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I drag my palms slowly up the outside of her legs, my fingertips pressing hard enough to make her gasp. When I reach her hips, I grip them firmly, anchoring her to this moment, to me.

"Look at you," I say, my voice rough with desire. "Standing there like you don't already fucking belong to me."

Before she can respond, I lower my mouth to her inner thigh and bite—not hard enough to truly hurt, just enough to feel her body jolt against mine, just enough to make her fingers tangle in my hair like she needs something to hold on to.

I kiss the mark I've left, then move higher, trailing my lips up her thigh in a path that leaves her trembling. Higher still, until my nose brushes against the soft cotton of her panties and a groan tears from my throat—because I can smell how much she wants this, wants me.

"You're soaked," I growl, looking up at her past the curvesof her body. "You've been dripping for me this whole fucking time, haven't you?"

She doesn't answer. Her fingers tighten in my hair, her chest rising and falling rapidly as she teeters on the edge of surrender.

I hook my thumbs into her waistband and pull her panties down slowly, savoring every inch of newly revealed skin, watching her face as I expose her completely.

"I'm not stopping until you come on my tongue," I tell her, voice deep and certain. "So you better hold on, little thief."

Moving her thigh to rest on my shoulder, I dive in without warning, without hesitation—no teasing, no warm-up, just pure, consuming hunger.

I press my tongue flat against her clit, my mouth open and desperate against her, licking and sucking like a man starved. Like this is the only way I know how to survive.

The cry that escapes her is everything—head tipping back, thighs trembling around me.

"Fuck—Beckett—please," Her voice catches on my name, and it's the sweetest sound I've ever heard.

I groan against her, the vibration drawing another gasp as my hands grasp her ass, pulling her closer, burying my face deeper against her cunt.

"That's it," I encourage, my lips slick and voice ragged. "Rub your pussy on my mouth. Fuck my face. Take what you need."

And God help me, she does.

She grinds against me, hips moving in increasingly desperate circles. She writhes under my touch, her moans growing louder, wilder—like she's being destroyed and reborn in the same breath.

Her hands yank at my hair hard enough to hurt, but thepain only spurs me on. I suck her clit between my lips, flicking my tongue over it in relentless, filthy circles until I feel her legs begin to shake, her cries growing higher and more frantic.

"I'm gonna—fuck—I'm—" she gasps, the words breaking apart as she approaches the edge.

"Come on, baby," I growl against her sensitive flesh. "Let me taste you. Let me fucking have you."

And when she finally falls apart, she shatters completely.

She comes against my mouth, her entire body convulsing, her cry echoing off the walls of the studio. I hold her steady as she trembles, riding her through every aftershock, groaning my approval against her as if her pleasure is the only nourishment I've ever needed.

Only when she's gasping for air, her thighs shaking uncontrollably and her body limp in my hands, do I finally pull back.

There's paint on my cheeks, her taste on my tongue, and I can feel the smile that cuts across my face—predatory, satisfied, hungry for more.

I rise to my feet slowly, like a storm barely contained, and turn her toward the easel.

"Turn around," I command, my voice rough with need. "Hands on the easel."

I press my body against her back, my lips against her ear. "Now it's my turn."

Forty-Six

LUNA

My palms hitthe wooden easel, the impact reverberating through my arms as I brace myself against it. My fingers leave streaks of paint across the polished surface. Every nerve ending in my body still pulses with aftershocks.

My chest heaves. My thighs tremble. But I stay exactly where he positioned me—bent forward, exposed, waiting. Not because I'm afraid to move. Not because I have no choice.