His fingers closed around my wrist and my momentum carried me into his chest. Wet paint pressed between us, soaking through fabric, and the laughter in my throat died as his body registered against mine.
Neither of us moved.
His grip on my wrist loosened but didn’t release. My painted hand was pressed flat against his chest, fingers splayed over his heartbeat, and I could feel it hammering.
“Mira.” My name in his mouth. Low, rough, a warning and a request in the same breath.
“Don’t tell me to stop.”
I tilted my face up. Those silver eyes were burning.
Not with the controlled intensity I’d come to expect from him. Withhunger.
“I wasn’t going to.”
“Good.”
I rose on my toes and kissed him.
His hands found my waist and lifted me off the ground in a single motion. My legs wrapped around him and his mouth consumed mine with a desperation that stole my breath.
This was need. Primal, ferocious, centuries of patience shattering.
He carried me four steps and pressed my back against the freshly painted wall. Wet cream smeared across my shoulders, my hair, the back of my neck, and I didn’t care because his mouth was on my throat and his hands were everywhere, pulling at fabric, spreading paint across my skin in streaks that felt more permanent than pigment.
His lips sucked hard at my pulse point, teeth grazing just enough to make me gasp, while his fingers dug into my hips, holding me pinned against the cool, slick surface.
Solomon growled in approval, grabbing my wrists and slamming them above my head against the wall with one strong hand. Paint transferred from his palm to my skin, marking me as his.
“Waited,” he said against my collarbone. The word was barely language. “Too long.”
He ground his hips forward, letting me feel the thick bulge of his cock straining against his pants, pressing right into my core.The friction sent sparks through me, and I arched into him, desperate for more.
Then he moved to lower me to the drop cloth on the floor. My tank top was gone before my back hit the ground, and his mouth traced the paint streaks on my skin, tongue dragging through wet cream.
His mouth crashed back to mine, dominating every inch as he tasted me. I moaned into the kiss, my body trembling under his control. His paint-covered hand cupped one, thumb circling my nipple until it hardened into a tight peak.
Solomon pinched it firmly, drawing a sharp cry from me, then leaned down to suck it into his hot mouth, tongue lashing relentlessly. “Fuck, you’re perfect,” he praised between licks, his voice rough with hunger.
“These tits... so full.”
Hearing dirty words from a man of few words made me feel more heated.
He switched to the other breast, biting down just hard enough to make me buck against him, while his hand slid between my thighs. His fingers found my pussy, slick and aching, and he groaned against my skin.
“Mira, you’re dripping already. Do you love being painted up like this?” He plunged two fingers inside me without warning, curling them to hit that spot that made my knees buckle. “Do you love that you’re marked as mine? Like this?”
I clenched around him, panting, as he pumped them in and out, his thumb grinding against my clit. Paint smeared across my inner thighs from his hand, mixing with my arousal, the sensation filthy and intoxicating.
This is a new side of him. A darker side. The beast without restraint.
“S-solomon,” I whimpered, my hands fisting in his hair, pulling him closer.
He pulled his fingers free, bringing them to my lips. “Taste yourself,” he ordered, pushing them into my mouth.
I sucked eagerly, eyes locked on his silver gaze, now flecked with gold. He watched me with predatory intensity, then withdrew his fingers and dropped to his knees. His paint-slicked hands spread my thighs wide, forcing me open.
His mouth found my center, tongue pressing flat against my clit in a slow, devastating stroke that ripped a cry from my throat.
