Eventually I make my way back to the living room. I’m a little lightheaded and giddy, as if I have alcohol swimming through my veins. But I’m only assuming this is what being drunk feels like, considering I’ve never had any alcoholic drinks before. I find him by the partially opened window near the kitchen; he’s on the phone, in motion, pacing back and forth in an unhurried gait. In three–fourths profile, the sun dies beautifully behind him, and as though even it can’t resist Maddox, it stretches out brilliant rays of dimming sunlight just to touch the young god in a mortal body. He really is too beautiful for words. Rushing to my canvas, I pick up my brush and palette and jump into action with instant inspiration. It’s a moment that needs to be captured.
When he’s done with his call, he pockets his phone and heads my way. “Be right back, need to check something.”
With a frown, I ask, “Is everything okay?”
He nods. “Work.” It’s a terse response; he doesn’t see the need to elaborate further as he walks away. My eyes trail after him until he disappears in his bedroom.
With every minute he’s away, I grow tenser. Worrying the corner of my lip, I wonder if I’m overstaying my welcome. Am I making a mistake by inviting myself to stay here longer than he wants? I abruptly come to my feet. I head to his kitchen to clean my supplies. If he intends on kicking me out, I want to at least be prepared. Tucking my palette in the large inside pocket of my canvas bag, I grab my damp brushes from where I set them on the floor next to me and put them in as well. All this takes approximately five minutes and in that time frame I’m trying not to picture what he’ll say when he comes out of his bedroom. I don’t want to go. How big of a fool will I be if I blurt that out to him? Or worse, beg him to stay. Beg him to keep me here for as long as I want. Am I that shameless?
Reclaiming my seat on the fold-out chair in the middle of the living room, I cross my legs as it suddenly dawns on me that yes, I am that shameless. I would do all those things. Beg him to stay. Beg him to keep me for himself in this apartment. And that scares me more than anything. I scare myself when it comes to this guy. All the things I’m willing to do with him, for him, they’re limitless. He makes me feel limitless. With him I’m experiencing emotions I’ve never felt before and they’re all as exhilarating as they are frightening.
He moves so silently I barely hear him until it’s too late. From behind me, he cups my jaw and tilts my head back far enough that I have no choice but to look at his face. He wears his mask of impassiveness but in his fierce, gray eyes I see everything he cannot outwardly show. It’s rampant emotions head by barely bridling passion that instantly ignites a searing blaze inside me. He languidly traces his thumb across my bottom lip, a tender gesture I note he reserves just for me, tugging it gently down to expose my mouth. “Beautiful lips,” he remarks in a rough, throaty murmur.
He bends down, eclipsing everything. He’s all I see. All I want to see. There’s no gentle coaxing when he spears between my parted lips to invade my mouth with a warm tongue that entangles with mine. He kisses me long and he kisses me slow, each time dipping in for more, and my body’s temperature spikes to such a degree I can no longer ignore how damp my panties have become. “How far do you want me to take this?” He respires against my lips and tingles run freely throughout my entire body. He’s asking for my permission.
I want to respond to what he just said but how can I when he does things like this? The simple process of thought completely escapes me as I watch the slow trail of his tattooed hand slide down my chest. He’s wearing a watch, I note inanely, a large black-on-black skeleton watch that only seems to heighten the sensuality of what he’s doing. It’s a warm, rough palm gliding along fever-hot skin, and my breath hitches when he dips inside my shirt and cups a hand between my breasts. With his index finger near my right nipple, he slips beneath my bra and teasingly swipes over the hardened bud until I squirm. And my back bows as I thrust my chest into his hand. Wanting more of the friction.
“How far are you willing to let me take you, Aylee?” He breathes onto the shell of my ear, still slowly swiping over my tender nipple.
This time the question comes through with clarity, but there was really never any need for him to ask. He already knows my answer. “All the way,” I whisper, breathless with conviction that possesses my whole body.
He growls low in his throat at my response before covering my mouth with his. Pulling back, he moves around and swiftly tugs me from the chair, his skilled hands promptly gripping my hips, and he lets them slide down the sides of my thighs before bunching my skirt up my legs so that it won’t interfere with his next action. He displays his breathtaking strength once again and hauls me up his body. His hands immediately gliding down to grab the globes of my butt as I wrap my legs around his waist and my arms grip his neck. He takes us to his bedroom and sets me down on his bed. It’s all done in perfect succession. All done with care. He’s a predator on top of me. Large, formidable, and terribly, terribly hungry. And I’m the quarry, trapped, desirously anxious, and with my fate in his hands. But I’m eager, so breathlessly eager for his first, second, and third bite. I want to be devoured until there is nothing left of me, until I come apart in his arms
Throwing a doe-eyed look in his direction, I bite the inside of my lower lip, restlessly anticipating his next move. And that only causes him to lean in closer, hold me tighter. “You won’t be hurt, Aylee,” he murmurs next to my mouth, his hands threading in my hair, sliding down my back to expertly unhook my bra. “Never here.”
His fervency is unwavering but there’s a tenderness in his passion-drenched eyes that obliterate any last bit of doubt I may have unconsciously been harboring. Having discarded my cardigan back in his living room, he makes short work of my shirt and my skirt, tossing them somewhere into oblivion.
Vulnerability is the moment I’m left completely nude beneath the unerring, burning scope of his gaze. I can’t possibly imagine what he sees. But I know my body. I’ve memorized every tiny imperfection and I know it can never compare to the dozens of others he’s undoubtedly seen. I’m too skinny. Too fair. Lying down as I am, my breasts have flattened down to my chest from the unfair crush of gravity so that I feel horribly flat-chested. He doesn’t need to look too hard to make out the scars from my battles with my demons. My skin is littered with cuts, and the most recent ones between my thighs bring home the fact that my body isn’t made for intimacy.
“Goddamn.” Blinking at the words, I look at him. His eyes narrow, but they glint like diamonds on his face as he trails his gaze down the length of my body. Shivers ripple along my skin as though he just touched me. Goose bumps rise as I get caught in the intensity of his eyes. “You’re beautiful.”
My first and only instinct is to deny him. “No.” I smile weakly to fight the sting of tears behind my eyelids. “I’m not.” I reach for the sheets beneath us to cover myself but he grabs my wrists and pulls them over my head before I can, trapping them there with one manacling hand. He uses the other to cup my chin to look at him.
“You’re so fucking stunning.” It’s a fervent, uncontested assertion, and he bends over me to seal it with a kiss. It’s gentle and slow. So hot and carnal. It awakens an electric storm inside of me that crackles uncontrollably beneath my skin, shooting out sparks in every direction of my being. I come alive for him as he laps the inside of my mouth like he’s trying to savor my taste.