Chapter Thirteen
Seraphine
I curled up in the leather recliner in Valen’s workshop, my sketchpad balanced on my knees as I tried to capture Courtney’s smile from memory.
This was the first time I’d tried to draw any of my sorority sisters in six years.
I couldn’t before. It was like my hand refused to make the marks needed to form their beautiful faces.
But here in Valen’s workshop, the need to put their faces on paper was overwhelming. Valen was across from me, sanding down the arch he was working on.
I needed to take a moment to process how my life had recently derailed.
Two weeks ago, he’d wanted to destroy me. A week ago, I was trying to poison him and steal his snowmobile. And now? He was claiming I belonged to him like a prize he’d won at one of those parking lot carnivals.
Congratulations, you survived a serial killer and hypothermia! Your reward is an over-the-top possessive ex-con who looks at you like you’re made of diamonds.
That wasn’t even the disturbing part. It was the fact that I was starting to like it. Like a lot.
Were things moving too fast? Absolutely. Was this the most psychologically unhealthy relationship I’d been in in my entire life? Probably. Did I care? Apparently not, because every time he said I belonged to him, something warm spread throughout my chest.
Wait until Emmeline hears about this. She’s going to lose her mind. Although she’s a romantic at heart, even if her past is more fucked up than mine.
I shifted in the chair, studying his face as he worked.
There was something predatory about him.
Even when he slept, it was like he was ready to wake up and attack at the first sign of any danger.
He said prison had changed him, turned him into a murderer.
I didn’t know if the guilt for what I’d done would ever go away, but when he looked at me now, with those soft gray eyes, I was able to pretend that we were just two normal people without the insane baggage.
The logical part of my brain, the part that had somehow survived years of trauma and bad decisions, kept trying to remind me that we were bonded by a shared nightmare and nothing more.
That once we killed Cyrus, assuming we didn’t die in the process, we’d go our separate ways.
I’d thank him for the life-changing sexual awakening and helping me commit murder, and that would be the end of it.
But sitting across from him, with him every so often giving me a wink or a knowing smirk, I wasn’t so convinced.
The man who’d handcuffed me to him was the same man who’d risked his damn life to pull me out of that frozen lake.
The same one who’d helped me get through a panic attack and told me I deserved to live.
God, we were fucked up. Maybe me a little bit more than him, but hey, it wasn’t a competition.
What was going to happen when this was all over? Would he still want the broken woman who’d ruined his life? Would I still be drawn to the man who had threatened to spank me into submission and somehow made it sound appealing?
I guessed right now, all that mattered was surviving whatever Cyrus had planned. Everything else—the future, my sanity, the fact that I was probably developing feelings for a dangerous man who carved woodland creatures—that could all wait.
I tried to focus on sketching Courtney’s face, but my attention kept drifting back to Valen’s hands. The way his fingers moved over the wood with such precision, the flex of his forearms as he worked the sandpaper in long smooth strokes.
Focus, Seraphine.
He handled his tools with such confidence, such control, it was doing things to me that I didn’t really need right now.
Especially after last night. He’d played my body like a violin, making me scream his name over and over again.
And he hadn’t even asked for anything in return.
Even when I tried to push him back and repay the favor, he’d pulled me to him and told me to sleep.
“You’re staring, little lamb,” he said without looking up from what he was doing.
My skin heated, and I tapped my pencil against my bottom lip. “I’m observing. For artistic purposes only.”
“Artistic purposes? Is that what we’re calling it?” He grinned that devilish grin of his that made my stomach do somersaults.
“I’m studying the way you work. Your technique with the wood is… impressive.” I was trying my best to sound like a professional, but my voice came out breathless like the lustful little demon I was.
“Just the technique?” He glanced over, catching me staring at his hands.
“Your hands… I mean, the way you use your hands. With the wood. The stroking. Very… skilled.” I pressed my thighs together, his gaze following the movement of my legs.
He set down his sandpaper, giving me his full attention. “Your artistic opinion is that I’m skilled with my hands, is that it?”
The way he said it, low and rough and filled with dirty promises, had me licking my lips.
“Mm-hmm.” That was the only word I could form as he stalked over to me.
I had to tilt my head back to meet his eyes.
There was a hunger in them that surely had to match mine.
“I mean, skilled with the wood. Not like skilled with your hands in a perverted way.” I grinned. “I’m a professional, you know.”
“Obviously.” He grabbed the pencil from my hand and tossed it to the side. “A very serious artist. The same one who wanted me to pose shirtless, as I recall?”
The way he was looking at me had my toes curling. Heat radiated off his body, and I had to stop myself from tackling him to the floor. He gripped my chin, my mouth falling open slightly.
“Speaking of your interests… I got you something.” He released me and walked over to the extra refrigerator in the corner. A second later he came back with two white boxes and set them on his table.
My eyes widened at the bakery logo on the side. “Are those…?”
“Cherry pies?” He leaned against his worktable, crossing his arms over his chest. “I seem to remember you saying something about cherry pie and my abs.”
The temperature in the room shot up about a hundred degrees. My entire body was burning with a level of embarrassment I’d never known was possible. “Valen…”
“I bought them because they’re your favorite, not for you to lick them off me.” He winked and grabbed two forks from the bag. “You were probably all talk, anyway.” He shrugged, but I could tell by the wicked gleam in his eye that he was teasing me.
He really thought I wouldn’t do it. Hell, when I’d mentioned it, I’d never thought I’d get the opportunity, like ever. But considering we were planning on murdering someone together, and who knew if we’d even survive, I figured now was the time to stop playing it safe.
I stood, tossing my sketchpad on the recliner. “Take off your shirt.”
He arched his brow at my tone. Hell, even I was surprised at how confident I sounded.
The air in the workshop shifted to something more electric, and without missing a beat, Valen’s hands moved to the buttons of his shirt. But he didn’t undo them. Instead he grabbed his shirt right at the top and ripped it open, buttons flying everywhere, before tossing it to the floor.
“You’re insane.” I laughed as I walked over to him.
God, he was magnificent. He leaned against the table, gripping the edges. I trailed my fingers up his abs and over his chest. His skin was burning, and all I wanted was to taste him, with or without the cherry pie.
I swallowed, every nerve in my body hyperaware of what I was about to do. Before I could talk myself out of it, I pushed him back. “Lie down on the table.”
He did as I asked, stretching out across the long worktable. I hoisted myself up, straddling him, and grabbed one of the boxes. I flipped the lid open, admiring Jenny’s latticework, before scooping out a generous amount of cherry pie filling with my fingers.
The sticky sweetness clung to my fingers as I drizzled it onto his abs. The contrast of the bright red against his skin made me bite my bottom lip. He was perfect just like this.
Valen’s eyes darkened as I lowered my head. “Better not waste a drop.” There was a commanding tone in his voice that had me moaning before I’d even tasted him.
My tongue traced a slow line through the cherries. I loved the way it tasted. His skin was warm, tasting like a mixture of salt and sugar. Heat pooled low in my belly, my lips working across his abs as I licked up the sticky mess.
“Good girl.” His hand tangled in my hair, but not to guide me, just to remind me that I was his.
I dragged my tongue lower, chasing another streak of red. His abs tightened beneath me, a shudder running through his body. I grinned against his skin, savoring every taste of him. “So sweet,” I murmured, taking my time as I licked him.
“Don’t play with me,” he warned, making me shiver.
“Maybe I like playing with my food.” To prove my point, I bit down gently, making his grip tighten in my hair.
“Fuck, Seraphine,” he groaned, his breathing coming out more ragged. “You’re killing me.” A second later he, released me, his hands fisted at his sides as I licked across his abs.
My pulse pounded in my ears as I pressed lower, deliberately going slower until I reached the waistband of his jeans. He let out a low, rough sound in his throat, making me tremble, and I knew exactly what I wanted.
I sat up, stripping off my shirt. Before it even touched the ground, he dragged me flush against his body.
His mouth crashed into mine, the kiss sticky and sweet with the taste of cherries.
I didn’t care though, because nothing could beat this moment.
His chest was burning against mine, his hands rough as he pressed me harder into him.
I pulled back, trying to catch my breath.
But Valen was relentless, his fingers tangled in my hair, tugging as the kiss turned into something darker, wilder. I kissed him back with the same hunger, suddenly wanting nothing more than to be consumed by him.