Page 17 of His Dark Desires

Adrian's words from the gallery echo in my mind:I recently discovered your work.But something in his eyes that night... the way he spoke about specific pieces, like he'd spent hours studying them.

I minimize the email, trying to keep my thoughts on my sketches. The lines blur as my thoughts race. Could Adrian have been watching my career longer than he admitted? The idea sends a chill down my spine.

My gaze drifts to the commission brief with his requirements. The suggestions suddenly feel less like artistic guidance and more like planted seeds.

"You're being paranoid," I tell myself but open the email again. The words stare back, stark and knowing.They know more than you think.

I click through my social media posts, scanning comments and likes with new scrutiny. How long has Adrian really been following my work? What else might he know about me that I haven't shared?

The late afternoon light catches the dust motes differently now, like tiny cameras watching my every move. I shut my laptop with more force than necessary, but the words have already burrowed deep into my thoughts.

* * *

My dreams take shape in my studio. The familiar scent of oil paint and turpentine fills my nostrils. My hand moves, working on one of the commission pieces. The colors flow, deep blues merging into violent reds, circuitry patterns weaving through human forms.

I feel someone behind me. Adrian's cologne hits my senses before I feel his chest press against my back.

His hand slides down my arm, fingers wrapping around mine on the brush. His grip is like iron, controlling every movement. The brush sweeps in ways I didn't intend.

"Let me show you what you're capable of." His breath tickles my ear. "You need guidance to reach your full potential."

I try to pull away, to assert my own vision, but his hold tightens. My heart pounds against my ribs.

"I know what I'm doing," I protest. It comes out like a whine.

"Do you?" His low chuckle makes me tingle. "You can't break free. You don't want to." His other hand secures to my hip, holding me in place against him.

Heat floods my body. The loss of control terrifies me, but underneath that fear runs a current of excitement that makes my knees weak. The brush moves in ways I never imagined, creating something dark and beautiful. My breath catches as his lips touch my neck.

"See how magnificent we are together?" His words drip like honey. "Stop fighting what you want."

I shouldn't enjoy this. I should hate how he's taken over, but my body betrays me. His dominance awakens something primal in me that I never knew existed.

"Your strokes are too timid," Adrian's voice rumbles against my neck. "You're holding back."

His fingers tighten over mine on the brush, forcing more aggression. Red paint bleeds into black, creating violent swirls.

"I-I'm not holding back," I whisper, but even I hear the tremor in my voice.

"Yes. You are." His free hand slides from my hip to my stomach, pulling me tighter against him. His touch burns through my thin shirt. "You're afraid to truly feel. To let go. See how the colors blend?" His teeth graze my earlobe. "That's what happens when you surrender to sensation."

My legs shake as his hand guides mine in circular motions, paint dripping down the canvas like tears. Or blood. The image emerging is passionate, frightening.

"Please," I breathe, though I'm not sure if I'm begging him to stop or continue.

"Please what?" His voice drops lower, dangerous. "Tell me what you need to feel."

The brush clatters to the floor. His now-free hand slides up to my throat, applying the slightest pressure. My pulse races against his palm.

"I need you to understand," he murmurs, "that art comes from here." His fingers tighten. "From the places that make you afraid."

I feel Adrian's fingers slide beneath my shirt, his warm palm pressing against my stomach.

"You have so much passion inside," he whispers. "Let me help you release it."

I should step away. I know I should. But my body betrays my better judgment, responding to his touch like a flower to the sun. His hand moves up, thumb grazing just below my breasts. I can't hold back a soft gasp.

"That's it, Sophia," he murmurs, his lips against my neck now. "Feel it. Embrace it."

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