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FORTY

LEVI

T he storm rages outside, rain battering the window in a relentless drumbeat, as if demanding entrance. I sit at my desk, staring at the half-finished composition sheet in front of me, the notes a chaotic mess that matches the weather. A few hollow, discordant notes ring out as I press random keys, hoping for inspiration. But the sound feels as empty as I do, mocking me with the dissonance.

Another roll of thunder shakes the walls, and I lean back, rubbing my eyes, frustration simmering just beneath my skin. Hours of work, and I’m no closer to finishing than when I started.

A loud thud jolts me upright.

It came from above—the attic. No one should be up there. I tell myself it’s nothing—the storm playing tricks—but something gnaws at me, something that makes it impossible to ignore. Before I realize it, I’m already out of my seat and heading up the stairs, my unfinished music forgotten.

The stairs creak under my weight, the air around me growing colder and heavier with each step. The attic door swings open, and a rush of thick paint fumes floods my senses, sharp and heady. I breathe in, unsteady, and then I see her.

Sable.

She’s in the center of the room, a large canvas spread out before her on the floor, her nearly naked body smeared with vibrant streaks of paint. She’s wearing nothing but her underwear. She moves slowly, sensually, pressing herself against the canvas, leaving behind a chaotic blend of reds, blues, and blacks.

I can’t breathe for a second. Fuck.

My eyes trace the soft curves of her body, the way the paint clings to her skin, the raw freedom in the way she moves—wild, untamed. She’s beautiful, too fucking beautiful, and it’s killing me.

Finally, her head lifts, her eyes meeting mine. There’s no surprise, no shame—just a slow, wicked smile that twists something inside of me. Goddamn. She knows exactly what she’s doing to me. It’s like a punch to the gut, that smirk—taunting, dark, dangerous.

“What the fuck are you doing?” I should turn around and leave. I should get the hell out of here before this goes somewhere we can’t come back from. But I don’t. I just stand there, my fists clenching at my sides, fighting to keep control.

She doesn’t even flinch. Instead, she tilts her head, her voice low and sultry as she says, “I’m creating art with my body. The canvas needs more than just a brush.”

My stomach clenches. There’s something dark in her tone, something that stirs the part of me I’ve been trying to keep buried. The part that craves more than just control. The part that wants to lose it. Her words slip through the cracks in my armor, and I feel my restraint weakening, my mind spiraling into thoughts I shouldn’t have—thoughts of taking her.

I swallow hard, my throat suddenly dry. “Can I watch?”

She doesn’t answer right away, just keeps moving, her eyes never leaving mine as she presses her body against the canvas, smearing paint across the floor like she’s making love to it. Her movements are hypnotic, primal, and the way her breath quickens, the way the muscles in her legs flex with each shift—it’s making me lose my mind.

Then she nods, just barely, but it’s enough. I step further into the room, drawn to her like a moth to a flame, knowing damn well I’m going to get burned. My heart is pounding, my blood roaring in my veins. The storm outside is nothing compared to the one building between us.

Watching her is like witnessing something forbidden, something that should make me turn away in shame but doesn’t. The way she moves, the way her body presses against the canvas, it’s like she’s making love to it, and I’m nothing more than a voyeur, peering into her private world.

Watching her like this—it’s dangerous.

She’s dangerous.

Every move, every curve of her body coated in paint. It’s like she’s daring me to cross the line. Daring me to let go.

And fuck me, I want to.

“Do you paint up here often?” I ask, my voice barely steady.

She glances at me, lips quirking in a small smile. “This is the first time. Silas helped me set it up.”

“I heard you while I was working.”

Her eyes widen, and she bites her lip, almost shyly. “Oh, Levi. I’m so sorry if I was bothering you. I know you hate that.”

A chuckle slips out before I can stop it. “It’s fine.”

Her skin glistens, paint mixing with the light sheen of sweat from how stuffy it is in here. We can install something in here if she wants to make this her permanent art studio. My gaze travels over her, taking in every inch, from the swell of her breasts to the curve of her ass, to the way the paint clings to her thighs. I’m hard as a fucking rock, my body betraying me as I drink her in, as I imagine what it would feel like to pin her against that canvas and claim her.

My fingers twitch at my sides. The need to touch her, to grab her, to push her to the floor and make her forget about everything else is overwhelming. My cock strains against my jeans, desperate for release, but I hold back. Barely.

Why does she have this effect on me?

Why can’t I walk away?

She’s already inside my head, twisting me up with just a look, and I’m fucking terrified of what will happen if I let her in any further.

Victoria.

Sable could do the same. She could destroy me, leave me gutted and bleeding like Victoria did. And yet, here I am, standing on the edge of a cliff, ready to jump.

She pauses, turning to face me fully, and in the dim light, I can see the intensity in her eyes, the paint dripping from her fingers onto the floor.

“Why are you so distant, Levi?” she asks. “Why can’t you be a part of this... of us?”

I’ve spent so long trying to keep my distance, trying to focus on my music, on my future. But standing here, watching her, for all those reasons, seems flimsy, insubstantial. She’s right in front of me, half-naked, covered in paint, every inch of her a temptation I’ve tried to ignore.

“It’s not that simple,” I begin, but even as the words leave my mouth, I know they’re hollow, empty. There’s no real weight behind them because the truth is, it is that simple. I’m afraid—afraid of what she does to me, of the hold she has over me that I can’t shake, no matter how hard I try.

“It is.” She steps closer, her gaze never leaving mine. “You’re just afraid.”

I open my mouth to argue, but nothing comes out. She’s right. I am afraid—afraid of what she’s stirring up in me, of the dark places my mind goes when I’m near her, of the hunger that’s gnawing at me, threatening to consume me.

A flash of lightning illuminates the room. For a moment, she looks like something out of a dream—my dream—beautiful and terrifying all at once. Her painted skins, her body a living work of art, makes it damn near impossible to breathe.

Then, just as quickly, the lights flicker and die, plunging the room into darkness. The storm outside howls, the wind battering the house, rattling the windows like some kind of beast trying to break in. The attic is nearly pitch black now, the only light coming from the occasional burst of lightning, throwing everything into brief, violent flashes of clarity.

The fucking power went out.

I can’t see her, but I can hear her breathing—soft, deliberate, almost taunting. I can feel her eyes on me, burning through the shadows, and the weight of her gaze is almost unbearable. It’s like she knows exactly what I’m thinking, exactly what I’m fighting against.

“Are you afraid of the dark?” My hands glide over her, trailing across her slick skin as I press her back against another canvas. Her breath hitches.

Her response is immediate, a whisper that cuts through the storm. “No,” she says, her voice trembling slightly. “I’m afraid of how much I’ve already surrendered to all the others…”

She leans into me, her breath quickening as my fingers trace her hips, sliding up to her waist. Every inch of her skin is painted, a living canvas that’s mine to ruin, mine to possess. I grip her firmly, pulling her flush against me. She gasps at the force of it, her head tilting back as I lean in, letting my breath caress her ear.

“You should be,” I murmur, my voice low, rough with the need that’s been building between us for far too long. “What are you willing to give up for me, trouble?”

I bite down gently on the sensitive skin of her neck, and she shivers, her body trembling beneath my hands.

Her response is a soft moan, her body arching into mine, begging for more. But I’m not going to rush this. I want to take my time, savor every second of this control, every moment of her surrender. I grab her wrists, pinning them above her head, pressing her against the paint-smeared canvas.

With her hands restrained, I trail my free hand down her chest, over her stomach, feeling her muscles clench beneath my touch. The paint on her skin is still wet, cool against my fingers, and I smear it deliberately. She squirms, her breathing coming in quick, shallow bursts, but I hold her firmly in place, savoring the way her body reacts to every touch.

I lower my lips to her ear again. “Your love is a blade pressed against my throat, and I welcome it.” The words taste like blood on my tongue, like a promise carved in pain. I crave it—the edge of her affection, the cold, unforgiving slice of it. She’s not here to heal me, but to cut deeper, and I will bleed for her. Every drop, every wound, only makes me want her more.

Her voice is a velvet snare, dark and soft, threading through the tension between us. “Then let me carve you open,” she murmurs, her fingers brushing the edge of my jaw with a feigned tenderness, before tightening her grip on my cold heart. “Because you don’t deserve anything less.”

She doesn’t just want me—she wants to claim me, destroy me, and I wouldn’t have it any other way.

A wicked grin spreads across my face at her admission.

I release her wrists, letting her hands fall, but before she can react, I grab her by the hair, tilting her head back so she’s forced to look up at me. Her eyes, wide and dark, are full of submission.

“Tell me you want this,” I growl, my mouth brushing against her neck, her collarbone, tasting her, teasing her. “Tell me you want me.”

“I want all of you.”

And with that, every wall I’ve built around myself shatters.

I crash into her, my lips devouring hers in a brutal, punishing kiss, and it’s everything I’ve been holding back—all the fear, all the desire, all the anger. She moans into my mouth, her hands clawing at my back, pulling me closer, deeper, until there’s nothing left between us but raw, unrelenting need.

I push her down onto the canvas she was just painting on the floor, her back arching as she hits the surface, her skin smearing paint across the artwork below. She lets out a low moan, her body writhing as I straddle her, pinning her beneath me. The weight of my body pressing her down, the sensation of being trapped, sends a shiver through her, and I can see the way her body responds—how much she craves this.

I bite down on her lip, just enough to make her gasp, and when she does, I push my tongue into her mouth, dominating the kiss as thoroughly as I’m about to dominate her body. Her taste floods me, intoxicating, and the tension between us snaps like a live wire. My hands are everywhere—sliding down her neck, over her chest, gripping her thighs as I grind against her, feeling her melt beneath my touch.

She moans into my mouth, her hips bucking instinctively, trying to meet my movements. But I keep her pinned, her body trembling as I hold her in place, exactly where I want her.

“You’re not going anywhere,” I murmur against her lips, pulling back just enough to meet her gaze. Her eyes are wide, pupils blown with lust, and the look in them makes my chest tighten with a possessive heat I can barely control. “I’m going to make you scream for me, Sable.”

The look in her eyes is pure need, and I know she’s ready—desperate—for me to take her, to push her over the edge. I can feel it in the way she arches against me, the way her body strains for release, and it fuels every dark desire I’ve been trying to contain.

I lower my mouth to her neck, biting down hard enough to leave marks, and she gasps, her nails digging into my back, clutching me closer. But I’m still not satisfied. I want more. I want to break her down completely, leave her shattered and spent beneath me.

I grip her hips and flip her over with ease, pressing her down against the canvas beneath us. Her back arches, her ass lifting, offering herself to me in a way that has my pulse roaring in my ears. Her ass is smeared with paint, every curve of her body coated in color, and the sight of her, laid out like this, drives me wild.

She whimpers, and I can feel how ready she is, how much she needs me to take control, to claim her fully.

I press her harder against the canvas, my hands gripping her hips with force, spreading her legs just enough to position myself behind her.

I lean down, my lips brushing against her ear, my breath hot against her skin. “You’ll take everything I give you, and you’ll beg me to keep going, won’t you?”

She gasps at my words, her hands clutching at the canvas, trying to find something to hold on to as I press against her. I reach down, grabbing a fistful of her hair, pulling her head back so she’s forced to arch her back even more, exposing the curve of her neck. I bite down on the tender skin there, hard enough to leave a mark, and she moans, the sound a mix of pleasure and pain.

“I asked you a question. You won’t ask me to stop, will you? You’ll take everything like a good fucking whore for me. Right?”

“Y-yes. Levi. Please.”

“Look at me when you talk to me. I want to see your face when I take you.”

She opens her eyes up at me, and the look in them nearly undoes me. There’s a wildness there, a desperate need that mirrors my own, and I can see how much she wants this—wants me. I give her no more warning as I push into her, slow and deliberate, letting her feel every inch of me.

The sound she makes—fuck—it’s raw, guttural, a broken cry of need as her body tightens around me, clenching, pulling me deeper. She feels like heaven and hell all at once, her tightness threatening to undo me with every thrust.

I start to move, setting a slow, punishing rhythm, making sure she feels every inch of me every time I pull back, only to slam into her again.

“Fuck—Levi. More,” she pants.

The canvas beneath us is slick with paint, and every time I drive into her, her body slides against it, smearing the colors even more.

Her moans grow louder, more urgent, and I can feel her getting closer, her body trembling as she fights to hold on. But I’m not done with her yet. I want to take her further, push her past the point of no return.

“Say it,” I growl, my grip on her hips tightening, holding her in place as I quicken the pace, thrusting into her harder, faster. “Say you’re mine.”

“I’m yours,” she gasps, her voice breaking as she tries to keep up with the relentless rhythm I’ve set. “I’m yours, Levi, please.”

Her plea is like gasoline on a fire, and I let go of all restraint, pounding into her with a brutal, relentless force. The sounds of our bodies colliding, her cries, my growls fill the air.

“You’ll say my name and only my name tonight.”

“Fu-ck, Levi!”

I growl, grabbing onto her hips until the tips of my fingers turn white. “Fucking. Trouble. That’s what you are.”

Her body arches, her muscles tightening around me, and I know she’s on the brink, teetering on the edge of release. I reach down, slipping my hand between her legs, finding that sensitive spot and rubbing her in time with my thrusts, pushing her over that edge.

She shatters beneath me, her body convulsing as she screams my name, her orgasm tearing through her like a violent storm. The way she contracts around me, the sound of her cries, is enough to send me over the edge as well. I follow her into the abyss, my release ripping through me with a force that leaves me trembling.

When it’s over, I stay inside her for a moment, feeling the last aftershocks of our pleasure. I pull out slowly, watching as my cum trickles from her, and without thinking, I use a single finger to push it back inside her.

“Mine,” I murmur.

I collapse beside her, and she falls against my chest.

For a moment, I just look at her—at the way the paint clings to her skin, at the mess we’ve made together.

“Why did you push me away?”

“Because I was afraid,” I admit, my voice rough. “Of you. Of this. Of losing control.”

“And now?”

“Now?” I murmur, pulling her closer, our bodies pressed together. “Now, I’m not afraid anymore.”

“Good,” she whispers, leaning in to kiss me again, her lips soft and tender against mine. “Because I’m not letting you go.”

I know one thing for certain: I don’t want to go back.

I don’t want to let her go.