Chapter 20 Shelby #2
Over time, I notice subtle changes. She shifts slightly, letting the shirt gape open to reveal the curve of a breast. She stretches, catlike, raising the hem of the fabric higher until I get a glimpse of her bare pussy.
My hand slows.
The charcoal hovers above the canvas as I watch her fingers trace lazy patterns on the leather, inching closer and closer to the shadow between her thighs.
“Serena!”
“Yes?” She looks at me through her lashes, the picture of innocence, while her hand continues its journey, her palm rubbing against her folds. Now I can see the pink flesh glistening with arousal.
“What are you doing?”
“Modeling.” Her smile is wicked. “Isn’t this what you wanted?”
Minx.
I set down the charcoal and cross the distance to her in two strides. She watches me approach, her pupils dilating, her breath quickening. When I reach the couch, she rolls onto her back and looks up at me with those molten amber eyes.
“I thought you wanted to paint me,” she murmurs, reaching for the waistband of my boxer briefs.
“I do.” I let her pull me down onto the couch, covering her body with mine. The leather is cool against my knees, her skin hot against my chest. “But some things can’t be captured on canvas.”
“Like what?”
I kiss her instead of answering. It’s a slow, deep, and thorough kiss. She sighs into my mouth, her fingers threading through my hair, her legs wrapping around my waist to pull me closer.
But then she grips my hair, yanking my head back with a force that borders on painful. Her eyes blaze with a fire I’ve seen before. It’s the fire of a woman who knows exactly what she wants and refuses to accept less.
“I want you to fuck me, sir,” she breathes. “Like the good sub I am. But first, I want you to spank my ass.”
“You sure about that?”
“I’ve fantasized about this many times,” she purrs, using the words that are catnip for the Dom in me.
I don’t need further invitation.
I flip her onto her stomach with practiced ease, pressing her chest into the leather. The shirt bunches around her waist, leaving her perfect ass exposed. I deliver a sharp slap to one cheek, then the other. Then, I smooth the flesh as it reddens beneath my palm.
“Count,” I command.
“One,” she gasps. “Two.”
After each strike, I caress the spot with one hand, reaching further between her thighs with the other to tease her pussy.
I do so until she reaches ten, her voice growing increasingly breathless, her hips pushing back against my hands.
By the time I’m done, her arousal is dripping down her thighs, covering my fingers.
I free my cock and position myself at her entrance. “Red yet?”
“No, sir.” Her voice is wrecked in the best way. “Please, fuck me.”
I push inside her in one smooth thrust.
We move together in the early morning light, and the sounds of our bodies slapping against each other fill the studio. She matches my rhythm, meeting each thrust with a roll of her hips, her moans echoing off the walls.
“More,” she demands, looking over her shoulder at me. “Harder.”
I give her what she asks for. What she needs. What I need too.
“Shelby!” she screams as her body trembles beneath mine.
“Serena,” I growl in response, my cock pulsing deep inside her.
We crest together, her inner walls clenching around me, pulling me deeper as we ride out the waves together.
Afterward, we lie tangled together on the leather couch, slick with sweat and satisfaction.
Her head rests on my chest, her fingers tracing the tattoos on my ribs.
My hand strokes down the length of her spine, marveling at the softness of her skin.
The portrait watches us from across the room—unfinished, imperfect, but somehow more real for its incompleteness.
“I’m terrified of this.” The words slip out before I can stop them. “I’m falling for you too hard and too fast. I don’t know how to stop it. I’m not sure I want to.”
Serena stills against me, quiet for a long moment. When she speaks, her voice is soft but steady. “So am I.” She lifts her head to look at me, her eyes reflecting the golden morning light. “Terrified, I mean. This wasn’t supposed to happen. And now...”
“And now?”
She takes a deep breath. “And now I think I want to be terrified with you. I don’t want to do this alone anymore, Shelby. Whatever this is, I want to face it together.”
Her words pierce something in my chest. Something I thought I’d buried in Syria, along with all my other hopes and dreams.
This is what happiness feels like.
The realization crashes over me like a wave. For so long, I convinced myself that happiness wasn’t meant for men like me. That the darkness inside me was too bleak, and the failures too catastrophic. I believed that everyone I cared about would end up hurt or dead.
But looking at Serena now, with the morning light gilding her features and her heart laid bare before me, I understand that I could build a life with her.
Not despite who we are, but because of it.
She understands the darkness. She’s lived in shadows her whole life, trapped between a manipulative father and a world that wanted to use her for her bloodline.
She knows what it means to fight for survival, to make impossible choices, to carry the weight of family obligations that threaten to crush you.
I pull her close and kiss her forehead.
“Whatever comes next,” I say against her hair, “we’re together. You and me.”
She smiles against my chest. “Promise?”
“Promise.”
Outside the skylights, the sun climbs higher. Soon, we’ll return to the war, to the trafficking ring we’ve sworn to destroy. The darkness will come for us again, as it always does.
But right now, in this studio that I’d abandoned for years, surrounded by paintings and the lingering scent of lovemaking, I allow myself to hope.
Hope that the ghosts don’t have to win.
Hope that this woman, who understands the darkness, keeps choosing me.
Maybe that’s all I need to ask for.