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Vincent nodded and strode to the chair behind her canvas, and he sat with all the pent-up power and grace of a mountain cat on the prowl.
When he looked at her, offering both his eyes and his soul with the look, she knew what she’d been missing to perfect thepainting. Her memory had gotten her close to perfection, but with him sitting in front of her, watching her with an intense longing that she shared in her own glances, she picked up her discarded paintbrush and did what she did best.
She painted.
Her concentration sharpened on the fine details she’d noted but been unable to mimic without his presence. Now, she could mimic each line and crevice of his eyes with an efficiency she’d honed over the years.
His eyes on her felt like a promise that after she’d finished gazing at him, he’d spend just as much time analyzing her. Maybe it was just the longing for him that drove her to imagine such things. But she found her painting changing in the most minuscule ways. A line that had previously been straight transformed itself into a tantalizing, teasing curve. The pupils that had seemed unfocused and promising death slowly became softer. Still hard, of course, as Vincent’s eyes always had a steely edge to them. But the wrinkles between his brow softened in her painting just enough to leave his eyes open for a different sort of interpretation. A sensual one.
When she finished, she couldn’t have guessed the time that had passed, but the painting had transformed wholly into one of a man beckoning his lover nearer with his dark, promising glances. The painting felt too intimate to show him. Maybe it felt that way because it meant she’d be forced to acknowledge that she noticed the need-filled look he gave her.
She’d need to admit to the burning molted that had been progressively growing between her legs, dampening her panties.
She sat down her brush and leaned back, indicating that she’d finished.
He stood with a predatory calmness and strode to the spot directly beside her, peering down at her work. His expressiongave away nothing of what he saw on the canvas when he finally glanced at her.
“That’s what you see when you look at me?” he asked.
It was such a difficult question to answer. “Right now, yes,” she said. Her breathy voice surprised even Kiera as she heard it. “Sometimes they’re harder. More dangerous. But when you look at me,” she started, unsure of where to take the conversation. She allowed her words to trail into silence.
“Continue, Kiera,” he demanded, the name on his lips a plea and a beckon for her to come closer. On trembling legs, she stood, facing him fully.
“When you look at me, everything softens,” she said, reaching between them and brushing her fingers lightly across the ridges between his brows. “And I can see how much you want me.”
His hand shot between them and gripped her wrist, pulling her into him. He wrapped his other arm around her back and pressed her tightly into his chest.
“Do you want me, too?” he asked. His tone transformed into a lover’s caress, and everything within her loosened and liquified.
“Yes.”
The word was all it took. His lips, warm and smooth, slammed into hers with a ferocity that had her melting into his arms. The tight, unmovable grip that he held on her sent pulses of lust and need into the deepest, most uncontrollable parts of her. He sucked her lip into his mouth, and the breathy sound that escaped her came on its own accord.
“I’m going to show you what it’s like to bring a real man to bed, Kiera,” Vincent growled. His eyes pulsed with need—the same need that swarmed the most liquified parts of her body.
He lifted her until her feet left the ground, and with a twist, he rested her across the rug, paint mere inches from her as hemoved atop her. The look of pure male dominance that covered his face had her breathing faster and harder, nearly panting with impatience.
He finally reached down, tugging at the hem of her shirt, and Kiera arched her back. The brush of his knuckles across her tender skin brought goosebumps, and when he noticed there was no bra beneath the paint-covered shirt, the feline grin that crossed his face thrilled her.
“I’m used to being on top,” she said, arching her back for emphasis as she did so. She’d seduced men into allowing her into the position of power, but Vincent’s eyes flared as he lowered himself closer to her.
“Not with me,” he whispered, gripping each of the wrists that rested on the floor beside her and pinning them above her head. “With me, you’ll be whatever I want.”
Before she could use the sharp tongue that had become so accustomed to winning battles for her, he crashed his mouth down on hers with a suffocating force. Both her wrists remained pinned in his hand, and Kiera knew that even if she desired it, she’d be unable to free herself. The feeling aroused her more than she wanted to admit.
She gasped against him as he pressed a damp finger into her side and trailed it up the hollow of her stomach and around each of her peaked nipples. He didn’t allow her to see what he was doing as he moved the finger around her stomach, pinching and tugging at her nipples. She gasped and writhed beneath him, and when he finally separated their lips, she glanced at the canvas that her body had become.
Concentrated around her breasts, the color of his eyes swirled across her skin, and his finger continued trailing lower and lower. “Just in case you forget where this is going,” he whispered against her lips. She tugged her wrists as he used hispainted finger to undo the button of her pants, and he gazed up at her. “You’ll behave,” he ordered.
“And if I don’t?” she shot back as he maneuvered her pants just far enough down her legs to expose the part of her that most wanted attention.
“If you don’t, you won’t like the consequences.” The smile he gave her, completely humorless as usual, oozed a savage delight. “Or maybe you will, and it will make our time here much more enjoyable.”
Kiera throbbed in need at his words, both utterly fearful of learning his brand of punishment and willing—excited even—to try it. She settled with silence as he worked his buttons, and the proud length of him sprung from the constraint of his pants.
“Good,” he whispered, noticing that she’d stopped pulling at the grip on her wrists. He used his other finger to trail a line down her cheek, then down the side of her neck. So slow. So sensual as he examined every painted part of her. Kiera panted in need as she thrust her hips upward and toward him.
His eyes focused on her expression of desire as he centered himself atop her, preparing to take her. “You want my cock before I’ve done anything to ready you for it?” he asked, teasing her by pressing himself right into the opening of her. Kiera had always needed ample time to warm up before sex, but with him, she felt how ready his mere glances had made her.
