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After a while, she turns to me, leaning back and tipping her head up.
“Thank you,” she says, a smear of purple near that sexy-as-fuck nose ring of hers and a pale hint of pink on her cheeks. “This helped.”
I know it did.
I meant it to.
But I didn’t expect to feel this… I don’t even know what. Connection? Bond? Definitely some shit deeper than I’m ready for when she looks up at me like that, eyes all soft and that beautiful face of hers vulnerable and wide open, like she’s forgotten the first rule of survival that I know damn well she knows.
Always protect yourself.
I lean down before I can process whatever the fuck it is I’m feeling, just wanting to get closer. But I come to my senses before I claim her mouth like I want to, planting a kiss on her neck instead.
“Dante,” she breathes out, eyes drifting closed as she tilts her head to the side to give me better access.
My cock throbs. I drag my nose along her throat, hands on her shoulders to hold her in place. She smells like paint and a touch of lilac, and I want to be inside her again. Fuck. Ineedit.
Her nipples are twin peaks trying to punch out of her thin shirt, and she moves restlessly on the stool, a rolling rhythm that tells me her clit’s probably throbbing for some attention. Her pussy wet and ready for me.
“Fuck, princess,” I groan, biting down on her silky soft skin and getting a hot little moan that almost breaks my resolve.
It would be a mistake to give in, though. She’s affecting more than just my cock right now, and all that beautiful chaos of hers feels like it might just wreck me from the inside out if I don’t get a handle on it before I fuck her again.
Because I will.That’sa given.
But not here. Not now. Not until I can figure out why the hell she gets so far under my skin.
I grab her hands when she twists to reach for me, pulling them back to the canvas. “Come on now, this isn’t finished.”
“The painting?” she asks as I tangle our fingers together and start shaping all that chaos into something new with her.
“Sure, princess.”
It’s true. This kind of painting, this kind of chaos, is never finished.
But maybe a part of me meant thatwearen’t finished yet either.
I’m not ready to let her go.
34
LOGAN
I stare sightlesslyat the images spread across the array of monitors in front of me, hands clenched tightly enough that my blunt nails dig into my palms. Control. That’s my only focus, and one that’s normally second nature.
But not today.
Not sinceher.
The faint sound of another rippling laugh comes from Dante’s art studio above me.
I flinch, the slight motion finally reminding me to blink. It brings the small 10-point font of the digital clock in the corner of my largest monitor into focus. Riley has been up there with Dante for twenty-three minutes already. Up where I don’t have any cameras. Up where I can’t… can’t…
Indulge my obsessionwould be one way to put it, but I refuse to think of it like that.
I press my lips together and slowly, deliberately unclench my hands. Stretching my fingers out, I place them on the keyboard.
I have work to attend to. There’s always something, and right now our priority is—
