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“I know I’ll never stop looking at you like I’m in love, Sloane, because Iamin love with you. Now and forever. You are my everything.

“So the question is, how could Inotlook at you like this?”

My breath came out in a gasp as his words stitched themselves to my skin. I undid my front clasp, and my bra sprung open, the air cool on my nipples and making them pebble even more. His gaze grew hungry, and his tongue peeked out and slowly slid across his bottom lip.

“You’re so fucking beautiful,” he rasped, his eyes squeezing shut for a moment like it was hard for him to look at me. I slowly slid my underwear down my legs until I was completely bare.

He cleared his throat and gestured to the couch. “Now, lie down so I can paint you.”

“I can think of better things we can do,” I told him as I reluctantly sat down. What I really wanted to do was jump on him and throw him on this couch so I could get what I wanted.

But I guessed I could play along. For a little while.

Logan studied me intensely, his gaze raking across my skin, and then he studied the myriad of paints he had laid out to use, picking a few of them and squeezing them onto the palette to join the blue.

“There’s blank canvases in the cabinet,” I told him, pressing my legs together because somehow all of this was turning me on.

He hummed in response, squeezing out some gold and a lighter blue before he picked up a brush. “I have another canvas in mind,” he finally murmured before he slowly stalked toward the couch.

He circled me, and I watched, my heart pounding as he dipped the brush into the blue paint. “Turn over,” he said, his voice growing hoarse.

As I rolled over, the velvet brushed against my chest. I was so wet that a trail of liquid fell down my thigh as the cool bristles gently touched the back of my neck. I shivered and a sigh fell from my lips.

“I’m obsessed with your body. The first thing I noticed when I saw you up in the stands was how poised you were, the way you were holding your head. I’d never seen anyone who looked so…I don’t even know how to describe it. It’s like you were a queen sitting among your courtiers.”

I swallowed hard, feeling the paint cool against my skin as he continued, moving the brush down my back in long, deliberate strokes.

I turned my head to look at him, watching as he switched colors, dipping into a fiery orange that he spread across my ass. “This reminds me of the fire inside you. You can’t see it like everyone else can. But you’re a survivor, and the fire inside you that’s kept you going is the strongest I’ve ever seen—the strongest I’ve ever felt.”

A tear slid down my cheek as he dipped the brush through my crease, briefly brushing against my slit before circling the other ass cheek.

He abruptly turned me over, and I shivered as I flopped onto my back. I sucked in a breath as he dragged the brush down my neck, over the curve of my breast, and around my waist. I was shaking—whether from the cold paint or from the way he was looking at me, I couldn’t tell.

Logan stepped back, eyeing his work for a second before dipping the brush into a deep, rich purple. “I think about your curves constantly. I’ll be skating across the ice and realize that I’ve been lost in my head the entire time thinking about the next time I can have you. I can’t ever come back from this. I won’t be able to. I’ll do whatever it takes to keep you.” He dipped the brush into my belly button, his voice casual, like his words weren’t rewriting my DNA.

I felt like I was going to melt. My body tingled where the paint touched, but it wasn’t just the physical sensation. It was the way he spoke, the way he looked at me, like he was seeing more than just skin. Like he was pulling me apart piece by piece.

He dipped the brush in red next and starting from my knees, began to paint my inner thighs. Each stroke of the brush got closer and closer to my core, and I couldn’t help the moan that slipped from my lips.

“You’re soaking wet, Red. Your thighs were wet before I even started painting you.” He dipped the brush through my slit, circling my clit until I was mewling, my head thrown back in agony because I wanted him so much.

He laughed darkly for a moment before bringing the brush up to my left breast and painting the skin over where my heart was beating wildly.

“You’re a masterpiece,” he said softly, still holding the brush, his eyes dark and full of something I couldn’t quite place.

I swallowed, my throat tight. The paint was drying on my skin, and I was feeling exposed and raw, but also…seen.

“This is the best prize I’ve ever won,” Logan purred, the paintbrush continuing to move over my heart. “Tell me, pretty girl. Give me what I want to hear.”

I stared into his eyes, the words on my lips.

Yes, he’d won my heart. A thousand times over he’d won it. Even if the words were still hard to speak.

“I love you,” I whispered.

He grinned, like my words really were a prize. He leaned over and brushed his lips against mine. “I know.”

I huffed. “So sure of yourself.”