Page 31 of The Art of Obsession
Chapter Playlist:
“Paradise Circus” – Massive Attack
ACHERON
Her ‘please’undoes me.
After one more blink, I withdraw the key from my vest pocket, tug down her pajama pants, and fit the key into the lock. With one click, it detaches. Everleigh tenses, all her muscles bracing like she’s about to escape, kicking her legs the whole time.
Before she has the opportunity, I tighten my hold on her back, preventing her from moving. The sound leaving her mouth is halfway between a groan and a whimper.
“Shhh…” I calm her, cutting through her panic while sliding my gloved hand down to her pretty, plump bottom. Fuck, I love how she whimpers and buries her head in my chest as I part her cheeks and lower my fingers to her anus. “Deep breaths, Little Quill. Relax your muscles.”
After a few threadbare breaths, Everleigh sighs, drops her shoulders, and softens.
“Good girl,” I commend her, knowing how much she responds to the praise. She moans in confirmation. Slowly, I remove the plug. Her eyes flash to mine, tear-streaked, filled with horror and awe. No doubt feeling the burn as I eased it out of the ring—such a tight ring I look forward to fucking soon.
I rub the mouth of the mask along her brow, lower my other hand to her pretty pussy, and plunge two gloved fingers inside. They enter with ease. She hisses, and I smirk, rumbling a low sound of approval. So slick. So wet. So fucking?—
—“Soaked,” I murmur in her ear, drawing my nose along her cheekbone, smearing her tears as if blending transparent watercolors on a canvas. “Someone has been waiting for Master all day, hasn’t she?”
“Mmm.” She clenches, squeezing those needy inner muscles.
Smirk growing to a grin, I curl my fingers and revel in the little shriek she gives, how she grips my arms harder.
“Acheron!” she gasps and buries her head in my chest again, but she can never hide those blushing cheeks. God, I cannot wait until that melodic voice says my true name. My cock bulges, aching with the need to be inside her…her hot center clenching around my fingers.
She tries to jerk, but I’ve anchored my other hand at the base of her spine, keeping her here. No punishment tonight. After the day she’s had, after what she did—for me—, she deserves the reward. So, I twist my fingers in deeper, curve them, and rub my thumb upon her slippery clit.
Everleigh convulses. Fuck, I love how her whole body arches, those hips canting to my touch as she cries her pleasure into my shirt, painting the fabric with her watercolor tears. I withdraw my fingers and taste her fluids as I listen to the fallout of herbreaths, those little cries. She doesn’t lift her head, but her body is hot against mine. Not merely from her vulnerability.
I stiffen at the sight of the empty liquor bottles, the scattered popcorn, and the dirty dishes in the sink. But the second she rubs her face against my shirt again, all is forgiven. There are worse coping mechanisms for what I put her through. And she still had the mental faculties to lie to the police on my behalf.
And the emotional faculties, I smile to myself.
Thank fuck! She doesn’t protest when I sweep her into a honeymoon hold and carry her to the bathroom. Just those little sounds I love. If they were colors, they could fill a whole gallery.
“Can you stand?” I ask once I have her in the bathroom.
She doesn’t lift her head, but she breathes a deep sigh, yawns, and mutters, “I don’t know.”
“Bath it is, then.”
“What?” she squeaks.
Without letting her go, I turn the hot water knob, balance it with the cold, and squeeze some of her bubble bath into the spray. Soon, she will leave behind this lesser lifestyle. And while mine will be an adjustment, the ultimate rewards will be far greater than she can imagine.
Lowering her to the floor but maintaining a vigilant hand to hold her upright, I slowly peel her camisole up.
“Wait, no, I—” she puts up a weak protest, and I have the thin shirt off before she can go on. Utterly naked before me. What a surface! What a framework of fantasy with her graceful contours and flawless alabaster skin with no freckles or blemish. Exquisite breasts, worthy of a classic sculptor, a master who would spend years perfecting them. Firm nipples, pink and dainty as the center of a rose. All the more accentuated by the thick but wispy dark hair falling in luscious waves down the sides of her body.
Exposed beneath the fluorescent lighting, she colors more, but it’s the first time those gray eyes have narrowed. Still so much spirit, but it’s clouded behind the unfocused haze of inebriation.
When I step forward, she staggers, caught off guard. I’m still holding her, but she seems to lose her nerve, lifting her arms to cover her chest.
I grip her wrists with my other hand and shake my head firmly. “If I want you naked, Everleigh Lennox, you will be naked for me.”
The spirit returns. She balls her hands into pretty fists and sticks her pert nose up at me, those pouty lips pressing into a frown. Heat drives a hard target straight to my cock, bulging the muscle to the painful point against my pants. But I don’t flinch. I deadpan to ensure she knows who is in control.
