The Art of Obsession (Savage Stalkers #1)

33. You know blood is his secret sauce

33

You know blood is his secret sauce

Chapter Playlist:

“Human” – Christina Perri

“Control” – Puddle of Mudd

“Pain” – Three Days Grace

“Beauty from Pain” – Superchick

EVERLEIGH

He’s laughing at me! How dare he fucking laugh at me?

You’ve got to admit, it’s pretty impressive. Most guys won’t even commit to a dinner reservation, and here he is, staking a claim to your uterus. That’s some next-level, villain-breeding kink right there!

This time, I’m not having it. I lunge for Cherry in my mind. She flaps her wings, lifting into the air to avoid me. Giggling the whole time, she taunts me by getting an inch within my reach only to flutter away.

Get back here, you exasperating, little imp! I swear, I’m going to tear out your pink hair and turn it into a purse and I’ll rip your wings off and use them as a fan!

Oh, you’re so cute when you’re angry. But you’ll have to try harder than that, sugar. Besides, you have other things to worry about. Like your IMPLANTED future.

I scream as shrill and loud as I can.

The sound of Cal’s laughter distracts me from the noise in my head and the slutty, psycho sprite of a coping mechanism. This time, I don’t want to cope. I want to fucking rage. I want to pick up that shaker rocking chair and hurl it right at the goddamn God of Art.

So, I do. Well, I grab the vintage slippers next to the bed and chuck them at him. They bounce harmlessly off his chest.

He looks down, then back at me, and his lips press into a feral grin. Just as he crouches, I lunge for the inkwell on the writing desk and feel the rushing heat of his body at my back. Before he can grab me, I spin around and splash the inky contents at his face.

When he pulls his lips back and shows his teeth, I know I’m in trouble.

Ooooh, this is getting spicy! But I think he’s enjoying it too much, Evie. That guy’s kinks are off the charts.

A strong cramp sends a deep ache through me, radiating pain in my lower belly. I double over. I haven’t dealt with cramps in four years, and it feels sharper and stronger than ever.

In the time it takes for those muscles to tighten, Cal is upon me, throwing me over his back, then carrying me to the bed. Wait, no! He should take me to the bath, to the shower.

“No!” I thrash and fight as he dumps me on the bed, mounts me, and hovers over me. Ink drips from his face and onto my cheek. “Get me out of here right now, and take me to the bath!”

“Whatever for?” That feral smile deepens, and the glint in his eyes grows…hungry. Oh shi?—

Oooh, this is so exciting! She dances in the air, still staying out of my reach. Talk about a BLOOD-red flag! Make that a banner. It’s totally a banner.

“You look so delectable, Little Quill.” He touches his fingertips to my thighs, dipping them in my period fluids.

Ooh, look, Evie. He’s definitely got blood on his hands.

I’m going to boil the blood in your stupid veins! I threaten with clenched teeth.

I kick him hard in the chest. He groans, and I use the split second to scramble off the bed and head for the adjoining bathroom. All it has is the faucet, but it’s better than nothing. I should have known he’d get his arms around me in mid-lunge.

“Nooooooo!” I squeal, but he locks a set of leather cuffs around my wrists and ankles and spread-eagles me on the bed.

“Fight all you want. Hate me all you want. But I’m getting in your blood tonight, Everleigh Lennox,” he purrs darkly, smiling sinisterly. “All the way in.”

Do you think he’ll roll out the RED carpet for you?

Horror rips through me, and I widen my eyes. “Cal, don’t you fucking dare!”

Girrrl, why you be surprised? You know blood is his secret sauce.

“Ugh, please, nonono—oh, god!” I cry out, trying to buck as he trails a finger along my labia, smirking up at me.

“Did you know you can fertilize your plants with fresh menstrual blood?” he croons, peeling apart my pubic lips.

“That’s just fucking sick! And disturbed!” I moan as another cramp tightens inside me.

“Such divine feminine fluid should not be wasted. Tsk, tsk, tsk. I expected better from you, Everleigh,” he says darkly before blowing warm breath upon my folds before he kisses them.

When he traces his tongue along his lips, coated with my blood, I turn away, cringing.

“Tell me, Little Quill,”—he slides a finger in deeper, rimming my opening—“what about this is so disturbing?”

I clench my eyes and shake my head until he sharply pinches my clit.

“Ow!”

“Look at me,” he growls.

My cheeks turn beet red as I muster the courage to stare down at him.

One finger penetrates me, sliding to the knuckle and swirling in my wetness because I am wet…not just from my period.

“Who told you this is sick?” He places another kiss on my pussy and adds another finger. “Tell me now.”

Tears sting my eyes as I summon the willpower to share something long since buried. “Um…m-my grandmother. I was staying at her house when I—when it came the first time.”

My breath hitches as Cal removes his fingers and—oh, god…draws a circle around my navel.

“One moment.” He lifts a bloody finger, and with a crafty smile, the God of Art reaches into the end table’s drawer next to my bed, pulling out a thin paintbrush.

“Wh-what are you—oh, you can’t be serious!”

“Bloody serious,” he chuckles darkly before dipping the brush end in my pussy. “Continue, Everleigh.”

Honestly, Evie, it’s kind of romantic. There she is, out of the corner of my eye now, her wings fluttering as she leans down to kiss my cheek. I swear I feel it from her illusion. I mean, nothing says ‘I’m into you’ like finger-painting with your uterine lining. He’s a genius!

He’s a lunatic!

Tomato, tomahto.

I gasp as he strokes delicate and intricate patterns out from my navel, the wet, feathery end tickling my skin.

“M-m—” I rasp, then clear my throat, strengthening my voice, grateful when he lets me close my eyes. “Mine was early, and my mother never told me anything. They are from a different generation and didn’t really talk about it. But my grandmother was worse. She—” I gasp as the brush circles my areola and dabs at my nipple. But I still don’t open my eyes. I can’t deny how this is arousing me, balancing the throbbing aches.

“Go on.”

“It’s really hard to focus when you’re turning me into the artistic form of Carrie here!”

Good one, Evie! I’m so proud.

“She said it was Eve’s “curse”. Impure. Unclean,” I gasp. “She dragged me to her church, and the pastor and his wife told me the same.”

The paintbrush flicks my clit, and I whimper at the featherlight touch. It feels odd when he dips it inside my pussy and wiggles it around, coating the brush again.

Tears find my cheeks as I recall the degrading memories. But I lean into the sensation of Cal painting me, tracing the brush in sweeping lines that seem to swirl and follow the curves and contours of my body.

“They to-told me how my body could give birth now, and I had to be very careful not to invite any “attention” to myself. Oh, fuck!” I squeal when he swipes my clit back and forth with the brush.

You should see yourself! Like the Mona Lisa of menstruation.

I huff because she can’t see me if I can’t see me. It’s just my stupid subconscious trying to glorify this catastrophe.

Two fingers and the brush ease inside me with surprising tenderness. Next, he starts on my legs, letting me pause for a few moments.

My core tightens, and I breathe through another cramp. Cal paints me with speed and precision. All I know is it’s not random patterns. But I don’t dare open my eyes yet. Not when I’m feeling every drop of shame from this one fucked up part of my childhood.

“What else?” he asks, dots the paintbrush again with my blood, then swirls it around my toes.

“What do you mean? Wasn’t that enough?” I gasp.

“No.”