“You won’t,” she whispers.
“No,” I admit. “I won’t.”
I drop the brush to the grass and lower my mouth between her legs, relishing the bare pink softness of her. She gasps when I lick into her, when I suck her into my mouth, when I flick and curl my tongue until she cries out my name, feral and breathless and utterly undone.
She comes fast. Then again. Her fingers knot in my hair, and she arches into me like she’ll die if I stop. The wind tangles around us, lifting her moans to the sea.
When I rise, her body is slack and trembling. Her eyes are wide and wild and reverent.
“Calum—” she breathes.
“Shhh.” I kiss her, tasting her on her lips, and then I slide my pants down my thighs and push inside her in one hard stroke. She gasps. I groan. She’s tight, wet, already ruined and still ready for more.
“Mine,” I hiss against her throat as I thrust, slow at first, then faster, deeper, until our bodies slap together and the garden is nothing but heat and sweat and her whispered pleas. My lips attach at her neck, sucking hard, hard enough to leave a mark. I bite and nip, causing her to cry out and beg for more.
“Yes—Calum, yes?—”
I hold her down, her wrists pinned above her head, her legs wrapped around my waist. She’s everything I can’t paint. Everything I can’t control.
And yet she’s always slipping through my fingers.
When I come, I bury my face in her neck, biting down to mark her.
She strokes my hair, chest still heaving.
I lift my head and stare down at her, lips parted, skin streaked with blue. “Promise me,” I whisper. “You’ll always be mine. My muse. My everything.”
She swallows. Her fingers tighten in my hair.
“I promise,” she husks, but somewhere underneath her submission I sense the lie.
Chapter Twenty-Four
Jonathan
“You were watching us, weren’t you?” Calum accuses, his voice low, tight. His fingers grip the edge of the table as if anchoring himself. “The journal—Annabel wrote about someone watching her. That was you, wasn’t it?”
The accusation hangs in the air, sharp as broken glass. I meet his gaze, refusing to flinch. “Don’t be ridiculous,” I say, but the words sound hollow even to me. “She was... paranoid. You know how she could be.”
“She wasn’t paranoid,” Calum snaps, stepping closer. The firelight dances on his face, highlighting the fury simmering beneath his calm facade. “She was afraid. And now I’m starting to understand why.”
I let out a bitter laugh, crossing my arms. “You think I was spying on you? That I’m some villain lurking in the shadows? Don’t flatter yourself, Calum.”
But he doesn’t back down. “You were always around, Jonathan. Always conveniently nearby. Don’t tell me you weren’t watching.”
I open my mouth to deny it, but the words catch in my throat. The truth is messy, tangled in the kind of emotions I’d rather bury. I can still feel the rain that night, cold and unrelenting, soaking through my coat as I stood at the edge of the trees, staring at the cottage.
That night flashes back in my mind, sharp and vivid. The rain came down in sheets, drumming against the leaves, turning the ground to mud. I could see them through the window, their figures silhouetted against the glow of the fire. Annabel, draped over the couch like some ethereal goddess, her laughter spilling into the night. And Calum, sitting too close, his hand on her knee.
I remember the ache in my chest, the bitterness curling in my gut. I told myself I was protecting her, watching to make sure she was safe. But deep down, I knew it was a lie. I watched because I couldn’t look away.
“I didn’t—” I start, but Calum cuts me off, his voice rising.
“Don’t lie to me, Jonathan. I can see it all over your face.” He steps closer, his presence overwhelming, his anger almost physical. “You were there that night, weren’t you? You saw something the night she died, didn’t you?”
My pulse quickens, and for a moment, I consider denying it. But what’s the point? Calum knows me too well; he always has. “Fine,” I say, my voice clipped. “I was there. But not for the reasons you think.”
“Then why?” he demands, his eyes burning into mine. “Why were you there, following her like… some creep?”
