Page 45 of The Art of Obsession

Her breathing quickens, her lips parting. She’s wondering what else I could do to her. The thought terrifies and thrills her.

I hover over her, watching her unravel. She thinks I chose her on a whim as if she were just another piece in my collection. But from the first moment in the cemetery, she was different. She radiated something raw, something untamed. I felt it in my chest like a storm waiting to break. Hunger, yes. Longing, absolutely.But it was the pain that caught me off guard. The ache of recognition. Her passion for the past. The wistful melancholy.

I hide behind my mask. But she shows everything. And that morning, she looked as I feel whenever I take the stage, knowing how the masses could never understand how deep my art runs…how it saved me. History saved her. And I will unearth all her secrets.

Now, she sits there, questioning everything. Let her wonder. Let her burn.

Because when she finally understands, when she accepts what she is to me, it won’t just be my art she’ll crave. It will be me.

19

“Strip, Everleigh Lennox.”

Chapter Playlist:

“Inside Out” – Emmy Rossum

“Dead Inside” - Muse

EVERLEIGH

I stare downat the patterns, the faint remnants of wax and heat still ghosting over my skin. It’s beautiful. Infuriatingly, undeniably beautiful. Like some ancient script I can’t quite read but feel deep in my bones. It’s not just art; it’s a declaration. A story. My story, twisted with his.

I hate that I can’t stop touching it or marveling at how something so painful could leave something so breathtaking behind.

Why me? Why choose my body, my skin, my pain?

I bite my lip, refusing to meet his gaze, but the weight of his question lingers between us. For research, he said. Nothing about this is clinical, detached—he poured himself into everything

Finally, I take a shaky breath and whisper, “It felt… like a claim.” My voice wavers, but I push through. “Not just on my body, but on everything—my thoughts, my fears, my desires. Like you were branding yourself into me, and I couldn’t stop you. I didn’t want to stop you.”

I glance up, meeting his dark, unrelenting gaze. “It wasn’t just pain, Acheron. You knew exactly how far to push, how much I could take. And somehow, you made it beautiful. You mademebeautiful.” I swallow hard as his black gaze deepens on me. “But it also scared me. Because if you can do that with wax and fire, I don’t even want to imagine what else you’re capable of.”

There’s a beat of silence before I finish quietly, “And the worst part? I’m not sure I’d stop you, even if I could.”

He kisses me. A searing kiss that is every inch a kiss of gratitude….and approval. A moment where we exist in the eye of a perfect storm. He conquers me with his mouth, with his tongue, but I don’t kiss him back. Because it would be the first true crack where I will belong to him.

Who am I kidding? I already belong to him.

Yep. You’re already his. Might as well enjoy the perks of ownership, Cherry tells me.

I hate how my nipples respond to him, how warmth floods my pussy. All this time, he’s kept his finger on the verge of my opening. I’m one inch from him grinding against him.

You’re dying to kiss him back. Just admit it and give us both what we want. This is the stuff dark romance dreams are made of!Cherry folds her hands in a desperate plea. She’s so strong, I see her out of the corner of my eye, begging me to kiss him back.

Instead, I put up my wall. I rebel. And use all my strength to pull my face to the side.

“What now, Acheron?”

I see the smirk crooking beyond the mask. “Now…I feed you.”

I rollmy eyes with a disbelieving huff before reaching for the wine.

I should have known suppertime would be like this.

Acheron tightens his hold on me, and my breath hitches at the feeling of his rock-hard length prodding my backside. No other chair. If I want to eat, he insisted I sit on his lap…and eat from his hand.

Of course, he wouldn’t let me wear anything but the lingerie and the wax.