Page 66 of The Devil's Canvas

I inhale deeply, steadying myself, ignoring the way my pulse jumps beneath my skin. “You wish.”

Julian chuckles, the sound dark and rich, leaning in just enough that his breath ghosts against my skin. The warmth of it, the closeness, him— it’s all too much, and yet not enough.

"You don’t need to say it, little artist." His grip tightens, subtle but certain, the pressure enough to remind me of exactly where I am. Of exactly who I’m with. His voice dips lower, just for me.

"I already know."

There’s something about the way he looks at me; llike he sees me. Not just the way people think they do—reading body language, searching for reactions. He doesn’t need any of that.

He just knows.

I used to think the Mark was the reason. That it was the thing pulling us together, making me feel like I couldn’t breathe when he wasn’t near, making me want him before I even understood why.

But it’s not. Not anymore.

Because it wasn’t the Mark standing beside me at the premiere, keeping me steady. It wasn’t the Mark letting me take control, letting me fight my own battles while knowing, without question, that he would step in if I needed him.

That was him.

And it’s easy with him. Instinctive. Natural. He doesn’t need me to explain things I don’t know how to say, doesn’t need me to force emotions I can’t show. He feels them anyway. Understands them without asking.

And I don’t care how he does it. Because it’s enough just to be understood.

I pull him in, crush my lips against his, and he doesn’t just respond—he takes.

His hands lock around my waist, dragging me flush against him, and the moment our bodies connect, heat erupts between us. There’s no slow build, no teasing—just raw, unrestrained hunger.

His lips move against mine with a possessive intensity, his grip tightening like he’s afraid I’ll pull away. I won’t. I press closer, fingers threading into his hair, tugging, needing more.

He groans, deep and low, a sound that sends a shiver straight through me. His hands wander, trailing fire down my spine, his touch just rough enough to leave me breathless.

The kiss deepens, darkens, devours.

His teeth graze my lower lip, teasing, punishing, and when I gasp, he seizes the moment, claiming my mouth completely.

The room spins, my skin burning where he touches me. Everything else disappears. It’s not just a kiss. It’s a storm, a collision, a promise.

He breaks away just far enough to piss me off. I want to stomp my foot. I want more. “Bedroom?” he murmurs, voice smooth, teasing.

I blink at him. “Julian. It’s a studio apartment.”

He tilts his head, completely unbothered. “And?”

I gesture vaguely behind me. “It’s literally right there. We don’t have to go anywhere. We could blink and be there.”

His lips curve, delighted. “So what you’re saying is… efficiency.”

I roll my eyes, patting his chest like I’m proud of him for putting that together. “Wow. Yes. Incredible deduction skills. Really putting that big, immortal brain to use.”

He grins, not even a little offended. “I do my best.”

I shake my head, laughing—but before I can say another word, he moves.

One second, I’m standing. The next, I’m flying.

Julian moves effortlessly, lifting me like it’s nothing, his hold firm and unapologetically possessive.

"Julian!" I yelp-laugh, gripping his shoulders. "I can walk!"

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