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My forehead breaks out in a sweat. I can’t handle it anymore.

Standing next to her sprawled-out frame, I reach out my shaky hand towards her. I pause and watch as my hand trembles, millimetres from her face.

Don’t do it.

Let’s be honest, that little angel on my shoulder advising me has nothing on the devil on the other one, whispering every depraved thought and begging me to just get one taste and keep her with me forever. Even if I am about to chain her to this bed, and she might hate me for it.

Against my better judgement, I connect the pads of my fingers with her temple, and it’s like a warm blanket is draped over me. I run them down the side of her cheeks, towards her plump, partly open mouth. I take in her curves, silhouetted by the city lights from outside. She looks fucking incredible. My mind swirls with thoughts of buying her a studio. Then, she’ll be able to ‘quit’ DL. Not that she’ll have much control over that. I can buy the studio, then fire her. She won’t have to endure being leered at every night. Working till late in the night, then sleeping all day. She can focus on herself and her studio, and I’ll be there to watch every minute of her chasing her dreams.

My mouth twitches upwards. I separate my fingers and run my hand through her silky strands, which makes her move her head an inch. I snatch my hand away and hold my breath, not making a single movement. If she opens her eyes, I’m done for.

She turns and faces away from me. My chest slackens with relief.

Taking one of the chains from the floor, I carefully bring her wrist to the metal frame of the bed and wrap the chain around it, tying her to the bed. It’s loose, not the best form of restraint, but at least I’ll hear if she’s leaving. I round the bed and do the same to the other wrist.

Incredibly, she remains asleep.

Grinning, I move to the single chair by the windows, pulling out my sketchbook from underneath it and opening it up to a fresh page.

I begin to drag the coal down the page. I can’t see well, so I flick my eyes to her sideways frame and follow with my hand on the paper, capturing her calm, sleeping frame. The hair that’s sprawled out behind her, and a little bit of the storm outside, shading in every shadow and highlight.

A goddess in slumber.

Chapter 23

Xander

Soft clinking pulls me out from my short sleep. My sketchbook slides off my lap onto the carpeted floor at the same time as I jerk up in my seat. Sunlight now fills the room, the muted black and gold accents clear.

Camila stirs. I snatch my sketchbook off the floor and shove it under the seat. A groan slips out from her throat as she stretches, still not having noticed her wrists are wrapped in chains. Her perky tits press through the t-shirt as she arches, and that sight is doing nothing to help my already hard dick.

Suddenly, she freezes, and her eyes ping open, landing directly on me. She takes her time twisting her head to observe her bound wrists. But, as with every situation, her face is illegible. My hands grip the leather seat’s armrests, my body stiff and ready to spring into action.

“Xander…” she finally speaks, her voice raspy from sleep.

“Yes, Angel?”

She side-eyes me. “What in the fuck are you doing?” She asks through clenched teeth.

I spring up from the chair, climbing onto the bed. Her legs press through the thin fabric of the quilt. I wrap my hand lightly around her ankle and drag upwards as I tentatively bring myself closer to her. The bed dips with my weight as I pin either side of her with my knees. I can see the frustrated rise and fall of her chest, her arms hanging in the air. My hands journey up her tiny waist and settle on the sides of her face. Her cheeks flame red at the touch, but her eyes regard me all the same.

An angry question.

Have I just made the situation worse?

“Don’t panic,” I coo softly as my thumbs rub along her cheeks.

Her arm comes down but is jerked to a stop as the chains block against each other.

“I’m not panicking,” she swallows, voice tentative like she’s trying to tame a wild animal. And maybe she is. “I just want to know why the fuck I’m chained to your bed.”

“I didn’t want you to leave,” I all but rush out.

“Why would I—”

In a flash, my hand is wrapping around her slender throat, and her eyes widen, chains rattling with her sudden jolt of movement.

“I’m a killer, Camila. I’m not a good man. What I told you last night? What you already know? Anyone would run for the hills. But you haven’t, and I still couldn’t stand the thought of waking up and you’d be gone. You’ve etched yourself into me; there’s no escaping me now.”