Chapter 2 #2
My gaze caught on her hands again as she held the book steady, and my brain went rogue once more. I imagined them trembling when I pinned her wrists above her head and pictured her trying to stay quiet while I fucked her slow and deep until she broke.
I didn’t speak for a moment. Too worried that anything I said would come on too strong and send her running. Not that I’d let her get far.
Elena’s breath got shallow. “You don’t like it?”
I looked up, meeting her eyes again. “It’s fucking brilliant, baby.”
The relief that washed over her face was immediate, and it made something in my chest tighten. It felt a little like pride. She hadn’t soaked up the praise. She cared about whether she’d done it right.
I wanted to be the one who taught her. Who she looked at first and trusted so completely that she didn’t even question what I asked of her.
I needed her to be completely dependent on me.
That was the part that unsettled me because it wasn’t really about control. The urge was about my obsession to have her, all of her. I wanted her orbiting me until I was the only thing she saw.
With a mental shake of my head, I stepped back, giving her space before I did something stupid.
“You worked on real skin?”
She nodded.
“Good to hear. However, I’m going to start with fake skin first. Gonna watch your hand pressure, needle depth, and consistency,” I explained. “Then I’ll have a better idea how to teach you each technique and which ones will require more explanation and practice.”
She nodded again, and I watched her lips part again, like she wanted to ask a question but didn’t want to look stupid.
“Ask,” I encouraged, softening my expression.
Her eyes widened slightly, clearly taken aback by my change. Then she seemed to forget all about it and asked, “What if I mess up?”
I held her gaze. “Then you fix it. Or you start over. You learn. That’s what you’re here for.
Once you start working on clients, you’ll have supervision for a while, just so I can catch if you are about to make an irreversible mistake.
” I raised a brow and warned, “I won’t jump in and take over, though.
You’ll need to move forward on your own.
Because eventually, there might not be anyone around to help you with a fuckup. ”
She exhaled, her shoulders dropping a little, but her tone was strong when she responded. “Okay.”
When she took another deep breath, I couldn’t help watching the way her chest rose under her shirt. It was subtle, but my cock noticed anyway. The heat didn’t fade, not even a little.
She picked up a pencil again as I set out supplies, and the second her focus narrowed onto the page, something strange happened.
The room around her didn’t disappear, but it softened.
Like her brain had locked onto a frequency the rest of us couldn’t hear.
Her hand moved with quiet certainty, her posture shifting from cautious to sure, as if drawing gave her a spine of steel.
Over the next two days, I learned more than I meant to.
She was disciplined. Showed up early. Stayed late. Asked smart questions. Didn’t try to impress anyone but didn’t shrink when the others gave her shit, either.
She spent most of her downtime with that sketchbook open.
And every time I glanced over, I got drawn in.
Some of them I recognized as symbols from around the studio.
Others were typical designs people ask for, but with incredible variations.
Some involved people, and I realized that she didn’t use reference photos.
If she looked at something, she memorized it with a glance. Then she worked by feel.
And her lines were clean and confident. Precise in a way I hadn’t seen outside military design or deep archival work.
But it wasn’t just that. It was how she moved when she drew. The way her breath slowed when her pencil touched the page. How her fingers curled just enough to adjust pressure, and her eyes softened slightly when a line clicked into place.
It was sensory. She didn’t just draw, she registered. And she rarely erased. Sometimes she adjusted slightly, but more often than not, she sketched like the shape already lived in her head, and she was just dragging it into existence.
The problem was that she stole my attention along with it.
I caught myself watching her mouth when she concentrated, the faint press of her lips together, and how she chewed the inside of her cheek once when she was thinking.
I took in the way she tucked her hair behind her ear, exposing the line of her neck, and my mind immediately supplied my mouth there, my teeth grazing and tongue tasting.
I watched her bend over the counter, and the curve of her ass in her jeans made my hands clench like I was already holding her hips, spreading her for me.
It got worse every time she looked up and met my eyes.
She didn’t look away anymore. She tried sometimes, but her gaze always came back as though she couldn’t help it. Like her eyes were learning me the way her hands learned linework, memorizing pressure and spacing, storing me somewhere deep inside.
That had satisfaction blooming in my chest. I wanted to be one thing she couldn’t forget.
By the second night, I went back to my room in the clubhouse, wound tight enough that my skin felt too small. I tried to get some work done, but my concentration was shit. My mind kept flashing to Elena in the studio, her hands moving, eyes narrowed, and mouth soft.
I needed to get some fucking energy out. And since I couldn’t work it off the way my body screamed at me to do, I grabbed the keys to my bike and headed down to the garage.
The temperature was on the low side for February, so there was a bite in the wind. I didn’t mind it, though. The stinging cold helped to cool the burn in my body and drag my mind away from the sweet woman invading my thoughts.
When I finally climbed into bed and stared at the ceiling, my room was quiet except for an occasional burst of laughter or slam of a door. I told myself to sleep. To stop thinking about her. That I was in control.
My body didn’t give a fuck what I told myself.
Eventually, I drifted off, but my dreams were a big-ass sign that I was most definitely not in control.
The light in the studio was dim, and the music still pumped softly through the overhead speakers.
Everyone else had gone home except for Elena and me.
We were alone. She was at a small table, with her sketchbook open in front of her.
I was turned away, facing the counter as I wiped down the last of my tools.
I suddenly felt her heat at my back and knew she was standing too fucking close.
Her sketchbook plopped onto the counter next to me, and I twisted around to see her looking up.
Her expression hinted that she’d finally decided she was done pretending she didn’t want what was happening between us.
She placed her hands on my chest, her palms warm through my shirt.
“You’re distracting,” she whispered.
I laughed, the sound coming out rough. “Good.”
Her gray-blue eyes twinkled, and her tongue darted out to wet her lips, smashing the rest of my resistance.
One hand dove into her hair, and the other clutched her shirt at the small of her back. I yanked her into me just as I lowered my head and took her mouth in a deep, sizzling kiss.
It wasn’t gentle. Or slow. It was the kind of kiss that stole breath, my mouth covering hers like I was stamping my name onto her.
She made a little sound that turned my blood into gasoline, and I lifted her without effort, turning and setting her on the counter.
Her legs opened instinctively, wrapping around my hips, and I felt her heat through two layers of denim.
I pressed my forehead to hers, breathing hard. The need in me was so strong, it hurt.
“Tell me you’re mine,” I growled.
Her mouth trembled. “Onyx…”
My fist tightened in her hair, pulling her head back. I slid my other hand up her throat, resting my thumb under her jaw and holding her steady while I kissed her again. “Say it,” I grunted against her lips before nibbling on the bottom one.
“I’m yours,” she whispered.
Stillness washed over me, and the turmoil inside me went quiet. It was like the world had been upside down and finally righted itself.
Then the passion and possession detonated, and I was lost to my basest, most primal desires. It wasn’t long before we were tearing at our clothes and feasting on each other’s mouths.
At last, my hands glided along her smooth, hot skin, cupping her ass as I lined up my cock and—
Fuck!
I woke up with my breath ragged and a cock hard enough to cut diamonds. My sheets were twisted around my legs like I’d been tossing and turning in my sleep. As I stared into the dark, my hands clenched at my sides, and my jaw clenched so tight it hurt.
The dream didn’t fade. It clung to me, vivid and hot. Feeling so damn real.
I slowly dragged a hand over my face, willing my heart rate to slow and my breathing to return to normal.
Fantasies. Obsession. Possession.
I’d never experienced anything like this before. Then Elena Dane walked into my world.
My body had already decided that she belonged to me, and my brain was quickly coming to agree.
I swung my legs over the side of the bed and stood, the cool air hitting my skin. I paced, trying to burn off the energy that had nowhere to go.
My brothers were gonna have a fucking field day giving me shit after all I’d dished out to them when they met their old ladies.
The pacing didn’t help. All I could see were her eyes, glazed with passion. I could almost taste her mouth. My hands felt empty without her curves to hold on to.
And under it all, deeper than the heat and the hunger, was that same brutal truth I’d tried to ignore since the moment I stepped out of my office and saw her standing beside Ink.
I wanted Elena.
And I was going to claim her.