I float through the crowd on Gabe’s arm, still buzzing from the unveiling. Every handshake, every compliment feels like victory—these elite patrons fawning over art made with the blood of men just like them. The irony tastes sweeter than the champagne.
“Extraordinary depth in your work,” Mayor Harrington says, his eyes lingering too long on my neckline. “Almost as if you captured real suffering.”
“You have no idea,” I smile, meeting Gabe’s gaze over the mayor’s shoulder. The corner of Gabe’s mouth twitches—our private joke.
We circulate through the room, accepting congratulations while exchanging silent glances that burn hotter with each passing minute. His fingers trace circles at the small of my back, sending a zap of want up my spine. When his lips brush my ear to whisper that we have “unfinished business,” my heart skips.
“Fifteen minutes,” I breathe back. “Then I’m all yours.”
After thanking the final guests, we slip away while Maya and Adrian handle the closing arrangements. Gabe guides me down a hallway I’ve walked countless times—to his office, to the stairwell leading to his basement gallery. Tonight, he stops at a different door.
“The VIP suite,” he explains, producing a key. “For special occasions only.”
The room beyond is intimate—all plush burgundy velvet and dark wood, with just enough light to see by. A small bar sits in the corner, a leather sofa against one wall.
The lock clicks behind us. The sound sends a shiver through me—that beautiful containment that only Gabe provides. Before I can turn, his heat presses against my back, his hands claiming my waist with firm possession. I lean into him, the solid wall of his chest anchoring me as his breath tickles my neck.
“Do you know how fucking exquisite you are?” His lips brush my ear, voice dropping to that register that makes my knees weak. “You’ve turned our darkest moments into art, and now it’s time I remind you how beautiful you make me feel.”
His hands tighten around my waist as he presses my back against the wall, our breaths merging into heatedurgency. I arch against him, craving the feel of his body so close. “I need this, Gabe. I need you.”
With a primal growl, Gabe captures my mouth with his, a fervent kiss that ignites a fire between us. His tongue claims mine with the same possession he’s shown since that first night—like I’m another masterpiece he’s creating.
When he breaks away, I notice what I missed before—a suspension rig hanging from reinforced ceiling beams. Black ropes and metal hardware gleam in the low light.
“Been planning this,” he murmurs against my throat. “Valentine’s gift.”
He peels the crimson silk from my body, revealing the intricate rope harness I wore beneath my dress just for him. His eyes darken as his fingers trace the patterns across my skin.
“Beautiful,” he whispers. “My perfect canvas.”
With practiced efficiency, Gabe secures additional ropes to my body, creating an elaborate web that distributes my weight. When he hoists me upward, I feel weightless, suspended in air with my limbs positioned precisely how he wants them—exposed and vulnerable.
“Look at you,” he says, voice thick with desire as he circles me. “Floating in my space, marked as mine.” His fingers trace the scarred initials on my shoulder. “Do you know what this does to me? Seeing you trust me this completely?”
I moan as he produces his mask, the one with spikes, and slides it onto his face. Then he positions me perfectly. The helplessness is intoxicating—I’m completely at his mercy, yet never felt safer.
“You’re going to come for me,” he commands, standing between my spread legs. “Going to fuck this perfect pussy until you scream my name.”
When he enters me, the angle is exquisite—the ropes holding me exactly where he can thrust deepest. I gasp as he sets a relentless pace, one hand wrapped in my hair, the other gripping the rope that crosses my chest.
“That’s it,” he growls. “Take me. Take all of me. You belong to me—your body, your art, your darkness. All mine.”
The intensity builds rapidly, my suspended body unable to escape the precision of his thrusts. I’m completely at his mercy, spiraling toward release.
“Gabe,” I gasp. “I’m close?—”
“Come for me, Amelia. Now.”
I shatter around him with a strangled cry, my body convulsing in the ropes as waves of pleasure crash through me. Before I can even catch my breath, Gabe’s hands are on me again, repositioning me in the suspension.
“We’re just getting started, my dark girl,” he growls, turning me so I’m facing away from him. The ropes shift with his adjustments, supporting me perfectly while leaving me exposed.
I feel something cool dripping between my ass cheeks, his fingers following the trail of lubricant. He works it around my tight opening with practiced precision, one finger sliding inside me, then two, stretching me with deliberate care.
“Look at how your body opens for me,” he marvels, his voice husky with desire. “Every part of you was made to take me.”
The buzz of a vibrator catches my attention a moment before I feel it sliding into my still-sensitive pussy. He positions it carefully, making sure the attachment presses firmly against my clit. When he switches it on, I jerk in the ropes, oversensitive and overwhelmed.
