“What’s that wicked smile for?”
“Nothing.”
The bell goes for fourth period, and he kisses me goodbye, then turns, walking backwards for a few steps. “Are you coming to mine, after?”
I catch half a dozen jealous glares and smile. “Sure, as long as I’m driving.”
A woman staresout from the painting, her expression alight with the pure joy of existence, oblivious to the shadow falling halfway across her face. Another self-portrait, but so different from the others Zane has already shown me.
The way the colour drains from the side in shadow makes my stomach tense, anticipating an unknown horror. When I look back to the smile, there’s an edge of desperation to it I missed at first glance; trying to hold on to the happiness, already knowing it won’t last.
An understanding her smile might be missing for a long time, so she needs to make the most of it now.
For a second, I flash back to the party. Joking with Wilder as he drunkenly led us into the house, full of anticipation for the night ahead.
A frown grows as I continue to look.
“You don’t like it?”
I step back, into the protective circle of Zane’s arms, putting my hands on top of his when they link across my abdomen.
“It’s not meant to beliked,” I say, avoiding the real answer, then put the brakes on my own hesitation. “I just thought of Saturday night, after Wilder took Clare into the games’ room and I was wandering around your mansion, being nosy.”
He grips me a little tighter, muscles tensing.
We haven’t spoken of that night, a rather startling omission but also understandable. I no longer believe he had any intention to hurt me; his care when we’re together, his protective instincts show me better than vocal explanation.
Maybe one day, when I don’t feel my lack of sexual experience so keenly, I might ask him to explain more. But I skirt the edges of it now, not wanting to fracture the peace that’s grown between us.
“I was searching for the good art I thought any halfway decent billionaire should have displayed over the walls of his hundred-room lair.” I relax back against his strong chest, feeling some of his tension ease. “Needless to say, I was very disappointed.”
“Yeah. Dad took it all down.”
“Why? Doesn’t he know the only reason she painted these was for them to be seen?”
But Zane shakes his head. “I haven’t asked him.” A faint tremor starts in his arms, and I relent, turning around inside his embrace, tilting my head back for his kiss.
“What?” he says, amused. “No tears? No joyous laughter?”
“This painting doesn’t let you know what to feel. I think that’s the point.” My head twists back, seeing more with each successive glance as I always do. “All that anticipation but no resolution.” I face him again with a broad smile. “This is my uneasy expression.”
“Oh, is it?” he says, tickling me until I squirm, laughing helplessly until the tears roll down my face. Then his voice drops low, ominous as he walks me back towards the bed. “Unease is exactly what you should be feeling.”
He opens a bag placed at the end of the bed, pulling out silken ties in bright red; a sight that makes my heart pound a little harder.
“No using me to paint today?” I half joke. “We’re wasting daylight.”
“Thanks to the magic of electricity, it’s not a problem.” He takes my right hand and slowly ties the first length of fabric around it, then pushes me back onto the bed, flipping me on my stomach before he secures it to the post.
I’m still clothed, but all the spit in my mouth dries at the feeling of being restrained, made helpless. He repeats the process with my left hand, then my feet, leaving me spreadeagled, face-down on the bed.
His weight leaves the mattress and I turn my head to the side to watch him undress, my core pulsing, growing wet as he tugs down his briefs and his rigid cock snaps back against his abdomen. The moment he sees me watching, he licks his lips, gripping himself, hand pumping with slow strokes.
“You must be sore after the weekend,” he says, and there’s no relief in his words. They masquerade as concern but send a new wriggle of dread anticipation shivering along my spine.
My pulse increases, temperature heating another degree as his hungry eyes watch me, absorbing each tiny reaction.
His eyes are half-lidded and when he lets go of himself, a shiny bead of precum shivers on his tip, then he’s out of sight, rustling in the bag at the foot of the bed again while my nerves tangle with an overload of signals.
