“Silas, this is—it’s…”
“You,” I say, the warmth of my breath causing gooseflesh to erupt on the back of her neck. She shivers as I wrap my arms around her waist, slipping one palm beneath the edge of her hoodie to rest on the soft curve of her stomach. I glide my other hand up, feeling the frantic beating of her heart beneath the swell of her breast. “I meant it when I said there’s no escaping me, Evie. Not now. Not ever.”
“You can’t say things like that,” she whispers, but her pulse races and she makes no move to leave, even as she starts to look away.
“Oh, but I can.” Leaving one palm on her chest, I move the other to her throat, gripping the edge of her jaw as I force her gaze back up. “Look what you’ve done to me.”
I turn her until she’s facing the bleakest pieces—the small squares coated in smears of black and varying shades of grey, with only the briefest hints of emerald green.
“This is what I was before. Consumed with revenge for my sister. With envy for something other than the resounding nothingness gnawing away at me. And then, there you were, muttering to yourself on the steps of my home.”
Her throat bobs beneath my fingers as I fix her gaze to the slash of yellow within the darkness. The paint is thick, layers rising in massive swatches of depression, split open by the riot of color at the center.
I know she feels the anger in that single slice. The small gasp from her lips as she studies the ripped edges curled back fromthe wound, the hitch in her breath as she marvels at the spray of paint reaching the edge of the canvas—so much like blood from a knife wound—tells me Evie realizes this was the moment her light forced its way through my realm of blackness. And the two of us were nothing but casualties in fate’s war.
That crater of yellow, of deep reds and russet browns, stretches, shifting across the white canvas, growing until it’s the same shade as her eyes. Until there’s no doubt it’s her lips I’ve painted, parted and gasping for breath, her cheeks flushed with need as my fingers tighten around her throat.
Just as they are now.
“There are dozens,” Evie breathes, spotting the cluster of white and reds hung above the large bed in the corner. White silk sheets and matching pillowcases appear sleek among the haphazard paintings. Various-sized canvases are propped against the edge of the room, clustered together with what I couldn’t fit on the walls.
“Yes,” I say, guiding us toward the bed. The paintings here are splashes of her porcelain skin, her rose-tinted blush, and then a deep scarlet. I cup her sex, stroking the edge of her underwear as I arch her neck against my chest, licking over the spot where her pulse flutters. “These are you, my Evie. Flashes of what you’ll look like once I’ve taken what’s mine.”
A small whimper escapes her parted lips as I slip two fingers through her wetness. “Silas…”
“Are you ready to be fucked, little fox?” I murmur, grinding my palm against her clit. She bucks against me, shaking her head, even as the slickness between her thighs builds. “I think you are. I think you want me to force you to take my cock. To hold this pretty pussy open for me while I split you in half.”
Evie arches her back further, but she still hasn’t answered. She’s shaking her head no, and while I like our game of cat and mouse, of the serpent ensnaring his little fox, I need her to want me too. To need me just as desperately as I need her.
“If you say the word ‘red,’ we stop,” I say, pressing a kiss beneath her ear as my fingers slow, just enough to be sure she’s focused and understands. “Anything else, I’ll keep going. If you want to leave—to end this—now’s your chance. Because once I have you, no amount of begging will set you free.”
She nods.
“I need to hear you say it, love. Say you want me to fuck you.”
“No,” she breathes, her ass rubbing against my cock. I hiss as she grinds. My grip tightens around her throat as her fingers slip between us, palming me through my jeans. “Let me go.”
“Never,” I growl, pressing two fingers inside her, pumping ruthlessly as I restrict her breathing, just enough for her to call this off if she wants to. Her fingers find mine, clawing at me for freedom, but she doesn’t utter a word.
“Such a good little slut,” I purr, my cock straining against my pants at her needy little cries. And, god, I love the way her pussy clenches around my fingers.
I kick her feet apart, spreading her legs with my knee as I add a third, holding her on the edge of orgasm. I savor the way she relinquishes control, how her hands drop away from mine. Any pretense of fighting is forgotten as she writhes in my grasp, desperate for that sweet release.
“Do you want to come?” I ask, kissing along the curve of her neck.
“Yes,” she whimpers.
My lips curls into a hungry grin, my teeth scraping at the soft flesh over her hammering pulse.
“Beg me.”
Evie bites her lip, brows pinching in that defiant way that makes my balls draw up.
“You’re so fucking cute when you disobey.” Maintaining my hold around her neck, I withdraw my fingers and shove herpants down until they pool around her ankles. I do the same to mine, stepping out of the fabric and kicking them to the side.
“Shirt off, little fox.”
With trembling fingers, Evie lifts the edge of her sweatshirt, exposing the pale skin of her ribs, her soft curves, and the faint splatter of freckles across her shoulders. I drag a knuckle along the slope of her breast, still shrouded in thin white fabric. They’re full, lifting and falling with each breath.
