…can’t…can’t climax without his voice.
He doesn’t stop thrusting and fucking me even as we rise higher, even as the rope twirls us through the air like a marionette and her master. The rhythm deepens, intensifies.
His body presses into mine, rubbing against my breasts, the erect nipples. I’m unraveling. Every shift and glide is like a layer of color, each touch adding depth, texture, and meaning to the canvas of our bodies.
I grow wetter, dripping, gushing all over him.
Mid twirl, he lowers his head to mine and captures my lips in a burning kiss, tongue probing, exploring, fucking my mouth. I slowly die inside…and come alive at the same time.
Acheron fucks me harder, his cock tunneling harder, hips slamming as he hammers into me. The heat in my blood punishes me. Searing pressure builds in my pussy.
He pulls me closer, one strong hand at the base of my spine, his knuckles brushing the lower ribbons of the corset. God, I’m drowning in him, consumed by him. Watching his performance on a screen can’t compare to the nirvana of performing with him. No—beingwith him. Because this is not a show. I don’t know where I begin and he ends.
I am his truth. His art. The art of obsession.
I’m astounded by his strength when he weaves his right leg around my body, holding me to him by those muscles alone…while his hand at the base of my spine lowers to rub my swollen clit. He spears me harder as the music builds, and the aerial dance spins us faster and faster.
It’s a sickening thrill. Dark and disturbed.
As the crescendo strikes in a clash of cymbals, Acheron crushes his mouth to mine, fiercely swipes the swollen bud,and hilts deep into me, his whole body shuddering with his impending release. He growls, “Come for me, Everleigh.”
At the same time that he lowers us to the stage floor, I come, throwing my head back. The ribbons tug at my skin with the euphoria roaring through me. I convulse, erupting, exploding all around Acheron as he unleashes himself into me while bringing us back to earth…even as I’m soaring to heaven.
After a few moments of our heavy breaths coupling, feeding on each other, Acheron rubs his lips along my brow, then ejects himself before turning his attention to my body.
The hooks come out one by one, his hands steady, his movements reverent. When the last thread falls away, he lifts me into my arms.
The thundering applause of our audience fades into nothingness. They can watch—theywillwatch—but this moment belongs to us alone.
On the stage, beneath the chandeliers and the fractured light, he sets me before him, positions his cock, coated in my arousal, against my anus, and claims me again. I rake my nails against the stage floor. Tears fill my eyes as I see those dim, dark figures…until he flips me around, not content without seeing me shatter before him.
His lips cover my breast, pulling my pierced nipple into his mouth. He fucks my ass hard, causing my whole body to shift and thrust to his will. He rearranges my insides, increasing the pressure until my pussy muscles clench around nothing…until he stabs three fingers inside me, wondrously working my G-spot.
