Page 67 of The Devil's Canvas

His smirk deepens. "I know."

The mattress meets my back before I can argue, soft but jarring enough that my body bounces slightly. I barely have time to react before he follows.

He doesn’t pounce, doesn’t rush—just shifts over me in one smooth, devastatingly controlled motion.

My breath catches.

Julian rests on his forearm, his body aligning with mine, his presence impossibly close. Heat rolls off him in waves, sinking into my skin, seeping into every breath like something I’ll never shake.

His free hand drifts lazily down my arm, his fingertips barely grazing, sparking little jolts of electricity in their wake. Not demanding. Not teasing. Just a deliberate, lingering touch, like he’s waiting for something.

His breath fans over my cheek, a quiet shift in the air. “There’s something else a demon can do.”

A slow, wicked pulse uncoils in my stomach. I arch a brow. “Oh?”

Julian doesn’t answer immediately. Instead, his fingers pause at my ribs, pressing just enough to make me feel him.

I know this look. It’s hesitation, he’s giving me a choice. Letting me decide.

The moment stretches, anticipation crackling between us. My pulse hums, sharp and needy, but I hold his gaze steady, my breath shallow.

I don’t look away. I don’t overthink.

I smirk, my voice barely above a whisper. “Julian.”

His pupils darken, red bleeding into gold, his fingers tightening against my waist. His grip flexes, control slipping just enough to make me wonder how much he’s holding back.

I want to make it known this is something we're doing together. I urge his eyes to mine. “I want this.”

Julian doesn’t blink. Doesn’t smirk. He just stares, memorizing me, before his lips part, and his voice drops into something purely wicked.

And just like that—our clothes are gone. No movement. No effort. Just gone.

The rush of cool air hits first, kissing every newly exposed inch of skin. But the real heat is him.

“That’s…” My voice fails me for a second, my head spinning, my body already too aware of his. “That’s… cheating.”

Julian grins, his mouth hovering just close enough that I can feel the heat of it.

“No, little artist.” His lips ghost along my ear, his voice nothing but sin, slow and deliberate, silk over steel. "That’s demonic efficiency."

He settles over me, his body a furnace, heat rolling through every inch of my skin. He’s taking his time.

The bastard.

His lips barely graze mine, hovering, teasing, waiting. Like he’s daring me to take what I want.

I don’t wait.

I surge forward, crushing my mouth against his, swallowing the smirk before it can fully form. His responding growl vibrates against my lips—a dark, pleased sound that sends a sharp pulse through me, tightening my stomach, making my thighs press together.

His hands slide down my sides, fingers pressing into my ribs, firm and possessive, like he’s reminding me exactly who he is. His mouth moves to my jaw, my throat, my collarbone—biting, soothing, worshipping—leaving heat in his wake. My head tilts instinctively, giving him more.

He feels it. He always does.

"You’re so responsive," he murmurs, his voice velvet and smoke. "I wonder…"

I shudder. He hums—pleased, amused, starving.

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