Page 10 of Of Realms and Chaos

Bellamy was quick to deepen the kiss, his tongue hot against mine. One hand cupped my cheek while his other slowly trailing up my leg. When his fingertips hit my inner thigh, a low moan slipped from between my lips. He continued to tease, drawing designs on my skin that I could not quite decipher—like I was his newest canvas, ready to be made into something beautiful by him.

Of course, the demon had grander thoughts.

“Wait here,” he whispered against my lips. I groaned, reaching for him as if I could force his body to remain in the bed, but he was up before I could latch on to him.

His ivory skin glowed in the morning sunlight that streamed through the many windows gracing the far wall. Every inch of him was made up of hard muscles, his back dotted with freckles and covered in those strange tattoos. He was glorious, his body far more magnificent than any painter could dream of creating.

As he disappeared through a far door, I found my eyes roaming over the room. I had not taken it in before, but it struck me how stunning it was in that moment. Dazzling, but so utterly opposite of The Elemental.

The walls were a startling white shade, bright and beautiful and blank. The sheets below me were made of a bright blue silk, as light as the sky on a clear summer day. All around the room was furniture in the same blue shade, covered in intricate designs that held the remaining three colors in the demon sigil. Plant life thrived, vines crawling up the walls and wrapping themselves around the ceiling. Rather than looking unkempt, the plants appeared intentional, like a form of decoration that brought fresh air and earthy smells.

If these were Bellamy’s chambers, they were nothing like who I knew him to be—nothing like the foreboding castle I had gotten lost in many times during my stay in Haven.

Bellamy came back into the room then, carrying a blank canvas and an easel. I blanched, quickly yanking the silk sheets over my naked body. He merely chuckled and set the easel down near the center of the room, placing the canvas upon it.

My eyes tracked his every movement, watching as he went to a white desk in the corner farthest from the enormous bed I lay on. His hands moved with practiced efficiency, opening drawers and pulling out various vials of paint.

At one point, the demon turned around, lifting a brown and a yellow up. One of his eyes scrunched closed as he held the colors out, looking as if he were pointing them at me. Then he turned once more, sifting through them all until he had everything he needed. Piling his supplies into a wooden container, Bellamy grabbed a stool and dragged it across the room. He perched atop it in front of his easel, then he flashed me a wicked smirk, eyes alight with the heat of his own arousal.

“Will you let me paint you, Princess? Will you allow me the honor to commit you to memory—to immortalize you with the stroke of my brush?” Oh, he knew how his words sounded, what the innuendo did to me.

How could I think when he sat there completely naked and hard as steel? I wanted to melt, to beg for him. To do anything but lay on the bed nude and allow him to paint every one of my flaws.

“Where will you hang such a scandalous piece? The throne room?” I asked sarcastically, the panic inside me causing my head to swim. I needed time to figure out how to get out of this without showing him how foolishly insecure I was feeling at the mere thought of it.

The demon simply tilted his head to the side in that frustrating way he always did, waiting for me to lower the sheet.

I would rather be splayed out on a table in front of him a thousand times over than feel his keen eyes on me as he paints every soft curve and imperfection of my body. Being vulnerable in that way, allowing him the chance to see more of my inadequacies in startling clarity, was something I could not do.

I was not taught to show weakness. Not raised to be anything but a golden statue to be viewed and used, fitting into whatever space those around me needed. Always hiding every imperfection so no one could see the truths within them.

“Am I so horribly boring that you need paint to act as foreplay?” I asked, trying my hand at more humor.

Something had to give. Something had to get him away from that damn paint. At my words, Bellamy stiffened. I saw the moment his excitement faded to concern, the second his anger began to simmer.

“It seems I have not made myself clear, Asher. So let me say it plainly now.”

Bellamy stood, his black waves a mess and his piercing eyes trained on me. He looked like a beast ready to hunt, and I was his next meal.

His feet were slow, the pace daunting. I swallowed, clutching the sheets closer to my body. What would he say? That he already knows I am not ideal? That he is not stupid, so clearly he is aware of my faults? I was not sure that would make me feel better at all.

“No part of you is less than perfect to me. No curve or freckle or tangle. There is nothing that you can show me that will leave me feeling anything less than obsessed with you.”

He was mere feet away now, a hunger in his gaze that had my stomach doing flips. I could handle this, our bodies coming together in a rush of passion and lust. This was easy in comparison to thinking of the fine details he might add to a painting.

“I will have all of you, Ash. Every part of you is mine, and I love it all. There will be no hiding, no fear, and no hesitation. Not with me. Never with me. You will remember my words because I will remind you every day for the rest of my life.” The words were practically a growl, his deep and heavy drawl slowing in pace.

Then he was at the bed, leaning down with his palms on either side of my hips. His lips met mine only briefly before a gust of cold air hit my body. I screeched, clawing at the receding cover with horror.

“I will have all of you. Now, pose for me like a good princess.”

With that, he was gone, dragging the sheet along with him as he made his way back to the stool. I could feel every roll, every indent and blemish. Every reminder of what I would never be. Everything that he was now looking at with his artist’s eye. I wanted to crawl into a hole, to dig myself a grave and never see the light of day again.

“Lay down horizontally across the bed and close your eyes,” Bellamy rasped as he sat down on his stool once more, unfazed by his own nudity. For once, I immediately did as I was told, shutting my eyes tightly as I shifted on the bed. “Relax. Breathe. Just focus on the sound of my voice.”

I nodded, trying to loosen up my limbs, to release the tension that had built up in my body from the moment he entered with that canvas and easel in tow. I draped one hand above my head, marginally hanging off the bed, and the other rested near my collarbone.

Breathe. Relax.

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