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Perverted.
Dirty.
Wrong.
The lead pencil strokes were light, as soft and elegant as the woman portrayed in the drawing. As a work of art, it was breathtaking. But what really stole my breath was the subject of the drawing. The woman was naked, her back arched and her lips parted on a silent cry. Her expression was one of ecstasy: her eyes were closed, and the lines of her face were drawn with erotic tension. Her breasts were thrust out, her nipples peaked.
But her nudity was the least disturbing part of the drawing. Twisted strands of rope were wrapped around her body, framing her breasts and putting them on lewd display. Her arms were drawn tight behind her, forcing her back to arch toward the artist. She was on her knees, her thighs spread wide to reveal her bare sex.
After several long minutes, I turned the page, trying to replace the image that was burned into my mind. My breath caught. There was another bound woman. She was different—her hair darker, her nose slightly smaller, and her chin more pointed. Both women were beautiful, but unique.
I flipped the page again. Another woman, her body twisted by the rope that bound her. Her mouth was open on a silent scream, and I was unsure if it was one of pleasure or pain.
Transfixed, I continued to flip through the book, finding sketch after lewd sketch. I tried to appreciate the artist’s skill, but all I could focus on were the women, their faces contorted in various states of erotic expression. Some were serenely blissful, others shouting out. I couldn’t tell if those women were screaming for pleasure or for mercy, and that unsettled me more than anything.
I was about a third of the way through the book when I gasped. This woman wasn’t bound. She wasn’t naked. It was a close-up portrait of her face. Her dark hair contrasted with her pale skin. Her irises were nearly black, almost swallowed by her dilated pupils. Her eyes were so wide that her long lashes brushed her brows, and her full lips were parted on a gasp that mirrored my own.
It wasn’t just the look of shock, the hint of fear in her eyes, that resembled my current state. I was looking at myself.
“That’s you, on the night I met you.”
I yelped and nearly jumped out of my skin at the sound of Marco’s deep voice. His massive body filled the open doorway, and his black eyes studied me with keen interest.
“I went to that dive bar in Cambridge, looking for Joseph so I could bring him home,” he continued. “I found you there. My people who’d tracked him down told me he had a girlfriend. I knew if I confronted you, Joseph would come straight for me.”
He stepped into the room, but I couldn’t move away. I was frozen, locked in place by his dark stare. My breathing came fast and shallow as he approached. He didn’t stop until mere inches separated our bodies. Just like on the night we’d met, he leaned over me, his powerful aura bearing down on me. My heart hammered in my chest, signaling that I should flee.
But I couldn’t move. My feet were rooted to the floor, and my fingers were going numb around the leather binding of the sketchpad.
Marco’s sketchpad. His drawings. His darkness, put down on paper in lurid detail.
One corner of his lips twitched. “You were so pretty, with your wide, big blue eyes. Like a frightened doe. I understood why Joseph had become obsessed with you.” He gestured at the book. “Turn the page, curious little girl. You know you want to.”
“I don’t,” I squeaked. “I didn’t mean to pry. I—”
“Turn. The. Page.”
My fingers flicked to the next page before I could think of protesting. His darkness pulsed around me, lighting up my body with awareness of his nearness.
“Look,” he commanded.
“I don’t want to,” I whispered. “I don’t want to see any more. I’m sorry I—”
“Look.” The word cracked through the air like a whip, and my eyes flicked down to the page.
My entire body flushed, and my heart fluttered in my chest. My stomach did a funny flip, and my mouth went dry.
It was another drawing of me. But this time, I was naked. Bound with rope.
And Joseph was standing behind me, holding the coil as he wrapped it around my body.
“What…” I gasped for air. “What is this?”
“It’s you and Joseph, obviously.”
My heart leapt into my throat, and I tried to swallow it down so I could speak. “He wouldn’t… He’d never…”
Marco made a soft humming noise, considering. “So, he hasn’t tied up his pretty little princess? Does he not want to pervert his perfect angel?”
Angel. Joseph’s sweet name for me was heavy with mockery.
“This is… You’re…” I couldn’t find the words to express my feelings. They were jumbled, my emotions roiling. I was too hot; I was practically panting. Marco was far too close, and his body heat was stifling.
