Chapter Seven
Isla
I woke to the warmth of the late summer, my body still humming with the thrill of last night's exchange.
The memory of sending Adrian that photo, me in my midnight blue slip dress, backlit by twilight, sent a fresh wave of butterflies through my stomach.
I rolled over, heart racing as I reached for my phone.
@AdrianCatalyst
Good morning, angel. Ready for your next lesson in honesty?
I bit my lip, both nervous and excited about what he might ask of me today.
He sent a photo.
Adrian stood in what looked like his house, early morning light slanting through massive windows behind him.
He wore nothing but low-hanging sweatpants, his tattooed torso on full display.
Unlike his public photos, all wild grins and playful poses, this was different.
His expression was serious and intent, with green eyes looking directly into the camera as if he could see me through the screen.
One hand was in his tousled hair, the other holding the phone in the mirror, revealing more of those intricate tattoos that climbed up his neck and covered his arms.
@AdrianCatalyst
Fair exchange.
Something just for you that no one else gets to see: My morning face, no filter. Just me thinking about what I want to do to you.
I stared at the image, suddenly aware that I was clutching my phone tightly to my chest, like I was looking at porn.
Which… Maybe I was. This probably counted.
It was so intimate seeing him like this, not the professional boxer or social media personality, but just... Adrian in all his chiseled glory. In his space. Sharing something with me.
@AdrianCatalyst
Now it’s your turn again.
Paint something new today that shows how you're feeling. Don't overthink it. Don't edit it. Just feel and create and bleed onto that canvas.
Send me the result by sunset.
I smiled, tracing the words with my fingertip. He seemed quite like that I was an artist. Not just the filtered, curated version I showed online, but the real artist who poured her emotions onto canvas.
@IslaBelleflower
Okay, I will.
@AdrianCatalyst
Good girl. I'll be waiting.
Those two words again sent that now-familiar heat washing through me.
I saved his photo to a private folder, then closed my eyes for a few seconds, letting myself feel the weight of this strange, intense connection that had formed between us.
When I started painting, I closed my eyes and tried to identify exactly what I was feeling. Excitement, yes. Anticipation, yes.
But underneath was something deeper, desire mixed with the exhilarating fear of stepping into something unknown.
I started painting without sketching first, letting colors flow from my brush in sweeping, bold strokes. White and gold, deep violet and flashes of electric blue.
This was wild, unplanned, and almost violent in its dark beauty.
I lost myself in it, forgetting time, forgetting everything except the movement of my brush and the emotions pouring through me.
Hours later, I stepped back, breathless and paint-spattered, to see what I'd created.
It wasn't a scene or a portrait; it was pure emotion on canvas.
Swirls of color that somehow captured the desire inside me, the hunger and the hope, and the exhilarating fear of stepping into something unknown.
@AdrianCatalyst
Thinking of you, angel. Wondering if you're painting with the same passion you kiss with.
His timing was uncanny, as if he could somehow sense I'd just finished.
Attached was another photo, his tattooed hand holding a knife, the blade catching the light.
The image might have been threatening, but instead, it made me excited. Those hands that could wield weapons with such intensity had also held my face with gentleness in the club.
I took a photo of my still-wet canvas and sent it without hesitation.
His knife photo oddly gave me courage. This chaotic explosion of color was exactly that.
@IslaBelleflower
Just finished. It's... not what I usually create.
I reread it and waited, heart in my throat for his response. It came almost immediately.
@AdrianCatalyst
Perfect. I can feel you in every brushstroke. All that passion you keep locked up, finally set free.
You have so many desires, don't you, angel? So many things you want but are too afraid to ask for.
I stared at his words, feeling oddly exposed.
@IslaBelleflower
Maybe. I've never painted like this before.
@AdrianCatalyst
But you've wanted to. Just like you've wanted other things. Things that would shock your sweet little followers.
He was right, and somehow he knew it.
Another photo appeared, a massive canvas on his high walls, all dark blues and black slashes like a storm at sea. Raw emotion that resonated with what I'd just created.
It took me a second, and then my jaw dropped. It was a piece by another Picasso of the art world, and Adrian had the original?
@AdrianCatalyst
We recognize our own. The ones who hide their true nature but can't stop it from bleeding through.
He was right. The style was nothing like mine, but its emotion resonated with what I'd just created… though the piece was worth a billion times more.
I felt something shift inside me, a wall crumbling that I hadn't even known was there. This man I'd met just days ago somehow understood the part of me I'd always kept hidden.
@IslaBelleflower
Will I see you again?
I asked before I could overthink it, before I could talk myself out of being so forward. The three dots appeared, disappeared, and appeared again.
@AdrianCatalyst
Soon, angel. When you're ready for what comes next.
@IslaBelleflower
What if I'm ready now?
@AdrianCatalyst
You're not. But you will be. And when you are, I'll be waiting to catch you.
I hugged my phone to my chest, paint-stained fingers leaving smudges on the case.
This didn't feel like the games Noah had played, the hot-and-cold treatment that had left me constantly guessing.
This felt like... preparation. Adrian was giving me time to adjust, to accept what was happening between us before we took the next step.
@AdrianCatalyst
Dream of me tonight, angel. Dream of my hands on you, teaching you all the things you've been too afraid to want.
The days flowed into a rhythm between us, an intimate dance of tasks and rewards that sent my heart racing each time a notification appeared.
This morning was no different. I'd barely finished my coffee when my phone chimed.
I nearly dropped my mug when I opened it.
Three photos, each more devastating than the last. Close-ups of his body that made me gasp.
His chest, broad and powerful, was covered in intricate tattoos that flowed across muscle like dark rivers over stone.
His abs were rigid and defined, ink disappearing beneath the waistband of his sweats.
His biceps, massive and veined, flexed slightly as he held the camera.
@AdrianCatalyst
Morning, angel. Thought you might need some inspiration today.
I stared at the images, heat flushing my cheeks as I took in every detail of the artwork on his skin.
Chains coiled around his collarbones, a constellation of ink mapped across his left pectoral, and various symbols and patterns created a tapestry that told stories I desperately wanted to hear.
@AdrianCatalyst
Choose one tattoo. Any one that catches your eye. Draw it on your wrist, and wear it to brunch with your friends tomorrow.
Let's see if you're brave enough to carry a piece of me in public.
I froze, my thumb hovering over the screen. How did he know I had brunch plans? I hadn't mentioned it to him or even posted about it anywhere. The girls and I had only finalized our plans via text last night.
The question sent a shiver down my spine that definitely wasn't fear.
I scrolled back to his photos, studying the tattoos more carefully. Near his collarbone was a small, intricate design—a knife wrapped in delicate chains.
Despite how different it was from anything I would typically choose, something about it called to me.
I spent nearly an hour recreating the design on my wrist, using the finest black pen I owned, adding shading and detail until it looked almost real against my pale skin.
When I finished, I took a photo and sent it to him without hesitation.
@AdrianCatalyst
Good girl. So talented with those hands. Let me know how many people notice tomorrow.
And angel? No washing it off until I say so.
My stomach flipped at the command. This was a test, I knew it was, to see how far I'd go, how public I'd be with this connection between us.
To see if I'd obey.
@IslaBelleflower
Okay.
@AdrianCatalyst
Perfect. You're getting closer, Isla. Closer to what comes next .
I didn't need to ask what he meant. I could feel the invisible thread pulling tighter between us with each task, each exchange.
He was testing me, yes, but also preparing me. For him. For us. For whatever storm awaited when we finally met again.
And despite the rational voice in my head warning me to be careful, all I could think about was how much I couldn’t wait to be caught.