10. Chapter 10
10
Bella
I clutch the too-small towel against my chest and shuffle out of the bathroom, trying not to drip all over what’s probably a fortune in hardwood flooring. The steam follows me like a cloud of bad decisions, which feels oddly appropriate given my current life choices.
“Don’t look at him,” I mutter to myself. “Don’t you dare look at—”
My eyes betray me, snapping straight to the portrait. Those steel-gray eyes catch mine, and I swear the smirk has gotten worse. More knowing. More dangerous.
“This is your fault,” I tell him, gesturing at my damp self with my free hand. “You and your… your everything. Who gave you permission to look like that while I’m high and vulnerable and—?”
My shoulders sag, the fight draining out of me as I let out a breath I didn’t realize I was holding. My eyes drop, drifting down to my trembling hands clutching the towel. For a moment, I focus on the rhythmic rise and fall of my chest, trying to anchor myself in something—anything—that isn’t the pull of his painted gaze.
But then my eyes betray me again, wandering sideways, trailing over the gleaming floor and back to the massive bed looming to my right, all dark silk sheets and plush pillows. It looks obscenely comfortable, like it could swallow me whole, and I’d thank it for the privilege.
A tiny red-horned version of myself pops up on my shoulder, wearing what looks suspiciously like Elena’s favorite leather miniskirt. “Come on,” Mini-Devil Me purrs, filing her nails with a pitchfork. “That bed is practically begging for it. When’s the last time you felt silk sheets against your skin?”
“Shut up,” I hiss at my shoulder. “You’re not real. You’re just the weed talking.”
Mini-Devil Me rolls her eyes. “Honey, that weed wore off twenty minutes ago. This is all you being thirsty.”
“No,” I say firmly, trying to ignore how Mini-Devil Me is now sprawled across my shoulder, making bedroom eyes at the portrait. “Absolutely not. That’s not—” I take a step closer. “I mean, I could just sit. Just for a minute. To collect my thoughts. That’s… that’s reasonable, right?”
Mini-Devil Me snaps her fingers and disappears in a puff of red smoke, her cackling echoing in my head. “Sure, sweetie. ‘Collect your thoughts.’ Is that what we’re calling it now?”
I perch on the edge of the bed, and holy mother of sin—it’s warm. Like someone with a body temperature hot enough to melt steel just abandoned these sheets. The silk slides against my bare legs like a lover’s caress, and I have to bite down on my lip hard enough to leave marks to keep from making sounds that would make a porn star blush.
“This is fine,” I tell myself, trying to sound professional even as I lean back on my elbows. “I’m just… testing the mattress. For work. Market research. Like how car salesmen have to test drive vehicles. Totally normal. Totally—oh fuck.”
And then it happens. That scent. His scent. That ridiculously expensive soap is all over my skin, wrapping around me like invisible hands. I close my eyes, but sweet baby Jesus, that only makes everything worse. Because now there’s nothing to distract me from how every inch of my skin feels like it’s been lit up with sparklers, how the silk sheets are basically making out with my bare legs, and how that portrait’s eyes seem to have burned themselves into the back of my eyelids.
Mini-Devil Me’s voice echoes in my head: “Go on, touch the sheets. I dare you.”
“I hate you,” I whisper to my absent shoulder demon. “I hate you, and I hate this bed, and I especially hate that portrait.”
But I’m already running my fingers across the silk, and I swear to God, these sheets just moaned.
Mini-Devil Me materializes again, now lounging on a tiny chaise made of my bad ideas. “Speaking of bad ideas…” She points one perfectly manicured finger toward the armchair. “Elena’s birthday gift is getting lonely.”
“You deserve something nice on your birthday,” I find myself mimicking Elena’s voice, my eyes locked on my bag like it might spontaneously combust. “It’s self-care, Bella. Live a little.”
“I’m not—” I start, but Mini-Devil Me cuts me off with a laugh that sounds suspiciously like Elena after three margaritas.
“Honey, you’re already in his bed, wearing his soap like perfume, and eye-fucking his portrait. You crossed the line of ‘not’ about ten terrible decisions ago.”
I groan, but my feet are already carrying me to the armchair. The neon-green monstrosity practically glows in the dim light, like some kind of radioactive beacon of poor impulse control. I cradle it awkwardly, like it might bite.
“This is insane,” I tell it. “But then again, I’m talking to an inanimate object while another inanimate object judges me from the wall, so clearly sanity left the building hours ago.”
Mini-Devil Me appears on my shoulder with a shower cap and rubber ducky. “Cleaning time!”
Back in the bathroom, I scrub it thoroughly, my face burning hotter than the water. The whole time, a cartoon angel and devil battle it out on my shoulders.
“This isn’t that bad,” I mutter to myself. “People probably do way kinkier things in mansions like this. At least I’m not handcuffing myself to his four-poster bed or stealing his underwear.” I pause, horrified. “And now I’m ranking levels of trespassing depravity. Great.”
Mini-Devil Me lounges on the soap dispenser. “ Think about it—rich people probably have orgies in here all the time. You’re practically a nun in comparison.”
“That’s… not helping,” I hiss, but my brain’s already going there. “I mean, it’s just a quick… personal moment. In a stranger’s obscenely expensive bed. While high. On my birthday.” I groan. “Oh God, that sounds worse out loud.”
Angel-me adjusts her halo, scandalized: “This is someone’s private property!”
Devil-me, now looking like Elena in red horns, files her nails some more: “Girl, when was the last time you had any fun? Besides, you already used his shower. And his soap. This is basically third base already.”
“It’s my birthday,” I whisper, like that makes it better. “And I cleaned it. Very thoroughly. Like, surgery-room sterile. That’s… responsible, right?”
I catch my reflection—still flushed, still wild-eyed, holding a neon green sex toy like it’s a live grenade.
“I’ve lost my mind,” I announce to my mirror self. “Completely. Totally. Gone. This is on you,” I hiss under my breath, my fingers curling around the green monstrosity. “Every bit of it.”
Those enigmatic eyes seem to darken, and I’m certain his expression grows more smug. In my mind, his voice rolls through me like thunder: “Such a naughty little thing, breaking into my home, using my shower…” The accent in my head makes me shiver—something European, definitely dangerous, absolutely hot.
“Oh God,” I groan, my whole body flushing. “I’m giving him an accent. Why am I giving him an accent? And why is it working?”
Mini-Devil Me fans herself with her tiny pitchfork. “Because regular hot wasn’t enough for you? Had to make him sound like danger wrapped in velvet?”
I fling my shoulder in annoyance, and suddenly, the mini-devil disappears, leaving just me and Mr. Portrait standing there. But in my mind, I hear his voice, a deep chuckle that sends shivers down my spine.
“That’s it, little one,” he says, his voice deep and seductive. “I want you to remove that towel and let me see all of you.”
I hesitate for a moment, but the thought of him watching me, commanding me, is too much to resist. Slowly, I pull off the towel and lay back against those sinful sheets, and sweet baby Jesus, it’s like being caressed by a thousand butterflies made of silk. The dim light plays across his face in the portrait, shadows turning those sharp cheekbones into something otherworldly, dangerous.
“Run that vibrating monster over your nipples first,” he commands, his voice echoing through my mind.
Heart pounding, I reach for the emerald green toy and turn it on. The soft buzzing fills the room, and I can’t help but laugh nervously.
“I can’t believe I’m taking orders from my own imagination.”
But when I touch it to my skin, that laugh turns into a gasp. My nipples are already hard, sensitive, and the vibrations send electricity through my entire body.
In my mind, his voice grows rougher, darker: “Look how responsive you are for me, little one.”
“Oh, fuck,” I whisper, arching into the sensation. Mini-Devil Me is suspiciously quiet now, probably passed out from overheating.
“That’s it,” he purrs in my head. “Imagine my mouth there instead. My teeth grazing your skin…”
I mewl. My body trembles as I arch into the sensation, whimpering at the thought of his mouth on me.
“Spread those legs wider,” he commands, his voice deep and commanding in my head. His presence feels so real, like he’s watching me from a dark corner of the room.
I obey, spreading my legs wider and feeling the heat between them intensify. He’s making me do things I never thought I would, but I can’t resist his dominant commands.
“Fuck yourself,” he demands with a flicker of approval in his eyes. “Tell me, how wet are you for me?”
I whimper and slide my hand down to my slick folds without hesitation. It’s like my blood has been replaced with pure desire and electricity. My face flushes as I glance back at the portrait, imagining him there watching me, controlling me.
“I’m dripping,” I moan, my fingers finding my slick folds without hesitation. It’s like my blood has been replaced with pure desire and lightning. “I’ve created a monster,” I gasp to the ceiling, knowing that he’s watching me intently. “A sexy, irresistible monster.”
“You’re so good at following orders,” he says, his voice growing even deeper. “Now, use that toy on your clit; show me how you like it.”
“Yes… Master,” I moan, moving the toy closer to my clit.
His voice grows even deeper, sending shivers down my spine. “Now, imagine me kneeling between your legs, spreading them further apart as I taste you.”
“Oh… fuck.”
I can sense his dominant energy lingering in the room, even though he’s physically absent. My hand trembles as I grip the vibrating dildo, imagining it’s his wet tongue flickering against my throbbing clit.
“Now, picture my cock thrusting deep inside you, punishing you for breaking in,” his commanding voice echoes in my mind, igniting a primal fire within me.
“Yes, please, Master, punish me,” I groan. I push the green monster deeper into my dripping pussy, moaning with pleasure as I imagine him taking complete control of me.
“Good girl,” he hisses.
I imagine his strong, muscular body pressing against mine as he thrusts deep inside me. Each slow and deliberate movement sends waves of pleasure through my body, making me moan with desire.
“Squeeze my cock with your wet, velvet vise of a pussy,” he orders, spurring me on. My body responds eagerly to his every command, rising and falling with each thrust. The scent of him fills my senses, driving me wild with need. I can’t get enough of him, even as the image of his face is burned into my memory.
With a moan, I sink the dildo deeper, its girth stretching me wider. I feel my walls clench around it, fighting to keep it inside me.
“Fuck yeah, baby. Milk me dry until I fill you to the brim with my cum. Squeeze every last drop from me and let me explode inside you.”
I’m totally gone, completely at the mercy of my own imagination. Every stroke of that dildo feels like it’s his cock, owning me, claiming me, fucking me silly. I’m lost in the fantasy, drowned in the sensation of being thoroughly, utterly possessed by him. And then, it smacks me in the face like a cold bucket of ice: I haven’t been fucked like this in so goddamn long.
“Yes, Master. Please. I need more. Take me, claim me, fill me…” The pleasure builds until I’m practically vibrating out of my skin, lost in sensation and fantasy. That’s when my eyes flutter open—and holy mother of plot twists.
There’s not one set of those storm-gray eyes watching me anymore. There are two.
One still smolders from the portrait. But the other… the other belongs to a very real, very alive, very not-painted man lounging in the armchair like he owns the place. Which, given the whole portrait situation, he probably does.
His leg is crossed casually at the knee, but there’s nothing casual about that predatory gaze. It’s like someone took that painted smirk and dipped it in pure sin.
“Oh fuck,” I whisper, frozen in place. The neon green monster is still happily buzzing away, apparently oblivious to my impending doom. “I’ve officially lost it. The weed finally broke my brain.”
But no amount of blinking makes him disappear. He’s there. All six feet of suited danger, watching me with eyes that promise both pleasure and punishment.
Mini-Devil Me appears just long enough to whisper, “ Congratulations, you’ve upgraded from self-care to breaking and entering with a side of sexual offense.”