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I scream his name like it's the only word I've ever known—like it's a prayer. Like it's the answer to every broken piece of me that's ever needed putting back together.

The paint stains everything—my skin, his, the canvas beneath us, the very air we breathe. And neither of us cares. Not about the mess. Not about the rules. Just this—his body on mine, his voice in my ear, and the masterpiece we're becoming together.

The air grows thick with the scent of sex and paint—sweet and raw and entirely ours.

"I can't stop," he rasps, his voice breaking against my skin, his rhythm growing more erratic. "Don't ask me to. I can't let you go. I wouldn't know how." His forehead presses against mine, our breath mingling. "You're mine. You've always been mine. From the second I saw you, wild and unclaimed in that ballroom—I knew I'd burn the world to have you."

I reach up, fingers digging into his back, feeling the playof muscles beneath his skin as he moves inside me. My nails leave crescent-shaped marks—my own signature on his canvas.

His muscles flex harder under my touch. His thrusts grow rougher, deeper. And still, the praise doesn't stop, flowing from him like he can't hold it back anymore.

"You're so beautiful like this," he murmurs, eyes never leaving mine. "Fucked and perfect, legs open for me, dripping down your thighs like a good girl who knows who she belongs to."

"Beckett—" His name leaves my lips like a plea, though I don't know what I'm begging for anymore.

"You're gonna come for me again," he promises, reaching between us to circle my clit with his thumb. "You're gonna come with my cock so deep you'll taste it."

I sob—because it's too much and not enough all at once. Because he's right. Because I'm already teetering on the edge again, already falling apart beneath him in ways I never thought possible.

He growls in satisfaction.

"That's it, little thief. Show me," he urges, his voice strained with the effort of holding back his own release. "Let them all hear who makes you come like this."

His hand fists in my hair, tugging just enough to make me gasp, tilting my face up to his. "Eyes on me," he growls. "Eyes on me while you come on my cock."

And I do. I can't look away. Not when he's looking at me like that—like I'm the only fucking thing that's ever mattered in this world.

As he pushes me right to the edge and holds me there, my body locks around him. My back arches like I've been struck by lightning. Heat floods through me—blinding, wild, endless.

I moan his name as I writhe beneath him, losing myselfcompletely in the way my body shatters under the weight of everything he gives me. My legs tighten around his waist. My nails scrape down his back. And I come so hard I forget where I am—forget who I am.

He's rewired me. Rewritten me. There's no before Beckett now—only after.

All I know is him—inside me, claiming me, ruining me—and the sound he makes when I fall apart beneath him? A groan so deep and raw it sounds like it's being torn from his very soul. Like I just gave him his next fucking breath.

And Beckett keeps fucking me through it like a man possessed, like he can't stop even if he wanted to. His teeth find the side of my throat as he marks me. He doesn't bite hard—just enough to feel like a promise.

Mine.

Because that's what this is. Pure, unadulterated possession.

And now? I'm his.

"No one else," he whispers against my skin, the words searing into me like a brand. "No one touches what's mine."

His name is still on my lips when he thrusts again—deeper, harder, like he's chasing something he can't outrun anymore. His breathing changes—becomes sharp and uneven. His hands clutch my hips like he'll never let go.

"Fuck, Luna—you're squeezing me so tight, like you want it," he groans, his control slipping with every word. "You want me to come inside you? Mark you up where no one else gets to see?"

He drives deeper—harder—until I'm choking on moans and heat and him, unable to form coherent thoughts, much less words.

"I'll paint you from the inside out," he promises darkly. "Ruin you with it." His gaze burns into mine, demanding. "And you'll take it—won't you?"

His hand fists in my hair, pulling just enough to make me gasp.

"You'll take every fucking drop like the good girl you are."

He doesn't finish the sentence. He doesn't need to.