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I glance over his shoulder at the door, then back to him. He watches me, holding me in his arms while he slowly rocks his hips forward. Eliciting every bump, flutter, the throbbing between my legs. Turning me into exactly what he wants me to be, his secret whore.

If you go with him, he will hide you away and continue with his life.

Nothing he has said tonight changes that.

He trusts you because you’re his good girl who won’t say a word about what goes on when no one is around.

This is not love.

Placing my palms against his chest, I take a deep breath, then press. He pauses, lifting his gaze to mine. He’s blurry, my eyes burn from the tears welling in my eyes as the ache that’s deep in my core threatens to tear me apart.

“You said that you would give me space.” Cain takes his thumb and runs it along my cheek, catching the tears as they fall.

“This little stunt you pulled changes that, my Flower.” He kisses beneath my eyes, drinking up my essence like he always does. Feeding off the evidence of the pain within my soul.

I cup his face in my hands, using my forearms against him to keep some distance between us.

“Cain… You’re hurting me. This has to stop.” He swallows, brows pinching, his jaw ticks beneath my fingers, flinching, like he’s in pain. Does he feel pain? If he does, he never shows it.

Rocking back, Cain sits on his heels. His eyes rake over me as he tugs down and straightens out my dress. Then he slips his hand behind my back, pulling me into his chest as he sits back on the bed. I rest my head against his chest, wrapped in his arms as he moves his thumb up and down over my shoulder in a hypnotic motion.

“I don’t want to hurt you. Not like that.” He takes his other thumb and runs it over my new bite mark that he left on my neck. I’ll be permanently wearing turtlenecks if that doesn’t heal enough.

“You’ll finally be free. You don’t have anything to hide with me out of the picture.” I swallow, nearly doubling over from the ache in my core. Grabbing my jaw, Cain lifts me to look at him. It’s not the gentle way he always does; it’s not a nudge or a request; he’s holding my jaw in his hands.

“What do you tell yourself in that pretty head? This situation is painful as it is, don’t let your brain make it worse.” He leans down, pressing his lips to mine, my jaw trapped in his iron-strong fingers. “I’m not giving up.” Grabbing the blanket, he wraps it around me, still holding me to his chest. The steady beat of his heart and the slow rise and fall of his chest help me breathe. My tension releases, and I find myself collapsing in his hold. My eyes close, I’m utterly exhausted.

“You should,” I whisper. Why would he put so much work into keeping me on his hook? Does he really think I’m the only one who will give him what he wants? He could have anyone.

And yet, while my stomach aches from wanting him, he’s still the one who I want to cuddle me to sleep.

This is wrong.

I shouldn’t take comfort in him when I know he won’t be here in the morning. He must be hypnotizing me with the soothing rhythm that is his existence.

“Go to sleep, my Flower. I’ll tuck you in once you’re down.”

With or without his offer, my emotions have me crashing. Leaving me spent, and nothing left to give.

I can allow myself to accept his comfort.

Just one more night.

Cain

Chapter 23

Hail taps against the window, thunder providing a rumbling underscore, while the lightning illuminates the erotic performance before me. Despite the taste of sadism that Dean is bringing to the table, I find myself uninspired when I should be sketching as ferociously as this final autumn storm.

I like pain. Like the rain, it stops to make you look at it.

Pain and sex go hand in hand for me. Violet’s tears are enough to turn me rock hard, leaving me vibrating beneath the surface until I get ahold of her and suck her tears down my throat. All while giving her reasons to make more.

That’s how I’ve been summoned here tonight, to Dean’s apartment. Pain and sex also go hand in hand for Dean. But while I create masterpieces of the flesh with bites, hickeys, and lashes, Dean likes burns and blood. It started in the kitchen for him, only escalating from there. He wants an erotic painting to hang up in their bedroom. And there’s nothing like capturing a real scenario for them to reminisce on. He has Dahlia lying on her back on a flat futon, a red sheet wrapped around her, so that her breasts, pussy, and ass are covered. While he looms over her, bare ass, dripping hot, sugar wax onto her chest.

I’m leaning back in my chair, my ankle propped up on my knee so I can lay my sketch pad over my leg like a makeshift easel. Herbal cigarette resting lazily between my lips, between puffs. It’ll be what he wants; I’ll make sure of that. This creation won’t be the same for me; it won’t compare to everything else in my studio. I prefer to have my art control me, rather than to control my art.

“Ah!” Dahlia cries out, sucking in a breath between her teeth with a hiss. A larger splash of wax drips down onto her neck. The soft, tender flesh transforms into a deep red, like a lover's rose, or a poisoned apple.