Page 57 of Unleashing Chaos

The battlefield morphs from reds and blacks to orange flames that engulf the devastation and the sky above us turns into plumes of smoke. The artist takes us through a moving vision of wrath in some of its most threatening forms.

When the room descends into darkness again except for the single light where we sit, Jace turns to look at me with countless emotions written on his face. “Desi, this is amazing. I’ve never seen anything like it in my life.”

I smile and get to my feet, holding out my hand to him. “I knew you’d love it. Come on, there are six more rooms to go.”

The next room we enter is flooded in a deep green glow, and immediately Jace whispers, “Envy.”

I hum confirmation and we go to the place the tall, statuesque demon is indicating for us to sit, a bench in the center of the room. We settle down, and Jace drapes his arm over my shoulders.

This exhibit is more abstract than the first—this artist is using every shade of green imaginable to create swirls of color around us that somehow make me feel like I’m caught in spirals of jealousy. I can’t explain it, but the sensation is so real that I feel myself turning inward toward Jace in an inexplicable overprotective position. And when my knees meet his, I realize it’s having the same effect on him. Our eyes meet and dart away from one another instantly, and we focus again on the bursts of jade, clover, lime, emerald, and mint that surround us.

When the colors fade, we move to the next room. The air in here is heavy and perfumed, and the walls are peppered with soft pinks and reds.

“Is this . . . ?” Jace asks as the door slides shut behind us.

The corner of my mouth turns up as the curvaceous blond demon up front beckons us to the blanket in the center of the floor.

“Lust,” I say, my voice a husky rasp, and I rub my thumb over the center of his palm, completely ignoring the fact that there’s no one here to show off for.

With a rich and smoky voice, the demon says, “I suggest you touch during my exhibit. Rest your head in his lap or lie next to each other. Whatever makes you comfortable. But I’ve been told that the physical interaction heightens the experience.”

Jace sits down and spreads his legs before pulling me into the space he’s made. He arranges me so my back is against his chest and his arms are wrapped around my waist. “Is this okay?” he asks.

“It’s better than okay,” I murmur. “I really, really like being close to you.” Why not be honest? I have a feeling this exhibit is about to make things awkward in here.

“Good to know.”

Jace rests his chin on my shoulder, and the demon sets to work. Like the artist before her, she also uses abstract images, but hidden in each are the curve of a hip or the swell of a breast. Bodies in human and demon form in the throes of passion. Some pairings are innocent, a stroke of a hand or lips pressed to a cheek, and others are completely lewd. But it doesn’t matter what she paints, each stroke of her hand sends a flurry of warmth through me.

I’m not the only one affected by the art. Jace can’t seem to stay still. His fingers sweep over my stomach, back and forth. Each stroke gets lower, moving over my belly button and onto the tops of my thighs. His chest expands against my back and his breathing turns shallow. But it’s the growing hardness at the small of my back that captures my attention and causes me to lose focus on the art.

Jace wants me. Right now. He couldn’t deny it if I asked him. This knowledge multiplies my desire and I shift between his legs, fighting a moan as I feel him twitch against me.

My center throbs and my skin aches to be touched. His hands on me feel so good, but I long for them to be under my dress, on my skin. I fight the urge to crawl into Jace’s lap and feel him pressed against me. My nails bite into my palms, and I chew my bottom lip, using the pain to keep me in place.

He sweeps my hair away from my neck, and goosebumps cover my arms when his lips brush the shell of my ear. “I’m so fucking turned on.”

If I thought feeling the proof of his need was sexy, hearing the words is enough to make me lose it. His lips on my neck set my entire body aflame. My brain chants that it’s just the exhibit making us feel like this. The sexy, entwined images are arousing us, invoking a response from our bodies. If we were sitting like this anywhere else, we wouldn’t feel the same.

But my heart and soul know better. At least for me.

I rest my head back against his shoulder and close my eyes, exhaling a shaky breath. “Me too,” I murmur. “I’ve never seen the lust exhibit before; it’s the only one of the seven I’ve never visited. I’ve heard what it—how it can affect you, but I’ve never experienced it firsthand.” I clench my thighs together and watch his fingers as they play with the hem of my dress. “This is intense.”

“That’s an understatement,” he murmurs. His fingers inch higher under my dress. Skin on skin, hot, smooth, needy. “What if I told you that I want to touch you?”

My breath catches. I can’t let myself believe that he means what I think he means, because if he doesn’t, I don’t know if I can handle the disappointment. So I whisper, a smile in my voice, “You are touching me, Jace.”

“I want to make you come on my fingers,” he groans, moving dangerously close to my center. “Let me touch you just once.”

“Fuck,” I gasp, pressing back against him, discovering that he is even harder than he was a few moments ago. If that’s possible. “Please, please, Jace. Touch me.”

I unhook my ankles and bend my knees. Jace’s palms glide from the tops of my thighs to the insides, easing my legs apart. He toys with me, drawing figure eights as we watch the art materializing on the walls. Each image is more erotic than the next. The indiscernible shapes have given way to clear pictures of demons in one sexual act after another.

He inches toward the part of me that’s been craving him for weeks. My heart feels like it is going to burst from my chest, and each rotation of his fingers makes my breath hitch. It’s not until he brushes the wet fabric between my legs that I stop breathing.

“Is it the art or me that makes you wet, Desideria?”

I nearly come apart at his touch and at his words, and I can hardly speak, but when I finally answer, my voice is hoarse with desire. “Both.”

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