Page 31 of His Dark Desires

"Show me." He stands behind me now, close enough that I catch his subtle cologne.

I gesture at the half-finished piece. "I'm incorporating the circuit patterns here, weaving them through the human figure. The idea is to show how technology both enhances and constrains us." My voice sounds steadier than I feel.

"Interesting interpretation." His eyes don't leave my work, but I feel the weight of his attention like a physical touch. "The tension between control and freedom."

"Yes, exactly." I turn slightly, and our eyes meet. The look in his eyes holds something darker, hungrier than before. My breath catches.

"Your technique has evolved considerably." His hand brushes my shoulder as he leans in to examine a detail. "The precision here shows remarkable control."

I swallow hard. "Control isn't always easy to maintain."

His lips curve slightly. "No, it isn't."

We're dancing around what's really happening between us. Every conversation about art feels loaded with double meanings. Every critique carries an undercurrent of something more primal.

"Adrian," I start, then stop, unsure what I'm even trying to say. What happens when a patron becomes more? When professional lines blur beyond recognition? The commission looms between us—both connection and barrier.

"Yes?" His voice drops lower, sending shivers down my spine. His hand rests on my shoulder now, thumb tracing small circles that make it impossible to think clearly.

"The commission—if we..." I can't finish the thought. His proximity scrambles my words.

"We're both adults, Sophia." His other hand settles on my waist, barely there but burning through my thin shirt. "Capable of separating different aspects of our relationship."

But are we? The question hangs unspoken as I lean back slightly, testing the solid warmth of him behind me. His hold tightens in response.

"I wonder if I'm dreaming again," I murmur to myself, my lips curving into a grin.

"Again?" Adrian echoes, running his hand up my back.

Both hands settle on my shoulders and start to massage. I feel him lean down toward my neck, feel his breath tickling me there. I lean my head to the side and let my eyes close.

It's happening so fast my brain can't quite keep up. But my body seems to know exactly what to do. I feel him urge me to stand, the brush slipping from my fingers. I comply, my eyes still closed, drunk on sensation.

"Did you dream about me last night, Sophia?" His voice is a rough whisper against my ear, sending delicious shivers through me.

"Maybe," I tease, a smile playing at my lips.

"What did you dream about?" His hands are at my waist now, his thumbs stroking.

"You'll have to pry it out of me." My own hands reach up, sliding into his hair, pulling him closer.

"I can do that." He begins to push me backward, guiding me toward the far wall.

My heart pounds as the back of my legs meet the wall. He's caging me in, his body warm, solid. A rush of anticipation courses through me, and I tilt my head back, baring my neck to him.

"Beautiful."

His lips graze my skin, sending sparks down my body. He's dressed in his sharp, tailored suit, but I can feel the broadness of his shoulders, the lean strength of him.

"I was thinking about you," I confess, my breath coming faster. His fingers trace feather-light patterns on my skin, up my arms, along my cheeks.

"Tell me more." His mouth moves to my neck, teeth scraping gently.

"You were..." My words falter as he starts to kiss me, his lips moving down my jawline. "You were touching me. Guiding my hand."

He stops, his eyes searching mine. "Is that so?"

I nod, unable to meet his stare for long, too overwhelmed by sensation. "I couldn't break free. You teased me, told me I wasn't using enough feeling."

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