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“Dante, we can’t. I’m working,” she pants, pulling away, stealing her warmth from my touch, and leaving me shivering in the cold.
“I’d say I’m sorry, but to be honest—I’m not. I won’t apologize for wanting you,” I tell her, adjusting my cock behind my zipper, smiling as her hungry gaze tracks the movement. Deciding I’m not ready to be out of her presence, I go for broke. “Will you have dinner with me this evening?” I ask, holding my breath, waiting for her response.
Her gaze snaps up to meet me mine, and the smile that lights up her face a moment later steals the air from my lungs. “Yes.”
* * *
“Where are we going?” Devin asks, walking beside me and eyeing each of the buildings we pass speculatively.
I look down and smile at the wide-eyed, wondrous look taking up her face and chuckle. “I want to show you something.”
“Oh?” The smile that creases the corners of her eyes sets off sparks of amusement dancing in her irises. “Show me what?” she singsongs.
“You naughty girl. Nothing like that.” Her grin and answering laughter are contagious, and I can’t help but join her.
As we approach the large, red brick building that houses my art studio, I pull a blue bandana from my back pocket. I place a hand on her upper arm and stop her in place. Silently, I turn her to face away from me and whisper in her ear, “Trust me, angel,” and place the bandana over her eyes, tying it in place.
Devin doesn’t say a word, not one. But as I rest my hands on her hips, pressing my fingers into her soft curves, a gasp punches free of her lungs, followed by a moan as I tease the line of her hipbone.
Giving her a little push, I steer Devin in the direction of my building. Reluctantly, I release one of her hips to unlock and open the front door. Guiding her inside, I lead her to the private gallery in the back of the studio.
Nervous energy flashes through me the closer we get. Will she like the paintings she inspired? Will she hate them? Will she think I’m an obsessive creep and never want to see me again?
What the actual fuck is wrong with you, Dante? Since when did I get all worked up over a girl and worry about what she thinks of me?
Positioning Devin in the center of the room, I untie the bandana and slowly let it fall to one side. A nearly inaudible gasp leaves her lips, and she lifts one hand to cover her mouth. I chew on my lower lip and wring my hands behind my back as I watch her spin slowly in a circle, taking in the collection of paintings. Some hanging on the wall while others stand on the floor, all centered on one muse—her.
“You painted all of these?” she asks, stepping closer to the painting of a couple in bed, the image zoomed in on the woman’s expression at the height of her pleasure, an image that has been seared into my mind since that one night over a year ago.
“Yes,” I reply, coughing to cover the way my voice cracks with nerves.
She turns to look at me, and I have to take a breath at the look of awe I find on her face. She’s not disgusted or creeped out by what she’s seeing?
“These are all so beautiful.” She reaches a tentative finger out and traces a line of hair from temple to shoulder of a blushing girl, smiling at whoever put that blush on her face.
“Thank you,” I say softly, continuing to watch her silently take in each image, not wanting to break the moment. It feels oddly intimate, like letting her peer into my soul, into a place I never let anyone see. But rather than feeling fear at the thought, I feel excited to be so vulnerable with her.
“Why were you at the club last year?” The question comes so abruptly in the dead silence, I take a step back and have to take a second to run the question around my mind.
“Lucian asked if I wanted to participate. I’ve been there as a guest many times, so I figured why not? It could be fun to be on the other side.” I smile a devilish grin at my angel. “I wasn’t wrong.”
That blush I love so much makes a return appearance, crawling up her neck to settle in her cheeks.
“Let me guess, your sin is lust?”
“How did you know?” I ask, adding an exaggerated tone of enthusiasm to my voice.
“Lucky guess,” she says while opening her arms wide, encompassing the room we’re standing in. “But people lust after many things, not just sex. Could be power, flesh, money, even respect. What do you lust after?”
Stepping forward, I lock my gaze with Devin’s. Unknowingly, with every step I take towards her, she steps back until she bumps the counter behind her.
“Beauty,” I say lowly. “Not physically for myself, but to look at, to paint. I want someone I can paint night and day. Someone I can paint in every which way, clothed or naked, standing and laying down, I want to paint every angle and every intimate part until I find their soul.” Crowding Devin into the counter, I lift her up and sit her on top. Running my fingertips down her cheek, I let my eyes follow the same path until they come to rest on her lush lips. “More, though, I want to use your body as my canvas and find the hidden secrets you keep locked away.”
With the slightest, barely there touch, I glide my fingers down her arm, leaving goosebumps in my wake. Lifting her hand to my lips, I place a kiss on each of her knuckles before turning her hand over to place a kiss on her inner wrist. My eyes catch on a thin line of black, and I freeze, taking in the tattoo of a delicate rose adorned with angel wings. “What’s this?” I ask in a whisper, remembering the symbol of our night I drew on this same spot while she was unconscious, recovering from the overload of pleasure we unleashed on her body and mind.
“I always wanted to remember that night.” Her tiny hand comes up to cover mine, my finger tracing the lines of the wings.
“Oh, my angel.” I kiss the tattoo on her wrist and release her hand. Cupping her face, I pull her lips to mine. She comes to me willingly, and my heart gives a little flutter of excitement. I lick my tongue along the seam of her lips, asking her to open to me, and she doesn’t disappoint. A moment later, our tongues are tangling together, hands ghosting over exposed flesh and under hemlines.
