Page 132 of Stalker's Toy

As we come down from our shared high, Henrikrests his forehead against mine, both of us panting. "That was..."

"Incredible," I finish, a smile tugging at my lips.

He chuckles, a rare sound that warms my heart. "At this rate, I'll have you pregnant in no time."

I playfully swat his arm, but can't help the flutter in my stomach at his words. "Is that so?"

"Absolutely," he says, his tone half-joking, half-serious. "I can already picture a little artist running around, covered in paint."

As we straighten our clothes and attempt to make ourselves presentable, I can't shake the image Henrik's words have conjured.

A child with his piercing blue eyes and my wild curls.

It's a future I never dared to imagine before, but now...

"We should get back," I say, running a hand through my tousled hair. "They'll wonder where we've gone."

EPILOGUE

Henrik

She’s putting on her coat.

The big, fluffy white one that goes down to her knees.

Nothing underneath.

She has been my muse for six months since she moved in.

Six months of using her body as I pleased, but tonight… tonight was our masterpiece.

I know every curve, every scar, every inch of pale, scarred flesh I spent hours painting in delicate strokes, and here she is, ready for the night of depravity ahead.

The artist, the canvas, and the muse all in one beautiful, fucked-up package.

I wait at the entrance of our house, watching as sheadjusts her overcoat to reveal more of her bare skin underneath.

The coat falls open just enough to expose more flames with each step.

Dark reds, sharp blacks, swirling like I burned her myself.

Like she was in my hands and in my power when I spread those chaotic strokes over her body.

Her closeness makes me even more aware of everything she is.

She is the coat.

She is the flames.

She is the difference between what she was and what I made her.

She is deliberate, defiant, and perfectly herself.

She’s as fragile as porcelain, or as carefully made, and for all those reasons and more, she’s also mine.

And when she finally crosses the last few steps of distance, that’s exactly how it feels.

Lost in the haze that is her.

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