Page 68 of The Devil's Canvas

"Julian," I whisper, but it’s not a protest. It’s a plea. A command. A surrender. I should tell him to hurry up. I should tell him I want more. But I don’t—because I do want this. Every second of it.

His mouth travels lower, lips skimming down my stomach, his hands parting my thighs with ease. His breath is warm against my skin. Too warm. I feel his smirk before I see it.

"You’re already trembling," he murmurs, fingers ghosting up my thigh, teasing, never quite touching where I need him.

I make a sound—frustration, need, something dangerously close to begging.

His eyes flick up, molten red-gold, utterly enthralled. "Tell me what you want, little artist."

I don’t answer.

So he presses a single, devastating kiss between my thighs.

I jolt, sucking in a sharp breath, my fingers twisting in his hair, tugging, demanding.

He groans, deep and wrecked, entirely too satisfied. "That desperate for me already?"

I want to snap something back, something sharp, something that will wipe the smugness from his face.

His tongue flicks against me.

I forget how to think.

My back arches off the bed, a moan breaking free before I can stop it.

"That’s it," he rasps against my skin, his grip tightening, holding me in place. "Take what I give you."

And I do.

I unravel beneath him, the world narrowing to his mouth, his hands, the merciless pace that sends me spiraling higher, faster, too much, not enough.

I shatter. Hard. But Julian doesn’t stop. Not yet. He takes everything. Devours it.

I gasp, clawing at his shoulders as he moves up, kissing me again—deep, thorough, letting me taste myself on his tongue.

My legs wrap around his waist, pulling him closer, needing more. Needing him.

"Oh, love," he chuckles against my lips. "I’m not done with you yet."

Julian's lips crash against mine, his hands gripping my hips, my waist, my thighs, like he wants to touch every part of me at once. Like he can’t get enough.

He pulls back just enough to look at me.

"You look wrecked already, little artist," he murmurs, his thumb brushing over my kiss-swollen lips, his eyes burning. "And I haven’t even started yet."

I should say something sharp, something to wipe that arrogance off his face.

He rolls his hips against mine, pressing exactly where I need him. I forget how to breathe. My fingers dig into his shoulders, nails scraping over muscle. Julian groans, his control slipping—just slightly.

Good.

"I need you," I breathe, the words slipping out before I can stop them.

His expression darkens, something feral flickering behind his gaze. "Say it again."

"I need you." I pull him down, arching into him, aching.

His hands tighten, grip turning bruising.

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