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Alec’s cold fingertips touched my skin covering the bones at the top of my spine, making me shiver. He cupped the back of my neck, gently resting his palm there, but I felt his possession all over. My gaze found his through the mirror. He’d taken off his suit jacket and tie, and undone the top buttons of his dress shirt.
“You looked beautiful tonight,” he said in his deep voice.
I spoke quietly. “Thank you.”
I hated him, and I hated how I loved him even more. The yellow orchid had been my best work . . . until him. Our sculpture tonight was a stunning masterpiece, and we had two more in progress which I felt confident would exceed it.
At first Alec had held me captive with threats of ruin and prison. I’d fought him and broken down in his studio on more than one occasion. Now he held me captive with my own creativity. I couldn’t leave him, although I wanted to.
I think I did.
Our relationship was . . . complex.
He’d been right, too. Monster wasn’t the word to define him. He put art above everything else, and his attitude was downright ruthless. As an artist, he was a difficult man to hate or love. He was also manipulative. He’d be full of emotion one moment and then cold and distant the next.
I told myself I deserved better, but I knew it was a lie. Alec was the perfect match for someone like me. His cage was so perfectly constructed.
His fingers coursed down my shoulder, hooked under the thin strap of my dress and pulled it off. The slinky fabric slipped away and my bare breast tumbled free. I watched in the mirror as he moved behind me and his hand curled under my arm, palming my breast. His mouth ghosted kisses on my neck. I sighed into him, pressing my back against his chest and tipped my head so it could rest against his collarbone.
He was going to make love to me, right here in his bathroom. I saw the hungry look in his eyes and my body responded to it, trained. I’d enjoy the sex, too, as I always did. We had similar needs. I gripped the sides of my long skirt in my hands and began to furl the fabric upward, granting him access beneath.
The night we’d met, he’d destroyed me just as badly as the sculpture. My work had come out better after that dark event, shaped and molded under Alec’s watchful eye. He pushed my artistic boundaries and yet had patience to let me find my way with a piece. He wasn’t dominating, but I understood who my master was.
The irony wasn’t lost on me. I couldn’t give Jonathan my submission and it drove us apart. Now I was worse than a submissive. I’d become a slave.
Alec fumbled with his pants as he prepared to claim me. It’d be passionate, and I suspected my hands would smear on the mirror glass, reflecting blurry images back at us.
I’d had two glasses of champagne at the showing and my defenses were down. I wanted to know the answer to the question I was always too nervous to ask. I finally had the courage.
“Of everything you’ve done over the years,” I said, catching my breath when his hands were on my hips, “which piece are you the proudest of?”
“Hmm?” The tip of him rubbed against me, seeking entrance.
He’d heard me, I was sure. He wanted me to ask it again. My voice faltered. “What’s your greatest creation?”
“Oh, that’s easy.” He pushed inside, taking me in a deep thrust which made my toes curl. “It’s you, Jessica.”
