Page 35 of Compulsion

She’s afraid of our connection for some reason. But she’s also intrigued. Tempted.

The way she’s toying with that damn brush is practically erotic, even if she has no idea how she’s tormenting me.

Fuck, I need to see her lovely eyes up close, to watch them darken with that intoxicating mix of trepidation and desire.

My cock stiffens, but I ignore my mounting lust. I’m rooted to the spot, frozen in breathless anticipation as I wait for her to pick up her phone and answer me.

There’s a slight tremor in her fingers when she finally bends to my will. She taps her screen, hesitates, then taps it again.

My phone chimes, and I suck in a deep breath.

Abigail

That sounds nice. Where do you want to meet?

I force myself to pause, determined to makeherwait. It’s only fair that she’s tormented by the same maddening uncertainty that plagues me every time I’m near her.

My mind races through potential dates, and my thumb strays toward the internet browser icon on my phone. For the hundredth time, I consider looking her up online. If I know more about her, I can manipulate her more easily.

I take a breath and crush the impulse, forcing my way through the moment of weakness. Social media is anathema to me, and even if I created a fake account to stalk her, the information I would glean would be superficial. I’ve seen into Abigail’s soul, and I won’t be satisfied with a falsely cheery public persona that she might present to her friends online.

I will learn her secrets in person. She will surrender each one to me, until I possess her completely.

I return to our messages instead of opening the browser.

Dane

I’d like to surprise you. I finish work at five, so I can pick you up at six-thirty.

I need her to share her address willingly. Then I can come see her whenever I want.

The paintbrush dips between her lips again, and she grazes the tip with her teeth.

I nearly growl as my lust surges, but I manage to cling to my iron control.

My phone buzzes, and her address appears on my screen.

Triumph heats my chest, and I don’t have to hide the savage edge of my grin; I don’t have to wear my mask for anyone in this moment. I’m fully myself in a way I can only be with Abigail.

She’s not ready to see me like this yet, but one day, she’ll moan my name and tremble for me while I hold her with cruel passion.

I type out a confirmation of our plan to meet and then set my phone down, allowing her the quiet time she needs to paint. I won’t distract her again, not when I’m burning with curiosity to see what will spill out onto her canvas.

Time slips away as I watch her paint. It takes a while for the feverish brushstrokes to coalesce into a nature scene. For a short while, I’m mildly disappointed; I’d hoped for another dark fantasy tonight.

But then the elegantly draped branches of live oaks take shape, dripping with lacy Spanish moss. Battery Park is bathed in waning sunlight, syrupy and golden where it filters through the rich green canopy.

She’s painting our date.

This is far more intimate than an erotic scene. Those paintings reflect the dark desires she shares with GentAnon, but this view from the gazebo is what she shares withme.

I forget all about sipping my Macallan as she continues to work late into the night. My full attention is harnessed by her vision of what we shared in the park this evening.

The white railing that surrounds the gazebo is barely visible, a subtle frame at the bottom of the painting. Two hands areentwined atop it, and I recognize the familiar shape of her slender fingers beneath my own.

She might’ve run from our kiss, but Abigail is clearly still thinking about the allure of our physical connection.

By the time she sets her paintbrush down for the night, I’m buzzing with a strange high—it’s definitely not from the alcohol I barely touched. My blood thrums through my veins, and desire makes my blood simmer. It’s not purely carnal desire; I want this woman. All of her. Body, heart, and soul.

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