Page 109 of Sinful Lord

“What does that mean?”

“It means I’m not going to keep you somewhere you don’t want to be. I know what it’s like to be caged, Tytus. I won’t be the bars on your prison. I can see the fire in your eyes. You want to go to work. I understand. Go.”

Grabbing both her shoulders, I hold her in place..

“I want to be with you.”

“You are.”

Her words rush into my lungs like a hot breeze. My hands fall from her shoulders.

Does Melina think we’re… together?

Are we? Have I done it? Have I seduced her?

… Or are we just falling for each other?

“I wouldn’t be gone long,” is all I can muster in response.

What the hell is going on?

I’ve got no time to think about it. My phone pings with another reminder and Melina takes it as her cue to increase the distance between us.

“I’ll be fine,” she says, stepping back. “Go. Save the princess. Do what you do best.”

“I’m not a hero,” I remind her.

“Then go be someone else’s villain, because you’re not mine. Not anymore.”

Fuck.

She turns and stares at the dark lake outside. My heart pounds like it never has before.

I’m losing control. Have I really fallen for this girl?

“I won’t let you down,” I promise.

When I approach Melina from behind again, she just barely looks back over her shoulders.

“Is there anything I can do to help?” she quietly offers.

Running my hand over her shoulder, I hold her in place and place a gentle kiss on her warm cheek.

“No. You stay here. Keep filling up that canvas. When this is all over, you’ll be able to paint for the world. But for now, you paint for me. And I want that masterpiece finished by the time I return. Understand?”

“No promises,” Melina sighs, and I can tell she’s using all of her strength not to melt into my hand.

This is getting dangerous.

“Get comfortable,” I tell her. Without another word, I leave the bedroom, but I don’t head outside yet. Instead, I go into the kitchen and pull out all of Melina’s favorite snacks.

I also rifle through the main floor vault and pick out the key to the bedroom door. My stomach twists at the thought of what I have to do.

When I return, Melina’s back at her stool, mixing paints like a good girl. But she freezes when she sees the food.

“I could have gotten that myself,” she says.

“No. You wouldn’t have been able to.”