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Jesus. I already need a cold shower.
I clear my throat harshly. “I’m a quick learner. But we can start wherever you think is best.”
Alexis hums agreeably, her focus already absorbed in mixing a particularly vivid shade of pink. I allow myself to step closer, allowing the subtle citrus scent of her shampoo to envelop me.
Fuck. This is going to be torture.
“Let’s get started,” Alexis says, dragging over a stool and perching on it, our knees grazing as she settles in close. “Remember, this is just for fun. No expectations.”
I raise an eyebrow. For someone who deals in ultimatums and power plays, having zero expectations is an utterly foreign concept. But her reassuring smile and close proximity make me want to try.
I attempt to lose myself in the ebb and flow of brushstrokes across the canvas, making swirls and slashes. Alexis leans forward, her citrus scent intoxicating, her fingers warm against mine as she adjusts my hold on the paintbrush. “Like this,” she murmurs. “Loose but controlled.”
Kind of like my resolve right now. But I give her a stiff nod, struggling to focus on her instructions rather than the gentle sweep of her thumb grazing my knuckles.
Dipping my brush into the paint, I attempt to follow her instructions, but my heavy-handedness takes over, resulting in harsh, uneven lines across the canvas. I curse.
“You’re overthinking it,” Alexis chides gently. “Painting is feeling, not precision. Let the emotions guide your strokes.”
I tense at her words. Allowing myself to be governed by passion rather than sheer force of will? The very notion goes against every ingrained element in me.
Yet here in this sunroom, Alexis seems to dismantle my restraints without even realizing. Watching the way her own nimble hands dance across the canvas in bold, expressive movements… it’s utterly captivating.
I try again, swiping dark blue across the canvas in one harsh, slashing gesture.
Alexis’s lips curve into a mischievous smile. “Angry brushstrokes for our brooding artist, I see.”
“Hardly,” I scoff, though my ears heat at being so transparently read. “I deal in absolutes.”
“Do you? Because your painting tells a different story.”
What on earth could the few paint strokes say about me? This I have to hear.
“I see a struggle between control and craving, desperation and restraint,” she says softly.
A tremor cascades through me at her perceptive assessment, one that feels a bit too intimate even from an artist’s perspective. I lick my suddenly dry lips, painfully aware of each scorching point where our bodies align. She is too close, clouding my senses with her presence.
“Perhaps we need a break,” Alexis breathes. “Clear our heads.”
The energy crackling between us is palpable, thrumming with a dozen unspoken possibilities. Of its own volition, my free hand drifts to her hip, fingers splaying possessively over the thin cotton as I tug her nearer.
Alexis’s eyes briefly flutter shut before opening again, shimmering with a combination of nerves and want. At this moment, I’m acutely aware of how easy it would be to surrender. To discharge the ironclad control I cling to and give in to these incredibly inescapable urges that leave my body thrumming.
She seems to sense the warring factions within me, her generous mouth curving. As one slender finger trails down the plane of my chest, I shudder violently at her sensual exploration. Rational thought is rapidly becoming an effort in futility.
When she rises on her bare tiptoes, her full breasts brushing my torso, my resolve finally shatters. In one fluid motion, I cradle the nape of her neck as I crush our mouths together in a searing, desperate kiss.
11
ALEXIS
Kissing Damian is electrifying.
My whole body is on fire, my lips molding perfectly to his. The kiss starts off soft and exploratory, but it doesn’t stay so for long. The unleashed hunger and passion I had been trying to suppress for Damian comes roaring back.
I kiss him harder, desperately, like I might drown if I don’t consume every bit of him. My fingers tangle in his hair, pulling him even closer until there is no more space left between us. Damian matches my fervor, one arm snaking around my waist to pin my body to his.
He feels so powerful, so unrestrained, and yet his other hand strokes my cheek with the utmost delicacy. He is clearly the one in control, and honestly, that only makes me want him even more.
