Total pages in book: 135
Estimated words: 127484 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 637(@200wpm)___ 510(@250wpm)___ 425(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 127484 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 637(@200wpm)___ 510(@250wpm)___ 425(@300wpm)
Over the hours, I read the same page over and over again. Most of the time, I just watched him.
Until he stopped painting to stare at me.
“You keep looking at me like that, Petal, there will be no more painting, and you’ll be on your back, screaming my name, milking my cock.”
My body jolted at the words, puncturing the silence I hadn’t realized had been so heavy. Need flooded my sore limbs, and I fought not to react. Although I really wanted him to do those things, I wanted him to paint more.
I painstakingly ripped my eyes off the masterpiece that was the killer painting me and stared at the words on a page until he was done.
He didn’t tell me he was done; he just stepped away from the canvas, rubbing his jaw and staring at his work with a critical eye.
After waiting to make sure he wasn’t just taking a break, I stretched, my aching muscles thankful for the movement.
Knox’s eyes snapped up to where I moved, running along the bare skin. His gaze was no longer critical. It was hungry.
“Uh-uh,” I waggled my finger at him, snatching my robe and ignoring the groan of my hips as I jumped quickly off the bed before Knox could prowl toward me and make me incapable of coherent thought.
I tied the robe quickly and walked to the canvas, tentatively, as if I were walking toward a bomb.
“Am I allowed to…?” I motioned to the painting.
Knox’s posture was ramrod straight. He barely moved his head in a nod that I took as permission.
Gingerly, I stepped around the easel so I could look, suddenly scared that he painted like shit and I’d have to pretend it was good. And I wasn’t good at pretending. Knox would see through me in a minute and feign not being wounded. But he would have to be since I’d coaxed him to do something creative and good, and if he got a bad reaction to it, he’d slither back into his dark shell, never to come back out.
I hadn’t really put much thought into the carnage I’d wreak if my little plan backfired. Not smart of me, considering what was at stake.
But I needn’t have worried.
I blinked when I stared at the canvas, my jaw slackening. I didn’t say anything. I couldn’t.
The painting was unlike anything I’d ever seen before. I didn’t know why I was expecting a simple portrait. Knox was anything but simple.
It was me. Naked and reading on the bed. Painted in exquisite and painstaking detail. I could feel the reverence, the worship he had for my body in it. There was a radiance to me that I couldn’t describe, soft pinks and whites merging together to elevate my form. I was perched on a bed, but the walls of the cabin weren’t behind me.
It was The Devil card from my Tarot deck, towering behind me, painted in harsh strokes of black and red, contrasting the gentle pastels he’d painted me in. Hovering above me. Casting me in shadow. Swallowing me whole. The Devil was also painted in exquisite detail, almost exactly like the card in my little bag of mementos. How he’d painted it from memory was beyond. It was unbelievable.
I looked from Knox to the painting, tears crowding my eyes. It was that mind-bendingly perfect. That visceral.
“You were born to do this,” I whispered, once again captivated by the painting. I was unable to look away from it for too long. It encased beauty and darkness and the harshness of life in a way that I couldn’t quite pinpoint.
I knew what the not-so-subtle symbolism was saying. That he was The Devil. The dark cloud casting a shadow over my life and spirit. It saddened me greatly that he saw himself like that, but I understood it. He was saying it in every way he could, screaming it at me through this exquisite piece of art.
What he didn’t understand was that the coolness of his shadow was more comforting and warmer than the brightness of any sunshine in a world without him.
“No,” he said harshly, yanking at the tie of my robe so it opened. “I was born to do this.”
He lifted me onto the table that had been cluttered with paints and paintbrushes, both the former and the latter tumbling to the floor as Knox placed me there. He immediately propped my legs up, spreading them and barely giving me a moment to prepare before he dove in. His mouth landed in the perfect spot, and I arched my back, pleasure shooting to my very fingertips. Knox was a wild animal, devouring me without restraint, without respite.
My orgasm washed over me in a wave of pleasure that shrouded me, taking me out of the room for a moment. And a moment was all he needed to remove his mouth, take his cock out of his pants and thrust into me with the same ferocity he’d eaten me with.