Page 64 of The Art of Obsession
“Good.”
I set her down, almost expecting her to retreat, but she doesn’t. So fucking sweet with how she stays close, pressing her breasts against my lower chest. I lather the soap and begin washing her, taking no prisoners, keeping my movements gentle while avoiding the heart. The blood on my shoulder has slowed enough. I’ll wrap it soon.
“Why are you being so nice now?”
I smirk to one side. “Is that your first question?”
She purses her lips, considering at first but then nodding.
“I may be a sadist, Everleigh, but I will prioritize your welfare to the utmost degree. I plan to keep you forever. Nineteen.”
She hisses as I soap up her breasts, their tips sensitive. “Is your first name Callum?”
“No. Eighteen.”
She knits her brows into a frown. “Oh, come on.”
Smiling, I dip the cloth into her lovely navel. “Ask the correct questions, Little Quill. As a historian, you should be well-versed in the art of attention to detail.”
She rolls her eyes and huffs. “Last name?”
“Yes. Seventeen.”
“What’s your first name?”
“Raidyn. R-a-i-d-y-n. Sixteen.”
“Raidyn Callum…” she says softly, her eyes lowering like she’s pondering the name. Then, she flicks those perfect gray eyes up again. “I’ll still call you Cal.”
“Thank you.”
As I slide my hands along her back, rubbing the soap there, a whimper leaves her throat, but heat floods me at how she arches against me, and her eyes flare with silver flame. I could see her Cherry figment giving her a thumbs up while Everleigh stalks around in her mind, raving mad at herself for giving me a nickname.
“What are you going to do with me?”
I pause at the edge of her spine, knuckles poised on her plump, little bottom. “I will keep you here with me. You will bemyhistorian and have endless artifacts to explore and catalog. Fifteen.”
“Will thatthinghappen again?”
I narrow my eyes. “Clarify.”
“The men. The exhibit. You fucking me…before them?”
I tighten my grip on her. “Yes. Fourteen.”
“Why? Give me all the reasons.”
“Good girl,” I commend her for learning. “I am filled with a dark need, one I’ve never managed to satisfy….until you. You areat the epicenter. My masterpiece. And with the cancellation of my global tour, the God of Art still must make a living. Thirteen.”
“Cancellation?”
“Canceled for you. Twelve.”
“Ugh!” she groans at her slip and pinches the bridge of her nose. When her eyes lift to mine, they are glassy, bordering on tears. “W-will they?—”
“No,” I growl, drop the soap, and lift a hand to grip her jaw. “You are mine and mine alone. No one will fucking touch you but me. My art. Just as in a famous gallery, look but don’t touch. The art must be preserved. Eleven.”
She chews on her lower lip but nods, satisfied for now. “Will I ever get time out of the exhibit and see what else is here other than this bathroom? Like maybe the sun again?”
