Page 65 of The Art of Obsession
Fuck, this girl! She didn’t ask if she could go home again. She’s placing her future in my hands. Acknowledging my control and power over her fate.
“Yes. If you are a good girl and don’t cause too much trouble.” I touch the bridge of her nose and trace my finger down the sensual curve, finishing with a light pinch. “Ten.”
“What specifically are you planning to do to me…what other types of art will you do? Will it be more carving, wax play, something else?” She lifts a finger to my face. “That’s a sub-question, branching off from the main to avoid a run-on sentence.”
I chuckle and nip the tip of her finger. “Clever girl. With you, the options are endless. I may carve you again. But this must heal first…” I indicate to the heart on her chest. “It will fade from red and form a puckered silver…much like your mystical eyes.” I cup her face, thumbs lingering below her delicate, dark eyelashes. “As to your sub-question: needleplay is a guarantee. Piercing. Rope play as I’m an accomplished rigger, anal training, chocolate, erotic massage, clamps, all manner of toys, sensualplay with sight deprivation, feathers, ribbons, and suspension. Nine.”
Glad to see I can still surprise her given how much she’s blushing and how hard she swallows.
“Anything not on the list?”
I lower my brows, then take her hair and run the washcloth through it. “No golden showers. I prefer blood for unordinary bodily fluids. No shitting. Nosharing. Eight.”
“Where did they make you, God of Art? Some pit of hell?”
I laugh, then shake my head. “Hell would have been a bed of roses compared to where I grew up. Seven.”
She flares her nostrils angrily. “What? You have such an oh-so-sad background, and you’re just a misunderstood, morally gray man with mommy issues, so I’m supposed to swoon and stroke your ego?”
I roll my eyes with a casual smirk, though my chest tightens. “Hardly, Little Quill. I’ve built my ego brick by brick, brush by brush until it could shame one of your Seven Wonders of the Ancient World. I am not a misunderstood or morally gray man who will gaslight you into believing I’m some victim. I do not need your love or pity. All I require is your authenticity. Six.”
“And my obedience?” she grumbles.
“On the contrary, if your rebellion, rage, fear, or other is your truth, I fully expect you to respond however your heart leads you. And I will respond accordingly. It’s why I came when you stabbed me. Every emotion you give me is mine to cherish. Everything is a gift. Pain just happens to get me off more as well as the fire in your eyes and your goddamn goddess cunt. Five.”
“Newton’s Third Law of Motion then?”
I nod slowly, not disguising my feral grin. “And survival of the fittest.Iwill survive.” I stab a finger at her. “Youwill break. And once I resurrect you through my art, you will live only for me. Four.”
“I think you missed your calling for poetry. You could call your first book ‘The Art of Manipulation and Pain: A Self-Help Guide.’ Five stars on Goodreads already.” My blood heats, my skin tingles with her cheeky quips. She’s playing with me. “Or maybe ‘How to Break and Resurrect Your Girlfriend in Ten Easy Steps.’ Sounds like a real page-turner.”
I tilt my head, grinning down at her, my cock hardening.
She gives me a quizzical look. “What?”
“Did you just call yourself mygirlfriend?”
Sudden recognition in her eyes. White shock followed by burning cheeks.
“No.”
“Lying has consequences, Little Quill.”
“It was just an expression.”
“Regarding titles, I prefer lover and muse for now.”
She sighs, and I decide not to tease her more. Her fingers glide slowly along my pecs. I stiffen at the intimate touch, jaw steeling at how she traces my carved flesh and the tattoos.
“You went somewhere,” she murmurs, her voice tender,. Her concerned eyes follow her fingers, lingering on the blood drops and the labyrinth of scars. “When you were carving my skin, something happened. You were trembling. You had this expression that was like hurt and violence mixed together and then agony. Like you were in some dark place.” Her glassy gray eyes lift to mine as she touches her palm to my chest, then a light brushing of my shoulder wound. “What were you thinking about? What were you remembering, Cal?”
I drop the washcloth. I grind my jaw, wishing she hadn’t asked such a question, wishing she hadn’t seen my torment. I swipe a hand down my face, but I owe her. After everything, I owe her and I gave her twenty questions.
But I need something first. Need a level of control I can manage when I reveal the answer.
“What are you doing?” she asks after I’ve swept her into my arms. “That didn’t count,” she follows with a frown.
“I will tell you, Little Quill. But I will tend to our wounds first.” After this, I need her beauty, her bondage to keep me grounded.
