Page 53 of The Devil's Demise

I clench my jaw. “You make my heart weep with how much I love you.” My voice throbs with emotion. “When they’re all gone, I’m gonna ask Dom to take the kids.”

My thumb brushes against her cheek.

“Why’s that?” she breathes, backing off a fraction, her eyes boring into mine.

“Because I want you out of that dress,” I growl under my breath. “In nothing but that diamond necklace and those heels on.”

She sucks in a gasping moan. “And what’s going to happen then?”

“Then, Mrs. Cavaleri, I’m going to draw you . . .” I let my hand trace from her arm down to her hip where my hand grips her possessively. “And after that, I’m gonna fuck the shit out of you. Does that answer your question?”

“Ahh, yeah . . .” Her breathing gets shallow. “Quite well.”

“Good.” I smirk, enjoying her discomfort. “Let’s go and sell some more paintings so that there’s nothing left for them to stay for.”

* * *

AIDA

We’re finally alone, nothing but the music left, resonating with soft notes into the back of the room where we both are. He’s locked the door behind him, just in case, even when the gallery has long been closed.

He leans against the door, the tux wrapped tight around the muscular form of his body. He seems to enjoy the gym, while I enjoy watching him enjoy the gym. We have equipment in the basement of our home, and I much prefer watching him work out than doing it myself.

His eyes wander down my body, my nipples beading under the thin material of my dress. The way he looks at me, it’s like he’s ready to devour me right on this floor.

“Take off your clothes.” His voice hums with command and I find it difficult to make my fingers work. “Now, baby.” The muscle in his jaw tics as he stares, the guttural cadence of his tone has me aching between my thighs. “Let me see you.” His voice gets all raspy and deep-chested and I grow tingly all over, my skin prickling.

I don’t know why I’m nervous. He’s drawn me before. But not since I had Cyres ... I like my body, but not enough to take off my clothes while he sees me with the bright lights shining down over me. There are too many imperfections on my skin these days. And having him draw them, it brings me unease.

He must sense it, his brows tugging before he falls a step toward me, then more until he’s close enough to catch my cheek in his palm.

“What’s wrong, baby?” The tenderness with which he touches me, talks to me ... it speaks to me, aches through me.

I glance down, not sure how to voice my insecurities.

He says, “You know I think you’re gorgeous, right?”

I nod, and when I still don’t look at him, he tilts my face up with the back of his hand. “Let me show you just how beautiful you are.”

My eyes prickle. My heart pounds in my rib cage, growing far too large to fill the space there. My gaze perches onto his with adoration, and within his, I find carnal desire burning like embers. I could tell he’s hard already without even touching him.

He twines his fingers through mine and takes me to the mirror that lines the entire back wall. My pulse picks up, anticipating what he plans to do.

He stands behind me, and I can see him through the mirror just as his hands find the zipper at my back. Gradually he drags it down, those eyes practically undressing me already.

My skin alights with warmth, spreading over my full body as his fingertips brush down my spine, his mouth leaning into the crook of my neck, lips softly meeting my skin.

“Mine,” he groans, his hands slipping into the straps as he draws the dress lower, past my breasts. Those eyes meet me again. “All mine,” he growls as his palms cup my breasts, his thumbs slowly sweeping around my hardening nipples. Lust swoops through me in a frenzy and all I want is him inside me.

With a low, breathless moan, my head falls back against his chest, and he brings the rest of the dress down, until it pools around my feet.

I step out of it, now only in a lace nude thong. I look at him then, needing to watch what he’ll do to me. He fastens our gaze, like two storms colliding. The intensity of his eyes, it has my stomach flipping. His hand runs from in between my breasts, down over my stomach, a finger tracing my very wet slit.

“Go lie back on that sofa and let me draw every perfect inch of you.” He practically groans every word. His lips, his teeth grazing from my collarbone to my shoulder.

“Mmm . . .” I sigh, instinctively cupping my breast and massaging. “These stretch marks,” I explain, just as he zaps his attention up. “I—I hate them.”

He pauses, his hand resting on my lower stomach. “Oh, baby. Do you think I give a shit? Do you think that it somehow makes you less attractive to me?” He spins me around, both hands clasping each side of my throat, palms stroking my lips. “You could be covered in them from head to toe and I’d still get hard for you above any woman in this entire fucking world. Do you hear me? Do you get how much I love you?” He kisses me against my jaw. “How attracted I am to you?” he breathes.

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