Page 75 of Pretty When He Bleeds

I smile. “No, baby. I’m worshipping you.” I press closer, my chest brushing his back, my lips grazing his neck.

“You think I painted that canvas because I missed your face?” I murmur. “I missedthis.Missed putting you in my hands and turning every breath you take into something that belongs to me.”

Roman lets out a low sound that’s half-groan, half-whimper. His head tilts to the side, giving me more of his neck, and I take it. I kiss just beneath his ear, then trail down to his shoulder, licking a line through the paint I just smeared there.

He shudders again.

“Turn around,” I whisper. “I want to see your eyes.”

When he does, I almost lose it. His chest is heaving, lips parted, pupils blown. There’s red streaked over his collarbone now, a smudge of black across his ribs, gold dusting his hips. I dip two fingers into crimson, dragging them over his pecs, circling a pierced nipple, and watching it tighten under my touch.

He shudders, legs tensing, knuckles white. He doesn’t touch me. He’s being so good. My perfect fucking canvas.

“Touch me,” he begs.

I shake my head. “Not yet.”

“Babe—”

I palm him through his briefs, slow and teasing. The fabric’s already damp. His cock jerks in my hand and he lets out the filthiest noise I’ve ever heard from him. My fingers curl around him through the fabric, and I watch him fucking shudder.

“You’re gonna come just from this, aren’t you?” I taunt, leaning in, lips ghosting his ear. “From my hands, from the way I talk to you.”

“Damon,” he gasps, like my name is the only thing keeping him together.

“You’re a mess for me.” I kiss the paint I left on his throat. “Youlikebeing a mess for me.”

“Take them off,” he pants, tugging at his briefs. “Fuck—baby,please—”

“God, you beg so pretty,” I murmur, finally peeling the briefs down, letting his cock spring free. He’s leaking, throbbing, his whole body shaking with restraint.

“You’re so good for me,” I murmur, kissing the spot just above his cock. “Letting me do this. Letting me claim every inch of you. There’s not a single part of your body I haven’t imagined covered in my colors.”

“Baby,” he begs again, his eyes glassy now. “Please. Fuck, I—”

I look at him—really look.

Roman, panting and flushed and trembling. Covered in dark strokes of color, smudged pigment, fingerprints and lips and devotion. And he’s never looked more beautiful.

I lean in and kiss him, slow and deep, tasting the desperation on his tongue. “You look like a dream, Roman,” I breathe against his lips. “And you’re all mine.”

He lets out a broken moan, his hands finally gripping my arms, pulling me closer, uncaring about the mess. “Then fucking take me,” he snarls. “Paint me on the inside too.”

He watches me, chest rising and falling, completely under my control. Roman isn’t just the art anymore. He’s the canvas, the inspiration, the subject and the story. And I’m going to paint every inch of him until the only thing he knows is me.

I lean in, lips brushing against the corner of his mouth, just enough pressure to make him chase it. “I want you to open yourself for me.”

His breath catches and he blinks at me like I just knocked the wind out of him. “You—you want me to…”

“Yeah.” I nod, my voice lower now. “I want to watch you do it. My hands are filthy.” I lift them, both covered in dark streaks of paint, glistening in the dim light like something holy. “I don’t want to wipe it off yet. You’re my masterpiece, Roman. I want to see how you prep the canvas.”

He shivers. “Holy fuck.”

“Can you do that for me?” I ask, gently now, my lips grazing the corner of his jaw. “Can you show me how good you look when you give yourself to me?”

He groans, the sound raw and low in his throat. “Yes—”

“On the mattress,” I murmur, not moving away. “On your back. Legs spread. I want to see you.”

---