Page 81 of The Art of Obsession
“What do you mean? Wasn’t that enough?” I gasp.
“No.”
34
“Touch yourself. Touch my creation, Everleigh Lennox.”
Chapter Playlist:
“Love the Way You Lie” – Rihanna and Eminem
“Leave a Light On” – Papa Roach
“Scars” – Papa Roach
“Bleeding Love” – Leona Lewis
EVERLEIGH
There’sa deadly edge to his voice. He knows it wasn’t the one incident. Too many girls share similar stories but don’t have my response. Cal circles my clit again with the tip of the brush, taking me closer until I feel my inner muscles flutter. Then, he pinches the slick bud, and I sob from the burst of pain and the denial of pleasure.
“There’s more. Do not hide from me.” The brush dips inside me again, wiggling, tormenting. More fluids trickle out of me, and I know there must be a red stain on the blankets between my thighs.
When I bite my lower lip in hesitation, Cal pulls the brush out. A sharp pain bursts against my clit, and I shriek fromthe punishment. Oh, god…he’s using the brush’s hard end to slap the hypersensitive bundle of nerves. The brush makes a whistling sound right before he brings it down again—punishing as sharp and precise as he paints and pleasures.
Another hard thwack, and I keen, arching my back as much as possible. With every targeted strike, my clit feels like it’s on fire until I writhe with the cuffs, begging for him to stop.
“More!” Cal commands and spanks the engorged nub.
“Stopstopstop! I’ll tell you!” I wail through desperate, hot tears. “Oh, fuck!” I cry from the sudden caress of the brush. My insides tighten. I’m so close…
The brush retreats. Cold air curls along my pussy. I still don’t open my eyes as Cal moves back to my feet. No, my toes. He dabs each one, then drags the brush in a simple upward sweep. Is he?—
I think he is!Cherry squeals, dancing and fluttering at the same time.
“Are you?—”
“Yes,” he replies with a knowing smile in his voice.
Mortified is too tame a word for what I feel. “You’re painting my toenails…with my period blood.”
When I try to wiggle them, he smacks my clit harder than ever. “If you smear my artwork, Everleigh, I’ll paint the pretty ring of your ass like a rosebud—then shove the goddamn brush so far up your anus, it will paint your intestines a deeper shade of red.”
I gulp. And freeze.
Well, that’s one way to get a custom pedicure,Cherry croons, tapping my nose.Do you think he’ll add glitter?
“Continue, Little Quill.”
Sucking in a deep breath, I confess, “My first baptism.”
“I see where this is going. Did you leak in front of the church, sweet girl?” More simple brush strokes on my toes. He lowers his head and blows on each.
“I wish it had been that simple.” My stomach knots, and the memory rushes back like a flood, the flood coming from my vagina. “Worse,” I mutter. “It was in front of my junior high. And I didn’t get a chance to rush out.”
My lower lip trembles, and I swear I see nothing but rippling red ribbons beneath my eyelids. “The water turned pink. And my face turned red. One of the counselors took me to the bathroom, and…” I pause, the weight of the memory making my chest ache. “I never went back.”
Cal hums, and though I don’t dare meet his gaze, I can feel the heat of it on me. “A baptism of blood,” he murmurs, his tone reverent and darkly amused. “Poetic, in a way.”
