The Art of Obsession (Savage Stalkers #1)

20. “Crawl to me.”

20

“Crawl to me.”

Chapter Playlist:

“Sweet But Psycho” – Ava Max

“Wrecking Ball” – Miley Cyrus

“Vore” – Sleep Token

“Pretty Little Psycho” – Porcelain Black

ACHERON

I’d expected her to resist when I commanded her to strip.

Part of me wanted her to since Dorian is undoubtedly still observing. Fucking VIP all-access pass.

When I fuck her privately, following the public exhibit, it will only be her with me in this place. After seeing her response to this room, I knew it was the perfect place. I won’t show her the full scope of its effects until we are alone, and she will be mine in every definition of the word.

I fill my hands with the luscious flesh of her breasts, softly caressing the mounds, thumbing the erect nipples. Everleigh hisses, throwing her head back against my shoulder. Her nails scrape my outer thighs, evidence of her desire. But she won’t have her release until she shares more about her coping mechanism. I need to know what I’m dealing with here.

But fuck if I don’t love how she responds. So genuine. So raw and authentic every damn time. Breaking down her mental walls may take time, but her body knows what it wants. What I love most is how she can be vulnerable without the burden of modesty. She blushes. She lowers her chin—not in shame but in an adorable coyness, especially when she fixes those war storm eyes on mine, refusing to back down.

The defiance continues in her silence, but I have much experience in getting a woman to talk. Still kneading one breast, I lower my other hand between her legs, torment her clit, and bite her neck.

“Oh, bloody god, please!” she begs, writhing in my lap, tormenting my cock just as much.

I lightly slap her sex and touch my lips to her ear. “You will have your release, Little Quill, after you tell me what I want to know.”

“Don’t. Don’t please…I-I need her.” She gasps, clenches, and buries her flushed face in my neck.

Goddamn. She rocks me to my core like a deep strike of thunder. Like the first time I picked up a paintbrush. No, the first time I created art…with mud on a rockface.

“Need who?”

When she doesn’t respond with anything but ragged breaths, I make a command decision. Releasing my hold on her intimate parts, I grip her hips, lifting her and straddling her legs until she is pressed to me. Tears stream down her burning cheeks, and her wet heat embraces me even beyond the water.

Before she can lower her chin, I capture one side of her face and maintain a strong hold on the base of her spine. She’s so damn tense, more afraid than ever. More than when I cornered her for the first time in that cabin.

“I swear to you, Everleigh Lennox,—” I assure her—“if you tell me the truth, you will not be punished. And I will not laugh at your expense. You are facing the man who wears a mask and maintains his anonymity with a mythical name. And the depths of the darkness in my soul could shame the devil himself. Now, confess… who do you need?”

Blinking back tears but lowering her shoulders, my beautiful girl parts her sweet lips and says, “It’s this…voice in my head. She kind of manifested a few years ago when I was going through…a really hard time.” I don’t probe her vagueness…for now. “She helps me cope when I’m triggered .”

I stroke tender circles along her back, easing her discomfort, appreciating when she softens. “Are you a DID systems?” I refer to Dissociative Identity Disorder. Something I am not unfamiliar with, but it would create a much more delicate dynamic between us. Nothing to be fixed but something learned, something shared.

She shakes her head. “No. It’s just her. She’s like this figment of my imagination. Almost like a…Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde type thing. Or an actor talking to a character. You have a stage persona. And I have—her.”

“Mmm…” I lower my lips, brushing them along her brow. “And what is her name?”

She looks up with glassy eyes. “Promise you won’t laugh?”

“Solemn as the grave.”

After chewing on her inner cheek, she heaves a sigh. “Cherry Bomb. I call her Cherry.”

Her allure just elevated. “And what does she look like to you?” I strengthen my hold on her, bringing her closer—close enough, my dick parts her folds through my wet boxers. A necessary barrier or I’d bring her down hard on me now.

“She’s a curvy, little pixie with pink hair, black horns, and red wings.”

“Do you only see her in your mind?”

“No.” She shakes her head. “Sometimes, she’s too strong to block out. But I can’t—” her voice cracks—“my psychiatrist tried a medication on me.” I stiffen, muscles tensing with even the thought of my sweet antiquarian, who is without flaw, requiring drugs. For some, it is necessary. Not. For. Her. “It wasn’t bad. But it wasn’t…”

“It wasn’t you.”

Squeezing her shoulders, Everleigh nods and locks eyes with me, gaze never straying from my pupils. All believe the blood specks tinted there are from contact lenses, but I could never forge such a signature of art. I must feel it like I do my scars, weeping from my flesh and blood. Yet I’ve never felt the passion of art more deeply than when I’m with Everleigh, touching her, seducing her, being with her.

“For research purposes naturally, what is this Cherry like?”

Everleigh blushes more, cheeks practically burning, leaving little doubt as to my answer.

Smirking, I lift one hand to cup her cheek and assure her, “I’ve already seen your Kindle history, Little Quill. Nothing you say

will surprise me.”

“And what about me?”

Fuck, she doesn’t miss a beat, does she? I read between the lines and the pinched expression of discontent.

She crosses her arms over her chest. “You get to know everything. And I get nothing . Not even your name.”

Christ, this girl! So goddamn fucking perfect. I comb my fingers through her damp waves in approval. She’s curious . She wants to know more.. On some level, she understands this for life.

“You will have more in time.”

She blinks, her gaze turning blank as her lips tighten. I recognize the dissociation. Heat consumes me as I observe her expressions as she holds a private conversation. Features so genuine, they waver between disbelief in the rolling of her eyes to wrinkling her pert nose.

When her eyes focus on me again, I rub my thumb along her lower lip and urge her, “Talk to me, Everleigh Lennox. I want to know every word shared between you.”

The moment she buries her face in her hands, I grip her wrists, shake my head, and click my tongue. “Must I turn you over my knee and spank your pretty bottom once again? But this time, I’ll hold your face in the water.”

The blood drains from her face, and my historian takes a deep breath and conveys, “She said ‘Patience, darling. You don’t rush a man like Acheron. He’s not a puzzle you solve, love. Slow-burn notwithstanding, he’s a dark, smutty novel you get to read one delicious, panty-wetting chapter at a time.’ I told her, at this rate, I’d be a pile of ashes before I even know your favorite color. There. You happy now?”

“Exceedingly.”

I meet her gaze head-on. No smirk this time. Her honesty is worthy of my full attention and respect,. Tastes like a fucking drug. While I wear a mask with my dark persona sealed to every part of my essence, Everleigh keeps hers buried. Not out of shame or guilt. She is quite attached to this Cherry figment. I simply want the angel and her little devil, including the occasional times they fuse.

I kiss her again, then touch my fingertips to her eyes. “I love these eyes. All the shades of gray they have to give me. They are deep gray when you find a piece of history you love and a storm when you challenge me. They are soft mist gray when you melt beneath my touch,” I finalize, opening her mouth beneath mine again. “What does she have to say now?” I ask a breath above her lips.

She clenches her eyes again but shrugs her shoulders. “She said ‘he’s the Sistine Chapel of men. He’s memorizing you for eternity, piece by piece.’ She’s worshiping you,” she adds, rolling her eyes. “I’m just looking for the gift shop.”

Now, I can’t help but chuckle darkly while tugging her closer. “Why settle for cheap imitations, Little Quill? I am every dark desire you could imagine.”

“Wow. Full of yourself much.”

“ You will be full of myself soon enough.” She swallows hard, her narrowed stormy eyes nearly leveling me. “For now, I wish you to show me more how Cherry worships me.”

She blinks. “You can’t be serious.”

One finger to her chin. One upward tilt. “Deadly serious.”

I’m a goddamn bastard for this, but I have no qualms about fighting dirty. I permit her to fight dirty if she wishes, however I will punish her in the aftermath.

“Convince me this isn’t an unhealthy relationship and she reflects your inner dark desires to submit to my grand mastery over you. And I will let you keep her,” I conclude, cocking my head in challenge.

“How am I?—”

“Kneel.”

“The fuck?”

I settle her on the bench next to me, rise from the pool, and depart from the water until I’m standing above her, dominating her with every iota of my energy. With careful regard, I lower my hand toward her, palm open, inviting but commanding her to obey. Her fingers tremble as she slides them along my hand.

I seize her in one heartbeat. A desperate gasp leaves her throat. With her body pressed to mine, I need all my control to keep from rutting her against the nearest wall.

So, I harden my jaw and say again, “Kneel.”

With the wide eyes of prey, my Little Quill shakes her head in a weak defiance.

Two roads diverged. I could earn her obedience. Drive her against the nearby marble pillar, drive her wild and out of her mind until she’s begging for release on her knees. But I need to take back my control, my reign over her.

She must understand who rules her, who rules everything. I’m not primarily here as her comfort. And she is not permitted to become too comfortable with me. A certain level of anger-laced fear is necessary to maintain this power exchange where I hold all the power over her.

“Kneel now, Everleigh,” I say through gritted teeth. “If I must bruise your knees and rattle your bones to get you there, rest assured, I will.”

She pinches those eyes, nostrils flared with fury. Slowly, she drags it out until she is on her knees before me, never breaking from my gaze, ever looking up like the little queen she is.

Cupping her chin, I nod my approval. “Good girl. Now…” I release her chin, take three steps back, then crook one demanding finger. “Crawl to me.”

“Wherever did you find her?” Dorian practically gushes, holding his bulging arms. “She’s a goddamn wet dream. The ultimate wet dream.”

The tension in me has stretched to the near-snapping point, and a possessive growl rises in me.

After Everleigh shed her pride and gifted me her vulnerability on a silver platter by crawling to me, I rewarded her accordingly. And my cock is still reeling from heat and hunger.

Tomorrow night is a lifetime away. Constant agony until I fuck her in every way a man can a woman—and treat her like my ultimate prey and prize.

Dorian jerks his chin to me, smiling wryly. “I don’t suppose my VIP pass comes with an introduction.”

“No,” I say through gritted teeth. “All her words, her skin, her flesh…they all belong to me alone.”

Soon, her heart and soul will, too.

“I’ll say this, Acheron, you sure know how to put on a show in every meaning of the word.” He trains his eyes on my antiquarian as she sleeps in the bed following my sedative injection. She requires as much rest as possible before our long night tomorrow.

It’s a show to him. A show to all of them. But it runs deeper, bleeds deeper for me. Because she’s carved herself inside of me for eternity.

Tomorrow, I will return the favor.