Not with anger. Not with desperation. But with a fierce, claiming tenderness that makes my knees weaken. His hands slide along my back, pulling me flush against him, the canvas-laden wall pressing at my back, pinning me between the art and the artist.
He pulls back just an inch, his eyes raking over the fabric covering my skin. “I’m tempted to destroy this dress,” he rasps, his voice thick and dark. “But it looks too good on you. I’ll let it live.”
He steps back, giving me a moment of cold air that makes my skin prickle. His gaze is a physical weight. “Step out of it, Sienna. Now.”
I don’t hesitate. My fingers find the zipper, the sound of it sliding down loud in the quiet studio. I let the fabric bunch at my hips before it hits the floor in a silent heap. I stand before him, completely bare, feeling the heat of his stare like a brand.
As soon as the silk is gone, he’s back on me. He doesn’t wait. He slams his palms against the wall on either side of myhead, pressing his body into mine with a force that steals my breath. The cool wall is a sharp contrast to the scorching heat of his skin.
He buries his face in my neck, inhaling deeply as if he’s trying to memorize my scent all over again. His hands leave the wall to slide down my sides, his touch firm and possessive, tracing my curves.
I arch my back, my skin humming wherever he makes contact, my hands finding his hair to pull him even closer.
He reaches down, his hands hooking under my thighs and hoisting me up. I instinctively wrap my legs around his waist, my arms locking around his neck as he holds me against the vertical wood. He is pure, solid muscle, and the sheer strength of him makes my head spin.
With one hand still bracing me, he reaches between us. His eyes never leave mine. They are dark, focused, and predatory. He doesn’t use words; he doesn’t have to. The way he aligns himself against my heat tells me exactly what’s coming.
He lunges forward, driving into me with a single, powerful thrust.
A sharp gasp hitches in my throat, my head hitting the wall with a soft thud as I take the full length of him. It’s an intense, stretching fullness that makes my toes curl. He doesn’t let me settle. He begins to move immediately, his rhythm hard and demanding.
The wall vibrates behind me with every heavy strike of his hips. It’s raw and unyielding. My fingers dig into his shoulders, my nails drawing thin red lines on his skin as I try to hold on to something stable in the storm. Every time he thrusts, he lifts me slightly higher, only to let me slide back down onto him, deeper and deeper.
“Sebastian,” I moan, the sound echoing off the high ceiling of the studio.
He growls low in his throat, his teeth grazing the sensitive skin of my shoulder as he picks up the pace. The friction is incredible—hot, wet, and relentless. I can feel the tension coiling in my gut, a tight spring ready to snap.
He’s gasping now, his breath hot against my ear, his movements becoming more frantic. I’m right on the edge, my vision blurring as the pleasure takes over. I tighten my grip, my legs squeezing his waist as the world narrows down to this wall, this heat, and this man.
The wall is cold, but Sebastian is fire. He doesn’t slow down, his thrusts coming hard and fast, pinning me so firmly against the wood that I feel like I’m becoming part of the room. Every impact sends a fresh jolt of electricity through my spine, making my head toss back and my eyes roll shut.
He isn’t being gentle anymore. He’s reclaiming me with a raw, primal energy that leaves no room for doubt. His hands move from my thighs to my waist, his fingers digging into my skin to hold me steady as he drives deeper and deeper.
“Look at me, Sienna,” he commands, his voice a jagged rasp.
I open my eyes, my vision hazy with tears of pure pleasure. He is watching me break, his face a mask of intense concentration and raw hunger. Seeing the way I affect him only pushes me closer to the edge.
The coiling tension in my stomach finally snaps.
I shatter against him, my body jerking as a massive, blinding climax takes hold. I scream his name, my voice echoing off the studio walls as wave after wave of heat washes over me. I’m helpless, clinging to him like a lifeline while the world dissolves into white noise.
A second later, Sebastian lets out a low, guttural roar. He thrusts one last time, buried as deep as he can go, and freezes. His muscles turn to stone, his head falling into the crook ofmy neck as he follows me into the abyss. His heart is a frantic hammer against my chest, and his breath comes in ragged, broken gasps that burn against my skin.
For a long time, he doesn’t move. He keeps me pinned there, high against the wall, our bodies still joined as the aftershocks slowly fade into the quiet.
The silence is heavy, filled only with the sound of our shared breath.
He doesn’t let my feet touch the ground.
Even as the tremors are still fading from my thighs, he shifts his grip, pulling me tighter against his chest. He carries me out of the studio.
He moves with a steady, quiet purpose, his footsteps heavy and rhythmic on the stairs as he takes us down to the bedroom suite. Neither of us speaks. The silence between us isn’t empty; it’s thick, charged with the weight of what just happened against that wall. My head rests in the hollow of his shoulder, and I can hear the fading thunder of his heart slowing down to match mine.
When we reach the suite, he pushes the door open with his shoulder. The room is dim, bathed in the soft, blue glow of the moon filtering through the window.
He walks toward the massive bed, but he doesn’t just drop me. He lowers me onto the silk sheets with a slow, deliberate care that feels almost more intimate than the act itself. He follows me down, his shadow stretching over me as he settles between my legs once more, bracing himself on his forearms to look at me.
His eyes are dark, searching my face as if he’s trying to find the girl I used to be—or perhaps trying to accept the woman I’ve become. His hand reaches up, his thumb tracing the line of my lower lip, which is still swollen from his kisses.
