Page 98 of The Art of Obsession
I can’t deny the way I see him. His dark eyes have melted to a warm ink. Even the crimson glints seem heated like rubies caught in a flame. As he begins to plow into me from below, his thrusts rough and vicious, slamming into me, I meet him as much as I can, grinding my slippery clit against his length.
Once he lifts his hands to my breasts and softly thumbs my sore nipples, it sends me over the edge. Like a fix, a high I can’t control, I come hard, my addiction striking its drugging pleasure through my body. “Ahh! I’m coming!” I throw my head back.
Cal groans and spears me deep, ramming me and coming himself. Waves of pleasure soak me at the same time that he releases his cum, filling me. I can’t help but remember how I’mlikely ovulating as he carries me out of the crypt and back to the bathroom before tucking me into the bed in the exhibit.
I don’t panic like I did on the balcony. I want to deny how our time in the crypt helped me, but it would be a lie. The exhibit walls still feel tight in my chest, but I can breathe. I soften against Cal as he closes his arms around my naked body, brings my sore ass against his pelvis, and hums a low, unfamiliar tune in my ear until I fall asleep.
42
“Dance for me, Little Quill…” I command her
Chapter Playlist:
“Far From Home” – Five Finger Death Punch
CALLUM
ONE MONTH LATER
Tonight will bethe most spectacular performance of all.
So spectacular, I may never host another.
I will never prepare her.
My boots echo faintly on the polished stone floor as I make my way to Everleigh’s workspace, a tray balanced in my hands with two cups of coffee and a plate of fresh croissants, bacon, eggs, and fruit.
I spot her before she notices me. She’s seated at her writing desk, the faint glow of a desk lamp illuminating her hair like a halo. She’s bent over a stack of documents, her quill brushing absently against her lower lip as she concentrates.
She’s reading a collection of old letters, their ink faded and handwriting slanted, telling the story of a forgotten love affair between two historical figures. A special collection I procuredfor her. Over the past few weeks, I’ve been more determined to please her, keeping her busy with various projects.
Ever since the incident in the crypt, she’s been on her best behavior. I’ll never forget how she responded to the first time I let her feel the sun on her face. I wouldn’t allow her outside, but I did bring her to the solarium and then, the greenhouse. One of my favorite sights is the sunlight filtering through the glass and turning her dark hair into a cascade of glossy midnight while casting a silvery glow on her skin. And how she touched the flowers, rare orchids, becoming one with the beauty of her surroundings.
While I spent the next hour sketching her, I need no paint or brushes to create art in Everleigh. Sheisthe art, and I am her only creator.
Turning my attention to her, I can’t resist. Setting the tray down quietly, I step behind her, combing my fingers through her hair. She startles, then softens beautifully.
“Cal,” she breathes, her voice a mix of annoyance and relief. “You scared me.”
“I couldn’t help myself,” I murmur against her ear, pressing a kiss to her temple. “You looked too focused. Thought I’d remind you to eat…before I have my own historian-shaped meal.”
She tilts her head slightly, letting me nuzzle into her neck. “You’re impossible,” she mutters, but there’s a smile in her voice. Fucking love when that happens. Fucking love when she is happy…or at the least, content, receptive.
I glance down at the desk. “I’m pleased you enjoy the letters.”
She sighs with a smile, turning to me. “Thank you, by the way, for the artifact you left me. It’s incredible.”
I stiffen. My arms tighten around her, and I pull back just enough to look into her eyes. “Wh+at artifact?”
Her brow furrows. “The brooch.” She gestures to the item on the upper edge of the desk. A gold brooch encrusted withdiamonds and emeralds. “It was on my desk when I woke up earlier this morning. I thought you left it for me.”
My blood runs cold. The brooch isn’t mine. I haven’t acquired anything new in weeks, and nothing gets into this exhibit without my knowledge.
The security system is programmed to recognize myscars, to open only for me.
“What’s going on?” she asks.
Someone’s been here. Someone managed to bypass my security, to leave something for her. My mind races with rage and fear.
