Deals With The Devil's Spawn

Girls with sharp objects and colorful threats

"You're a terrible liar, Pinocchio," he mused, tapping my nose, making my eyes squint, playfully. "Why the secret? Are they all of me? They're naked portraits, aren't they? I was right-"

Seeing no other way to make him forget what he was talking about, I pressed my lips against his, effectively cutting off the rest of his sentence.

Moving his hand to rest on my cheek, he angled his head to deepen the kiss, a moan escaping his lips. Using my free hand, I gripped his wrist and pulled him impossibly closer, a sigh on my lips as his hard body molded into mine, one of my legs slipping in between his. At this point, I didn't know where I began and he ended.

Before I knew what was happening, he'd flipped me on my back and hovered over me, his hand slowly moving down my side, until it was gripping the bottom of my knee. Wrapping my arms around his neck, I pulled him down until his body was pressed onto mine, and I could feel every inch of him.

Gripping the hair at the nape of his neck, I sighed, and he took the opportunity to slide his tongue into my mouth. He tasted like spearmint and, as cliche as it sounded, something else that was all him. It wasn't so much of a taste but more of a feeling. Kissing him invoked something in me that I'd never felt before. It was intoxicating, and I found my back arching, my body trying to get closer to him, wanting more.

"Wait a minute," he pulled away suddenly, and I fought a whimper, my body lifting off of the bed, involuntarily, chasing after him, "I feel like you're trying to distract me..."

I gave him a guilty smile, pulling my bottom lip between my teeth. "No?"

He smirked, "Does it make me your bitch if I could give two shits? It does, doesn't it?"

I couldn't help but laugh, and nod. "Yes, it does." Threading my fingers through his hair, I scratched his scalp lightly, making him sigh contentedly.

"Are you ever going to show me your paintings?" he asked, giving me a small smile, and I pulled my lip between my teeth with a shrug.

"Or we could just make out?"

"As much as I would love to do that," he paused, his eyes straying to my lips, eyelids drooping, his pupils blown wide, he pulled in a breath, his eyes meeting mine, "I want to know everything there is to know about you. I want to know what makes you tick, what makes you laugh," he leaned down to nuzzle his nose in my neck, making me giggle, "and I know how important your paintings are to you."

"They are," I mumbled, wrapping my arm around his shoulder. "And I want you to see them...I just...I'm not ready, yet."

He nodded, solemnly. "Okay."

I smiled gratefully, relief coursing through me that he wasn't pushing me. I wanted him to see them, I did, even if they were mostly of him. Painting was one of the few things that made everything make sense in my life. It was one of those things that just seemed right, it didn't matter what happened during my day, as long as I had a brush and canvas, I could look forward to something at the end of my day.

Brayden, unbeknownst to him, had become a close second to that. As long as he was in my life, I felt invincible. Like anything could happen, and somehow I'd still be okay. So I wanted to share that with him. I wanted him to be a part of one of the most important things in my life. It was a dangerous line to walk, especially with someone like Brayden, but I couldn't help but let myself hope. Hope that I could be okay.

"Hey," he whispered, drawing my attention back to him, "where did you go?"

Shaking my head, I smiled, taking him in. I felt my heart jump in my chest, squeezing as I stared at him. He was oh so perfect. It hurt like hell to know that eventually I would lose him. My heart knew he wasn't mine to keep. He'd never been, and never would be, and that thought alone make me sick to my stomach, and want to curl up in a ball and cry.