Chapter 23
Moonlight streamed through Sophia’s studio windows, illuminating Kate’s hair as she worked away enthusiastically. Her brush moved across the canvas with confident strokes. Her artistic vision had become sharper since her transformation, more intense.
Devon watched quietly from the doorway, transfixed.
Her simple white dress flowed around her legs as she moved, the fabric occasionally catching the light and revealing the graceful lines of her body beneath.
Paint stained her fingers, cerulean blue and burnt sienna, and there was a small smudge of yellow ochre on her cheek that she either seemed unaware of or simply did not care to wipe away.
She was magnificent, completely herself in a way she’d never been as a human. And he wanted her so badly it took all of his inhuman strength to control himself.
“You’re staring,” Kate said without turning around, a smile evident in her voice.
“I’m admiring,” Devon corrected, stepping into the studio. “There’s a difference.”
Kate laughed, the sound rich and warm. “Is there? Because I can practically feel your eyes on me. It’s very… distracting.”
“Good,” Devon said, moving closer, his voice dipping to a lower tone. “You’re distracting me, too.”
Kate finally turned to look at him, her brush still poised in her hand. The smile on her lips faltered when she saw his expression, the hunger he’d been trying so hard to keep controlled.
“Devon,” she said softly.
“I know,” he said, stopping just out of reach with a pained expression on his face. “I know we can’t. I know it’s not safe. I know Aleksander could—”
“But?” Kate prompted, setting down her brush on the table.
Devon ran a hand through his hair, his carefully maintained composure suddenly cracking. “I’m going insane, Kate. Watching you, wanting you, holding myself back because of him. I—” He stopped, jaw clenching with frustration and longing.
Kate stepped closer, close enough that he could smell her scent mixed with the turpentine and oils. “You what?”
“I dream about you,” Devon admitted, his voice rough with emotion.
“Every day when I sleep, I dream about touching you, tasting you, being inside you. And I wake up aching for something I can’t have because that bastard has poisoned everything.”
Kate’s breath caught in her throat. “Devon…”
“I watch you paint, and all I can think about is pressing you against that easel and showing you exactly how much I want you. I see you laugh, and I want to swallow the sound with my mouth. You bite your lip when you’re concentrating, and I want to bite it for you.”
Kate’s eyes were wide, her pupils dilated, her breathing heavy. “Then why don’t you?”
“Because I’m trying to protect you,” Devon said, his voice strained. “Because I don’t want him in your head when we—”
“No,” Kate said suddenly, her voice fierce with defiance. “To hell with Aleksander and his games.”
Devon stared at her, something dangerous flickering in his eyes. “Kate…”
“Devon,” she said, moving even closer. “I’m tired of wanting you and not having you. I’m tired of letting him win.”
Devon’s control wavered. “If he intrudes—”
“Then we’ll deal with it,” Kate said, reaching up to cup his face with her newfound inhuman strength. “But I won’t let him steal this from us anymore. I won’t let him steal you from me.”
Something in Devon’s expression shifted, became more predatory.
“Kate, if I touch you right now, I won’t be gentle. I won’t be careful. I’ve been holding back for so long.”
“I don’t want gentle,” Kate whispered her challenge. “I want to see you lose control.”
Devon stared at her for a long moment, his chest rising and falling with unnecessary breaths. Then, finally, his legendary discipline snapped.
“Fuck it,” he growled.
He moved swiftly, backing Kate against the art table in one fluid motion. His mouth crashed down on hers, hungry and desperate. Weeks of pent-up desire poured out into a single bruising kiss. Kate responded immediately, her hands fisting in his shirt to pull him closer.
“Finally,” she moaned against his lips.
Devon’s hands roamed her body with unhinged desperation, reacquainting themselves with every delicious feminine curve.
When his fingers found the hem of her dress, Kate lifted her arms without hesitation, letting him pull the fabric over her head and toss it aside.
She wasn’t wearing a bra underneath, which made Devon’s senses sing with approval as he drank her in.
“Beautiful,” he murmured, his gaze traveling over her body with undisguised hunger. “So fucking beautiful.”
Kate reached for his shirt, but Devon caught her hands, pinning them gently behind her back with one hand while the other traced the line of her collarbone.
“My turn first,” he said, his voice dark with promise. “I’ve been dreaming about this for days, about making you come under my hands.”
Kate’s breath hitched as Devon’s mouth found her throat, his fangs scraping gently against her pulse point. The sensation sent electricity straight through her, and she arched against him.
“Devon, please,” she whispered.
“Please what?” he asked, his free hand skimming down her side to rest gently on her hip. “Use your words, Kate.”
“Touch me,” she said, her voice breaking with need. “I need you to touch me.”
Devon’s mouth found her throat, his fangs scraping gently against her pulse point before he bit down softly, not breaking the skin but marking her as his. The sensation sent electricity straight through Kate, and she arched against him with a cry of pleasure.
“Mine,” he growled against her neck, his voice rough with a desperation that bordered on pain. “You’re mine, Kate. Not his. Mine.”
“Yes,” Kate panted, her hands tangling in his dark hair. “Yours. Always yours.”
Devon urged her to lift her hips so he could pull off her panties. His hand slid between her legs, finding her already wet and needy. Kate cried out at the contact, her head falling back as he began to stroke her with expert precision.
“Is this what you’ve been wanting?” he asked, his voice rough against her ear. “Is this what you’ve been dreaming about?”
“Yes,” Kate breathed, her hips moving against his hand. “God, yes.”
Devon’s mouth found her breast, his tongue swirling around her nipple before he took it between his teeth, biting gently. The combination of sensations—his fingers between her legs, his mouth on her breast, his fangs scraping her skin—consumed her.
“I can smell your arousal,” Devon murmured against her skin. “Can feel how much you want this.”
Kate’s response was a sharp, involuntary gasp that was swallowed by the cavernous silence of the art studio.
His touch was cautious at first, a gentle exploration that sent a rush of pure pleasure straight to her core.
It had been a long time. Her body, once a source of trauma and later a tool for survival, suddenly remembered what it was like to simply feel.
He must have sensed the shiver that ran through her, how her hips instinctively tilted up to meet his touch. A low, satisfied sound rumbled in his chest. His initial gentleness changed to a more focused, deliberate pressure.
His fingers circled her sensitive clit, and Kate’s world shrank to that single point of contact.
A low moan escaped her lips, a sound of pure, helpless surrender.
She was climbing toward an orgasm embarrassingly quickly, her body responding to his touch like it had been starved for years.
A desperate, aching need that overwhelmed all thought.
“That’s it,” Devon encouraged, his voice a low, dark purr of satisfaction that vibrated through her.
He shifted his position, his fingers beginning a slow, methodical rhythm, sliding in and out of her slick heat while his thumb settled against her clit, beginning a steady, hypnotic friction.
The dual sensations were exquisite torture.
“Let go for me, Kate. Show me how much you want this.”
Her mind went blank. There was only the slick slide of his fingers inside her, the relentless pressure of his thumb, the scent of turpentine and oil paint and the musky, intoxicating aroma of him.
Her breath came in ragged pants, her hips starting to move in time with his rhythm, chasing the pleasure he was so expertly building.
She could feel the climax coiling deep in her belly, a tight, shimmering knot of energy that was begging for release.
“Almost there,” he murmured, his eyes dark and fixed on her face, watching every flicker of emotion, every subtle shift in her expression. He loved this. Watching her come apart for him.
“Keep going, Kincsem. Come for me.”
The name, his private name for her, spoken in that dark, possessive tone, broke her.
The knot in her belly snapped. A wave of pure pleasure washed over her.
Her back arched. A cry escaped her throat as her body convulsed around his fingers, taking every last drop of bliss from the release.
It was a shattering, all-consuming orgasm that left her boneless and trembling, her mind blissfully, blessedly empty.
Devon held her through it, his mouth finding hers to swallow her cries.
“Beautiful,” he murmured against her lips. “So goddamn beautiful when you come.”
Kate was still catching her breath, her body a live wire of sensation, when a new, urgent need took hold. It wasn’t enough. She needed more of him. All of him. Her fingers, clumsy and desperate, fumbled for the buckle of his belt. The metallic click was loud in the quiet studio.
“Your turn,” she said, her voice a husky, demanding murmur. She reached into his pants for him, her hand closing around the hard, thick length of him through his trousers. A low groan was torn from his throat, his head falling back as her fingers tightened, learning the shape and feel of him.
Her intention was clear. She was pulling him toward her, ready to guide him inside, to feel him fill the aching void her own climax had left behind. But just as she was about to succeed, his hands shot out, capturing her wrists. His grip was firm, stopping her cold.
“No,” he said, his voice strained, tight with a control that was clearly costing him everything. The single word was a shock, a douse of cold water on her burning need. She looked up at him, confused, hurt.
“Devon?”
“Not like that,” he bit out, his jaw clenching. “Not yet. I can’t… I won’t risk him being a part of this.”
The reminder of Aleksander, of the hateful bond that still connected them, was a jarring intrusion.
But Devon’s eyes, dark with a need that mirrored her own, told her this wasn’t a rejection.
He pressed her gently back onto the art table. She leaned back on her elbows, her legs parting for him as he moved to stand between them.
He continued to undo his belt, his movements urgent now, and freed himself. He was magnificent, thick and hard, pulsing with a need that was almost terrifying.
Instead of moving to enter her, he took a step back, his hand wrapping around himself as he drank her in.
“So perfect. Mine,” he said, his voice breaking with a raw, guttural need that made her tremble.
“All of it. Mine.”
His gaze never left hers as he started to stroke himself up and down, captivating Kate. She had never seen anything so intensely personal as this. He was expressing to her his desire, his vulnerability, and his loss of control in addition to his need for release.
His breath came in sharp, ragged gasps as his movements grew more desperate and urgent. Her own body responded, a new wave of pleasure building inside her just from the sight of him, from the raw, untamed possession in his eyes.
His gaze was locked on hers as he finally came, a groan torn from the very depths of his soul. His release was hot and heavy, marking her stomach and thighs in thick, white stripes.
For a moment, they both stayed still, breathing heavily. The smell of spilled paint and sex filled the air. In a mixture of afterglow and the ferocious energy of what had just happened, they looked at one another.
Devon lowered himself, now moving softly and slowly. Compared to the frantic desire of moments earlier, it felt so different. He gave her a tender, long-lasting kiss that expressed respect and love.
“How do you feel?” he asked, his voice a low murmur against her skin. “Any… unwanted visitors?”
Kate took a mental inventory, checking the corners of her mind for any sign of Aleksander’s foul presence. There was nothing. Just the lingering echo of her own pleasure and the overwhelming, all-consuming presence of the man in front of her.
“Nothing,” she said, a wave of relief washing over her. “Just us.”
“Just us,” Devon repeated, the relief clear in his voice as he pressed his forehead to hers.
They remained in that perfect, delicate stillness for a few more minutes. Their breathing slowly matched in a shared rhythm. Devon eventually separated from Kate with visible reluctance, his hands trailing down her arms as if unwilling to sever the connection entirely.
As they cleaned up and got dressed, Kate couldn’t stop smiling. They’d finally stolen a moment away from Aleksander’s prying presence that was theirs and theirs alone.
“We should probably join the others,” Devon said reluctantly, straightening his shirt.
“Probably,” Kate agreed, but she made no move to leave. Instead, she pulled Devon down for another kiss, this one slow and promising.
“What was that for?” he asked when they broke apart.
“For saying ‘fuck it,’” Kate said with a grin.
Devon smiled, the expression transforming his face. “It won’t be the last time,” he promised.
“I hope not,” Kate said, her eyes sparkling with mischief.
Kate’s painting stood forgotten on the easel as they finally left the studio, both of them feeling lighter than they had in weeks. They’d found a way to be together despite Aleksander’s interference, and it felt like a victory.
The first of many, Kate hoped.