He releases me then slips his hand under the T-shirt as he grazes his knuckles up my stomach. “You can’t even convince yourself of your lies anymore.”
Abruptly, he removes his touch and walks away. “I’m going to shower. You’d better be here when I get out.”
“Aye aye, Captain.” I drop down on the bed. The damn room has the same intoxicating scent that lingers around him. Damn it. How am I going to be here all night and not choke him?
Since he’s not around, I take the opportunity to browse. After walking around for a few minutes, I end up back on the bed where a sketchbook catches my attention. The artwork gets more remarkable as I flip through. My breath catches and I stop. Because I’m looking at a drawing of me. I almost don’t believe he did it because it’s immaculate. I rub across his initials at the bottom right of the page.
I flip through a few more pages and find a few more illustrations of me. I don’t hear him come out of the bathroom until he’s next to me. “Put it down.”
I drop the sketchbook on the nightstand as I turn around. He’s in a towel, his hair damp. “Don’t snoop.”
“You drew those?” All of them were amazing, but the ones of me are all I can think about.
“Yes.”
“They’re incredible. You’re very talented.”
“You say that like you’re shocked.” His voice is flat as he disappears into the closet then returns wearing pants but no shirt. That’s when I see the full extent of the damage from the fight.
I walk over to him, and when I place my hand on his abs, his muscles tense under my touch. I don’t feel sorry for him. He signed up for a beating, but it doesn’t stop me from examining the damage. “You are talented.”
His teeth clench as he states, “It’s a hobby.”
“I should have a hobby,” I blurt out, my fingers still exploring his skin. “Once upon a time, I had lots of hobbies. Then I quit everything. Nothing mattered anymore. Still doesn’t. I never took you as the artistic type.”
“My mom was an artist.” His voice strains as I drag my fingertips over his rib cage.
I reach down, brushing my hand over of his battered knuckles. “Why don’t you show anyone, share that side of you instead of just being a brute?”
He slowly entwines our fingers. “Because I don’t share what’s mine.”
He’ll never give in. But I will.
My other hand moves down, my finger running along the top of his waistband. “Yes, you’re possessive for sure.”
He grabs both of my wrists, keeping them in place. “Don’t tease. At some point, I won’t hold back.”
“Hold back from doing what?” I ask. “I didn’t figure Luca Montclair practiced any restraint.”
There’s an unyielding intensity in him as he demands, “Admit what you want me to do to you right now.”
“Touch me,” I confess.
“And?”
I pull my wrists out of his grip. “You’re really going to make me beg, aren’t you?”
He moves behind me as he mutters, “Your eyes are already begging me to fuck you. I just want to hear you say the words.”
I go to say it, but his hand slips into my shorts, rubbing over the material of my panties. Just enough for me to feel him and want more. My head falls back on his shoulder, “Okay. You win. Fuck me.”
When he appears back in front of me, there’s a triumphant look masking his face as he guides me to lie down on his bed. “We’ll get there soon.”
He pulls down my shorts, my panties following before he’s hovering over me. His hand moves between my thighs as his finger slides inside me. His mouth is on mine as he kisses me harshly. “Soaking fucking wet for me.”
He withdraws his fingers as he kisses down my neck before reaching for the hem of the T-shirt, lifting it to expose my chest. He takes my nipple in his mouth, sucking firmly. My craving for more of him grows with each touch. And I already want him more than I’ve ever wanted anyone else.
Then he goes lower, pushing my legs apart, exposing me to him.
