Page 126 of The Devil's Canvas

“We’re both fools,” I say, closing the distance. “Because I’d do it again. Every time. Even knowing how it ends.”

“I wouldn’t change a thing,” she whispers. “Except maybe how long it took us to say it.”

My fingers find the mark on her chest and the second I touch her, it detonates.

The bond doesn’t just reform. It erupts. It scorches. Crawling up my arm like wildfire through dry earth. Her spine arches with a choked sound as it tears across her chest, carving my soul back into her skin.

The air fractures. Like fate itself just snapped back into alignment.

She exhales and in the space between breath and regret, her fingers seize the front of my shirt. The fabric bunches under her grip as she yanks me forward, crashing her mouth into mine like she’s trying to erase the distance in one violent pull.

Her teeth catch my bottom lip. Her nails dig into my shoulders. And when her lips part, it’s on a broken sound that shatters between us. A sob. A gasp. A plea. I don’t know which—but I take it. Swallow it like it’s the only thing tethering me to the surface.

She tastes like salt and blood and something I haven’t had in months—hope.

Her hands thread into my hair, tugging me closer, like she’s afraid I’ll vanish again if she lets go. And I kiss her like I’m anchoring her to this moment—my mouth bruising against hers, my fingers trembling where they clutch her waist.

She moves against me like someone drowning. Like touch is oxygen. Like if she presses close enough, we can undo every minute we spent apart.

And maybe we can. Because right now—I don’t know where her pain ends and mine begins.

“I hate you,” she gasps against my mouth.

“I know,” I rasp. “I love you too.”

I shove her back against the wall, hard enough to make her gasp, and claim her lips again. She kisses like she’s punishing me. I kiss her like I’m owning what’s always been mine.

“You’re shaking,” I growl into her throat, dragging my mouth along the fragile curve. Her pulse hammers under my tongue. “Still trying to pretend you’re not mine?”

Her breath catches.

“You are,” I say, slow and brutal. “Every fucking inch of you.” I slide my hand beneath her shirt, fingers curling against her ribcage, and drag it upward until the fabric is gone, flung somewhere behind us. I don’t rush. I watch her. Watch how her breath hitches when I trace my thumb under the swell of her breast, circling her nipple until she whimpers.

“You’ve been starving,” I murmur, dragging my hand lower. “Haven’t you?”

She nods, barely. “Julian—”

Her name feels like prayer on my tongue, but I don’t say it. I drop to my knees instead.

I press my mouth to her stomach, her hips, her thighs. I taste her skin like it's the only tether to life I have left. I grip her legs and pull her to the edge of the bed, stripping her bare—slow, reverent, but with the kind of hunger that leaves no space for hesitation.

I spread her open and groan when I see her.

Wet. Swollen. Mine.

She jerks at the first touch of my tongue. My name breaks from her lips like she’s choking on it. I grip her thighs tighter, holding her in place as I drag my mouth up her slit, circling her clit with deliberate, unrelenting pressure.

“Oh—god—Julian—”

Her hips buck. She tries to run. I don’t let her. “You’re going to cum on my mouth,” I growl. “You’re going to scream for me. Now.”

And she does. And when I finally pull back, her entire body is trembling, wrecked and open, chest rising in shattered gasps. But I’m not done.

I strip off what’s left between us and push her back on the mattress, sliding between her thighs with a snarl that’s barely human. My cock presses against her entrance, thick and hard, and she arches up to meet me.

“Please,” she whispers. “I need—”

I thrust into her in one long, brutal stroke. Her scream is my name. Tight. Hot. Perfect. I feel everything.

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