Page 21 of His Dark Desires

Sophia

"I hope you'll find everything you need here," Adrian's voice echoes through the vast space. "If anything's missing, just let me know."

I step into the studio, my breath catching in my throat. Sunlight streams through floor-to-ceiling windows, casting long shadows across pristine hardwood floors. From this height, the city unfolds beneath me, its towering buildings rising through the rosy dusk, reaching toward the fading light.

"This is..." I admire a sleek drafting table. The surface gleams, untouched.

Easels of varying sizes line one wall, while another displays an organized array of brushes, paints, and tools I've only dreamed of using. Some I don't even recognize. A digital workspace occupies one corner, complete with a tablet larger than my kitchen table.

"The lighting system adapts to time of day." Adrian demonstrates, tapping a panel on the wall. The room's ambiance shifts subtly, maintaining perfect illumination as shadows deepen outside. "You can customize the settings for different projects."

I drift toward the supply cabinet, running my hand over jars of pigments arranged by color. The labels read like a wish list: genuine lapis lazuli, rare earth pigments, materials I've only read about in art history books.

"Adrian, this is..." I turn in a slow circle, overwhelmed. "I've never seen anything like this."

He watches me from the doorway, hands in his pockets, a slight smile playing at his lips. "Consider it your workspace for as long as you need. Day or night, you'll have complete access."

The golden hour light bathes everything in amber, and I forget about the uncomfortable feelings I had over dinner, the vague warnings in my gut. I forget about everything except this sanctuary of creativity Adrian has crafted.

My mind drifts back to earlier today, to Adrian's unexpected call. His voice carried that mix of authority and charm that makes refusing him nearly impossible.

"I have something to show you. For the commission."

I hesitated, watching the sun sink toward the horizon through my apartment window. The memory of that dream flashed hot in my mind, his hand between my legs, his teeth on my earlobe.

"It's getting late," I said, fingers twisting the hem of my shirt.

"I'll send a car for you. This will be worth your time."

I wanted to say something about the way he ignored my concern and didn't seem to be giving me an option, but he was already speaking again, telling me when to be ready. I found myself agreeing.

Now, standing in this incredible space, I'm glad he wouldn't accept no for an answer. The studio is beyond anything I could have imagined, and I haven't even formally accepted the commission yet. Adrian just assumed—or knew—I would say yes.

I guess I have.

I glance at him. He's still watching me from the doorway. His eyes track my movements, both thrilling and unnerving. The setting sun casts half his face in shadow, making him look almost predatory.

"How did you know?" I ask, gesturing at the supplies. "About the specific materials I use?"

His smile widens slightly. "I pay attention to details, Sophia. Especially when they matter."

I set my worn bag on the pristine drafting table, feeling self-conscious as I pull out my battered sketchbook and well-used supplies. The contrast between my weathered tools and this gleaming sanctuary couldn't be starker.

But a different realization hits me—we're completely alone in here. My cheeks flush as fragments of that dream flood back. Adrian's hands on mine, his voice in my ear, the way he...

I fumble with my sketchbook, nearly dropping it.

"Something on your mind?" Adrian's voice carries a knowing edge.

"Just... thinking about the project." I keep my eyes fixed on arranging my pencils, though they're already perfectly aligned.

"Really?" He steps closer, and the room suddenly feels warmer. "Your blush suggests otherwise."

I turn to face him, determined to maintain composure. "I don't know what you're talking about."

"No?" His smile is wolfish as he reaches past me to pick up a brush, his arm ghosting along mine. "Artists are supposed to be honest, Sophia. Your body language tells quite a story."

My heart hammers against my ribs. "Maybe you're reading too much into things."

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