Page 16 of Painted in Sin

“That’s a pretty bold statement, Bella. Are you sure?” I ask. I cock my eyebrow and drag the crop higher, teasing her collarbone, her earlobe, the side of her neck before flicking it against the tip of her nipple. She arches her back and forgets to breathe as a sharp exhale of air escapes her lips. “Because once I have you, I don’t think you’ll ever want anyone else. Does that scare you, beautiful?” I ask, tracing the tip of the crop along her bottom lip as I crawl onto the bed with her.

“Mmm…” Her moan is a whimper but music to my ears. She watches as I slide my slacks and boxers off, tossing them before rising to my knees next to her. My cock is rock hard. I stroke it, and she eyes me, flicking her tongue over her bottom lip.

“No,” she whimpers. “It doesn’t scare me.”

“And why is that, Bella? Tell me,” I coax, wrapping my hand around her ankle and bringing her leg toward me. My cock taps against her wet entrance before I feather it along her slit. Her juices coat the head as she whimpers and bites down on her bottom lip. My tip seeking the entrance to her core, Ishove forward into her wet heat—only to grind against her core teasingly.

“Because.” She pants. “I want you. I want you so bad I can't think straight… please.”

“What—” she whispers as I pull back and deny her again. Her hips jerk off the bed, but I am relentless in my torment. Instead of sinking into her depths, I drag my tip back up, finding her kitty wet and aching. I circle her clit before sliding just inside before pulling out again. “God, stop torturing me,” she cries out as her toes curl.

The crop in my hand is too tempting. I bring it down in a hard, loud slap on the outside of her thigh, and her body lifts off the mattress as I thrust forward, our bodies colliding hard.

“I’m not done, Bella,” I growl, burying myself to the hilt inside her, and she moans brokenly. “You should’ve known better than to rile me up. Now you’re going to have to deal with my dark side.”

“P–Please,” she begs breathlessly, her pussy clenching my cock like a vise grip.

“I love it when you beg,” I growl in her ear, my thrusts picking up speed and intensity. I reach down and roughly grab her breasts, twisting her nipples so hard she arches off the bed, feverishly digging her nails into the restraints. “I can do whatever I want to you, Bella.” I smack her ass with the crop, grinding my pubic bone against her clit as I spank her swollen cheek again.

“Oh, God,” she moans brokenly. “I—“ Her sentence is lost in a string of profanities as she climaxes over me, squeezing me so tightly I can barely thrust, but it feels too damn good to care. The bed frame bangs against the wall and her core pulses aroundme, milking me. I’m not far behind, pushing my cock deep inside her one last time before I unload like a Mack truck, painting her insides white.

“Vic…” She pants, trying to catch her breath as I kiss the side of her neck, taking her scent in as I pull my cock from her hot, tight core. My hand reaches up and pulls the end of the silk tie, loosing her wrists, and she slides her arms around my chest. I lie on top of her, breathing her in, letting my cum drain from her body as her legs wrap around my hips.

“So fucking good,” I tell her, and she bites my shoulder, small recompense for the way I’ve treated her so far tonight.

I pull away and find my scotch and two glasses in my side table. She turns to her side to watch me fill them with the amber liquid and takes one as I hand it to her. The bed jostles as I slide in next to her and pull the sheet over our bodies, and she sips her liquor as she eyes me, still unspeaking.

"Why do you deny yourself what you really want, Bella?" My playful nickname for her is more than just a shortening of her name. She is beautiful in every way that counts, and it's my softness toward her that draws that name to my lips.

"As if you know what I really want." Her eyes watch me over the rim of the glass. "Why do you do anything you do?" The words are accusatory. I've let her see who I am fully, and this is her judgment. I'm tempted to throw her out of my bed, but that's the vulnerability of this moment. If I'm ever to get her to let her guard down, I have to lower mine.

"As if you know what I want," I say, repeating her. Musing for a moment, I sip from my full glass and think about what I do really want aloud for a moment. "I really want to do somethingwith my art… With the gift I've been given, more than forgery and criminal activities. To make this world feel as deeply as I do simply with the strokes on the canvas."

She scoffs at me, rolling to her back before sliding up the mattress to lean on the headboard. It stings, the way she has already made up her mind about my motives and intentions. I suppose that's my fault. I've only ever been my father's pawn, only done what he expects. But art is the thing that can change the world—a universal communication to souls bypassing logic or pragmatism. It breathes hope and inspiration where only darkness is seen.

"You're one of the souls on this planet who understands beauty can change the world…" My comment seems to soften her edge. Her shoulders relax, and I think about how much her opinion matters. I just don’t know why. Perhaps because I've seen her passion and I know it rivals mine. Or maybe because her willingness to see the real dark side of me while not drawing back entirely is something I've always needed… Because I prize the fact that she isn't on my level, that somehow, her moral superiority and approval mean I'm not the evil man some people think I am.

"Someday, I want to transform this family's horrible practices into a legitimate art business. I'm not sure how, or when, but I will." The statement sits between us as a ribbon that binds our hearts. I see her glass is empty and I reach for it. "I'll pour another," I tell her, but she's off the bed before I am.

"I need to go. I should be at a hotel. I appreciate your hospitality, but I can't stay tonight, Victor." This isn't normal. I'm the one who beds women and sends them away, not the reverse, but I won't force her to stay.

"I'll send you with Gerard. He'll drive you wherever you want to go." I can't display how it hurts me that she's leaving after my confession, but I have work to do, anyway.

She dresses, and I put on my slacks and show her out. Gerard is waiting for her and opens the door. When she's safely tucked inside, I pull him aside for instructions because no one will ever lay a hand on my Bella and get away with it.

"Keep her safe. Do you hear? You sit on that hotel and if you see anything strange, you call me immediately. There are people watching her." My stern expression draws a nod of acknowledgement.

"Yes, sir. I understand," he says, and he rounds the car to climb in. I watch them drive away, but I'm not confident this is a good idea. With more players in the game, I can't be too careful. I knew this may happen, and now it's time to stake a claim to what is mine.

The painting.

And the art lady.

And no one is coming close to either of them.

13

ISABELLA

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