51. For love is the ultimate obsession
51
For love is the ultimate obsession
Chapter Playlist:
“Awaken” – Breaking Benjamin
“A Twist in My Story” – Secondhand Serenade
“Take Me Back to Eden” – Sleep Token
“Close to Heaven” – Breaking Benjamin
“The End is Where We Begin” – Thousand Foot Krutch
“My Love Will Never Die” – Claire Wyndham
CAL
“How long have I been asleep?” I ask, lifting a weak hand toward my precious historian.
“Five weeks.”
Explains the muscle fatigue. The first thing I notice is
the sensation of the mask on my face. And then…oh, that naughty, little girl.
I deadpan with her, picking up on the slight tugging of the corner of her mouth and the sparkle in her silvery eyes. Crooking a finger, I summon her to me. She purses her lips, swallows hard, but ultimately obeys, approaching tentatively. I flick my eyes down to her fidgety hands. A proud heat rolls through me at her swollen belly, and I’m relieved to know she and our child are whole and unharmed.
Seizing her throat with every ounce of strength I have, I tilt my head. Her eyes widen, and she avoids my gaze, biting her lower lip until I bark, “Look at me.” It comes out more like a rasp. Regardless, it does the trick, and she snaps her eyes back to mine. “Everleigh Lennox. Did you lock a fucking cock cage on my manhood ?”
She winces. “Oh, you deserve it just for that word.” She giggles uncontrollably, and I can’t help but admire my little minx. “Besides, turnaround’s fair play, especially with what you’ve put me through the past five weeks.”
All the blood in my body surges south at how adorable she looks.
“Yes…” I lower my voice as best I can. “Please tell me the trial you’ve endured of two bullet holes and undoubtedly countless hours of surgery.”
She stabs a quivering finger at me. “Well, excuse you, Mr.-I-shot-myself-the-second-time,” she reminds me. “Like an attention-starved, sad, dramatic maniacal prick.”
Fuck. More blood. My stiffening cock begins to cause discomfort. “What did you say to me?”
“Oh, sorry.” She rolls her eyes. “Did I insult your ego, you boneheaded buffoon of a twat waffle?”
Now, the pain starts, causing my cock to retreat and turn flaccid like a poor hunchback.
Tightening my grip on her throat, I give Everleigh a little shake, lock my eyes on hers, and bare my teeth in a silent growl. “Unlock it now, Little Quill. Unlock it, take off your clothes, mount me, and sit on my cock, and I’ll consider not punishing you.”
She sticks out her tongue. “Bossy bastard.”
“Sassy shrew.”
“Noodlebrain baboon.”
“ EVERLEIGH !” My scream is too hoarse to be intimidating, but she scrambles into her pocket, takes out the key, and uncovers me. My cock is turning purple, but sweet relief comes as soon as she unlocks it. Her clothes go next. Fuck, I missed this. Her fair white skin like flawless marble. Her soft, high breasts tipped with those flushed, erect nipples. Like a fallen star from heaven, fallen right into my hands.
Most of all, the heart. The anatomical heart I carved into her skin. Silver as a crystalline frost.
Despite my worn muscles, I manage to grip her hips, carefully pulling her onto my lap, cringing at the pain in my side from her weight.
“Cal, this isn’t safe,” she protests, pressing her pretty hands to my chest. “You could tear your stitches.”
With an airy chuckle, I coil my hand around her neck, yank her down, and thrust my dick up, impaling her on my length. And groan. “Fucking heaven.” I tip my head back as she clenches all around me, tighter than ever, tight as the first time I took her. The gap of time proves its effect on her as well since she wiggles and tries to adjust to my girth inside her for the first time in weeks.
Finally, I take a moment to glance at our surroundings. I harden even more, growing thicker as I use all my muscles to fuck her from below.
“Cal…” she whispers, lowering herself more until her brow brushes mine. “Just…let me. Please?”
Her eyes melt. Her limbs soften. With one more squeeze of that perfect pussy, I can’t deny her. And I recognize the sense of giving her control, preventing any further injuries.
After five weeks of inactivity, it takes all my willpower not to go balls deep inside her. Especially with her riding me like she is. Slow and deep, she moves, sucking so strongly around me as she raises her hips, coming out to the tip before sinking down again—making me feel every goddamn inch.
To distract myself from coming right away from all her soaked heat around me and those pretty, plump breasts bouncing, I gaze at the exhibit. A disbelieving laugh escapes my nostrils.
“How long did this take?” I wonder, vaguely remembering—somewhere in my subconscious—the sounds of construction.
“Four weeks. Mmm, Cal, you feel bigger?—”
“Yes, Little Quill.”
“Because—”
“Too long without you. Too long without this.” I thrust slowly, unable to control myself. “The memory of your gorgeous figure covered in blood after you stabbed my nemesis to hell. How beautiful you look now…your belly filled with the life we created.” I touch her stomach. I’d wager she’s nearly three months along now. “The way you’re here…taking me now.”
She touches my shoulders, her fingers tender. “I’ve been here the whole time.”
“Why?”
I genuinely want to know. Need to know. Knowing Dorian removed the tracker, she could have run far away, could have been free of me—though I never would have stopped pursuing her.
“You’re still an asshole.” She lifts up, bringing herself down a little harder, and I groan deeper, controlling myself.
“That will never change, Little Quill.”
“Everything you did to me. It was sick and twisted and so wrong. But so right. I don’t know how you did it.” Her voice trembles, but it never falters as she combs her fingers through my hair.
“I don’t even know who I was before you,” she says, her eyes locked on mine, her hands digging into my scalp. I lift my hands and cup her perfect breasts, rubbing my thumbs along her immaculate nipples, savoring her hiss. “I was just…surviving. You made me feel things I didn’t know were possible. You tore me apart, Raidyn Callum, but you also put me back together. And yeah, maybe I’m just as messed up as you are, but isn’t that the point? Isn’t that what love is? Taking the broken pieces and making something beautiful out of the mess?”
I lift my chin, arch my neck, and capture one rosy nipple in my lips, circling my tongue around it—imagining how it will look and taste once she is full of nourishing milk.
Everleigh’s voice softens, her gaze dropping to the floor. “You gave me beauty, Cal. You gave me vengeance. You gave me… me. It was dark and bloody. But isn’t that what art is? You said it yourself—art is messy. It’s raw. It’s painful. But it’s also the most beautiful thing in the world.”
Fuck! When she says things like that. Hold on. Not yet. Not fucking yet!—I command myself despite how heavy my balls are.
She pauses and looks back up at me, her eyes shimmering with unshed tears. They gut me. They stab a fucking blade into my heart, into my soul. “And you… you’re the God of Art. You took me. You broke me. You bled me. You made me your masterpiece.”
My chest tightens, every word carving into my very alchemy.
“And now…” Her hand drifts to her stomach, almost unconsciously, and my breath catches. “Now you’ve given me something else. Something I never thought I’d have but always dreamed of.”
The world narrows to that small movement, her hand resting over the life we’ve created. My mind is a storm, chaotic and consuming, but her voice anchors me.
“I’m here because I want to be,” she says, her hands roaming from my hair to my neck. My dick jerks inside her. So fucking close.
Tears streak down her face as I lower my hands to her pelvis, then beyond until I work her wet clit.
“Oh, god, Cal!” she moans before gazing down at me with glassy tears. “Because you showed me who I am. And yeah, maybe I’m a little crazy, maybe I’m a little dark, but I’m yours. And I don’t care how messy or dark it gets, because I know you’ll always fight for me. You’ll always choose me. And create me…forever.” Her silver eyes blaze. “So if you need to lock me in your gilded cage, if you need to dress me up and make me your puppet, I’ll let you. Because I trust you. Acheron . I trust you with every part of me. But you have to trust me, too. You have to let me be your light, your sun, your moon, your stars. Because you’re not just my God of Art. You’re the universe holding me.”
Her voice cracks on the last word, and I can’t take it anymore.
I snap. Gripping her hips, I bring her down hard and deep, spearing myself inside her and spilling my cum in her.
Through heaving breaths, I don’t stop playing with her clit or thumbing her nipples until she comes, screaming her release around me.
Now, she’s collapsed against me, her soft body against mine as I hold her trembling form. A moment later, my hands find her face, cradling it like she’s the most precious thing in the world—because she is.
“You’ve always been above me. My angel summoning me from the depths of hell.”
She rolls her eyes. “Ugh, don’t say I’m your salvation. Or redeeming you.”
I chuckle. “Hardly. I cannot be redeemed. But your love is my haven in hell regardless. And when a devil finds his angel in the fires of hell, he won’t let her go. He’ll give her a throne…even if it burns her. You are my woman. My Goddess. My masterpiece.”
Her lips part, but I kiss her before she can say anything. A desperate and consuming kiss, a cataclysm of everything I feel for her. When I finally pull back, her wide-eyed gaze meets mine, and I press my forehead to hers. “You’re right,” I whisper. “Art is messy. And so are we. But I’ll never stop fighting for you. Never.”
I slide my hand to her stomach, resting it over hers. “This… this is everything. Not just my light. You’re everything. And I’ll spend the rest of my life proving it to you.”
Her tears finally spill over, and she nods, her hands clutching at my chest, her fingers brushing the scars of her blades and my willing bullet wound—as if letting go isn’t an option. And it isn’t. Not for us.
Not ever.
TWO MONTHS LATER
The soft glow of the exhibit lights casts her in a warm, golden hue, highlighting every exquisite curve of Everleigh’s body.
It took time to recover. More time to build up my strength again, swimming, weight-lifting, body-building and more. If I ever wanted to go on tour again and maintain control of my empire, I needed to get back in shape again.
And I’ve never been prouder of my scars, the ones she gave me and the one I gave myself…for her.
My chest tightens. She lies naked in the bed, her skin luminous against the white sheets, her belly softly rounded with our child. I can’t stop staring at her, can’t stop marveling at how she’s changed, how she’s still her but somehow more—more beautiful, more powerful, more mine.
My brush glides over the canvas, red paint thick and viscous on the bristles. The color is rich, almost alive, and I know its source. It’s not just paint; it’s her. A part of her, just as she’s a part of me. I’ve been using it sparingly, savoring every stroke, every drop, because this is more than a painting. It’s a tribute. A vow.
Like the time I left my first sketch upon her bed, swearing to her my obsession, to make her my masterpiece.
Her body stirs, a subtle shift beneath the sheets. My eyes flick to her hand as it instinctively cradles her belly, protective and tender. The sight does something to me—something primal and raw. She’s everything I’ve ever wanted and needed.
She blinks awake, her lashes fluttering like the softest wings, and her gaze finds mine. At first, she just watches me with that quiet, knowing look like prey caught in her predator’s gaze. Then her eyes flick to the jar of paint on the table beside me.
Red. Thick. Familiar.
Her lips curve into a small, amused smile, and she shakes her head. “You’re using my blood, aren’t you?” she murmurs, her voice soft and slightly raspy from sleep.
I smirk but say nothing, keeping the canvas turned away from her. She rises slowly, the sheets slipping from her body to pool around her waist. She doesn’t bother covering herself, and I don’t bother pretending I’m not staring.
Every step she takes toward me is unhurried, and I let my eyes trace her, committing every detail to memory. The curve of her hips, the swell of her belly, the softness of her breasts grown fuller. She stops in front of me, her gaze shifting to the canvas.
“Can I see it?” she asks, voice full of quiet curiosity.
I hesitate for a moment before turning the canvas around. Her eyes widen slightly as she takes it in, her lips parting.
“It’s…” She trails off, her fingers brushing the edge of the canvas as if she’s afraid to touch it. “It’s beautiful.”
I step closer, cupping her face in my hands and tilting her head up to meet my gaze. “This time,” I say, my voice low and firm, “don’t throw it away.”
She smiles, a tear slipping down her cheek. “I won’t,” she whispers. I read unspoken words in her soft eyes. It’s not just a painting. It’s us. It’s every broken, beautiful piece of us.
I kiss her, pouring everything I feel into it—my love, my mastery, my obsession. When I pull back, she’s still looking at me, her hand resting over her belly.
“You’ve made me a masterpiece, Cal, my Acheron,” she says, her voice trembling but strong. “But this time, we’re creating something even greater. Something that only belongs to us. ”
And in that moment, I know. This isn’t just art. This is life. This is love. And love is the ultimate obsession .
THE END