Page 33 of The Sculptor

I press my bare foot to his shoulder, easing him back against the windshield of his Range Rover. “Then I suppose I’ll have to convince you how much fun sharing me can be.”

“Sharing, huh?” Reaching back with one hand, he holds my foot on his chest. “I have to admit, Ray, I do not see the appeal in sharing. I’m already jealous of this dress.” He tugs on the sequined fabric, bringing me closer.

Even in the moonlight, I can see the mischief in his gaze. “How does my homecoming dress make you jealous?” I swallow thickly, anticipation tingling under my skin as he studies me with intensity.

“This dress,” he starts, yanking me forward on a gasp, “is touching what’s mine.”

I never imagined at eighteen years old that I would find my soulmate. But here he is living, breathing, and blowing off our homecoming dance in the middle of a field, savoring every minute we have left with each other.

In six months, we’ll graduate.

In six months, Duke will go to college and become a doctor.

In six months, I’ll spend the summer in France.

My father calls it traveling abroad. I call it a test run for an arranged marriage with his politician friend.

Half a year and both of our lives will change.

Duke and I will become the people our parents demand we be.

We’ll give up our freedom.

More importantly, we’ll give up each other—all for the sake of family.

So, this stolen moment, like all the others, is precious.

I lift the corner of the short dress tauntingly. “If this dress is touching something that’s yours, maybe we should save it before you lose your temper and destroy it?”

That boyish grin appears as his fingers dance further up my leg. “I think that’d be wise. You know how I can get when it comes to my heart.”

His heart.

He says the phrase so much that I can’t tell if he’s still referring to the drawn heart on my skin or if his heart is simply… me.

Am I his heart?

I’m not sure, but one thing is for sure: He’s certainly mine.

Bunching the skirt of my dress, I ease it past my thighs and over my hips, revealing the heart I painted jade to match the dress’s color.

“There it is,” he croons, sitting up straighter, before placing a kiss on my calf. I should have been ready for what came next. Duke never just takes the inch you give him—he takes the whole damn journey.

The sucker poised between his fingers lands on my thigh, and I suck in a breath as the sticky substance touches my skin. “You’re gonna ruin my painting,” I say breathlessly. But the truth is, I couldn’t give a crap that the painting on Duke’s chest is cracking. All I care about is how his mouth closes over me as he licks the sweet path of his sucker while dragging it up my leg toward his heart.

“Duke.”

My hands tangle in his hair as I fight to keep my balance on the hood of his car.

“I’ve been patient, Ray.” The warmth of his tongue against my chilled skin is blissful torture. “I’ve sat still while you danced on my lap, tickling me with your paintbrush, until my cock was painfully swollen.”

My head falls back as he sucks hard on the inside of my thigh. “And if that wasn’t good enough, I allowed you to dance with my brother without killing him.”

I can’t focus on what he’s saying. “You’re driving me mad,” I cry out.

“Good,” he returns. “Now you can understand how I feel about anything and anyonetouching you.”

Mad.

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