Page 23 of Chasing Eternity (Stealing Infinity #3)

The journey down the hall unfolds in a riot of color.

Our vision awash with the vibrant hues of brilliant golden sunflowers—thousands of them, their brown hearts surrounded by bright yellow petals—scaling the walls and sprouting a pathway along the floor that leads all the way to Braxton’s door.

Apparently, these augmented reality lenses Arthur gave us aren’t just limited to the world of Starry Night . They plunge us into the very essence of Van Gogh’s most celebrated works.

The moment we step inside his room, our bodies instantly collide. Our kisses frantic and fevered, all crushing lips and swirling tongues, we hastily kick off our shoes as our fingers claw at each other, desperate to rid ourselves of our clothes.

I peel off his jacket, unfasten the long row of buttons lining the front of his shirt, while Braxton locates the zipper on the side of my dress, pulling it down, down, down, until it falls into a heap on the floor. That’s when he discovers I’m not wearing a bra.

With his gaze fixed on my breasts, he releases a low, primal growl. Unfastening his belt, he shakes off his boxers and pants in one fluid move, while I rid myself of my skimpy lace thong.

Then, with our clothes discarded at our feet, we stand bared, revealing ourselves to each other. The mere sight of him makes my heart flutter as a slow, simmering heat builds deep in my core. My gaze roams the length of him, blazing a greedy trail over the smooth, muscled expanse of his chest, down past his finely honed abs, and then lower still.

A small noise of desire escapes my lips, and when my eyes return to his, I find him regarding me with a look so smoldering with intent, I can track its heat as it moves along my contours and curves.

“My God,” he whispers. “You’re the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen. I feel like I’m caught in a dream.”

“You’re still wearing Arthur’s contacts,” I jokingly remind him.

But Braxton dismisses it with a shake of his head. “Believe me,” he says, voice thick with need, “it’s not that.”

Clasping my hand in his, he leads me through a lively field of vibrant swaying sunflowers, and gently lays me down on the bed. As we sink onto the mattress, it instantly transforms into a soft, golden field I immediately recognize as the lush, textured landscape of Wheat Field with Cypresses . The sunflowers that surround us morph into the rich purple hues of Van Gogh’s Irises , encapsulating us in a vision as opulent as it is iconic.

Above us, the old velvet canopy becomes an infinite swirling cloud-streaked sky, wrapping us in a serene veil of beauty that elevates the moment from the magical to the truly inspired.

In the midst of this stunning tableau, I find myself caught in an internal battle between all that needs to be said, the plans we still need to make, and my more immediate need to finally gratify this hunger we share. But when Braxton’s lips find mine once again, a tranquil hush instantly dispels all my doubts, rendering them into dim, distant memories, until I can no longer recall what I was once so worried about.

Within the sanctuary of his embrace, time ceases to exist. The world beyond these walls, with all its trials and uncertainties, fades into nothing. Here, in the warmth of Braxton’s arms, I’ve found my safe haven, my welcome refuge, a warm and comforting place where our love triumphs over everything else.

Determined to hang onto this beautiful, ephemeral moment, painfully aware of how easily it could vanish like sand slipping through the narrow waist of an hourglass, I empty my mind of everything but the feel of his body, his flesh upon mine.

“Tasha,” he breathes against my skin, his voice weaving my name into a sacred vow. “It feels as though I’ve lived several lifetimes, just waiting for this.”

He stretches his body over mine and I arch deeper into his touch, the feel of his bare skin on mine like a balm for my soul.

This kiss—this gloriously ravenous kiss with his tongue sliding in tandem with mine, feels like a declaration of our unbreakable bond, a promise that echoes through time.

His hands, tender yet fervent, explore the angles of my face, the curve of my neck, the swell of my breasts, as if charting the path of our shared destiny, a roadmap of devotion and desire unchecked.

He kisses me again, harder this time, our lips pressing, crushing, desperate in our mutual longing for each other. I reach a hand between us, shameless in my need to feel him against my palm, feel him everywhere I possibly can. I slide my fingers down the length of our bellies until I find him, curl around him, and stroke him until a low moan emanates from somewhere deep in his throat.

“Tasha,” he pants, eyes glazed, voice gruff with urgency. “My darling, do you have any idea what you’re doing to me? And what I plan to do to you in return?”

I pull my hand away, and with a fiery challenge in my gaze, I tilt my head back, and say, “Show me.”

Braxton is quick to obey.

Dipping his head to my breasts, he claims me with his lips. His teeth teasing, tongue expertly flicking, until I’m driven so mad with it, I find myself lifting my hips, practically begging for more, desperate for whatever he’s willing to give.

After so many false starts, I don’t want to wait another second before joining with him.

“Braxton,” I whisper, my fingers spiking into his silky brown hair, carefully avoiding the bandages he wears.

He taps a finger to the talisman still fastened at my neck, then dips his head lower, then lower still, his lips pressing a tantalizing trail down the length of my body, causing a deliciously unbearable heat to flood into my center.

“Please,” I say, my gaze burning into his. “I need you now. I don’t want to wait.”

I grind against his mouth, sure I’m about to break, when he suddenly stops, lifts his head, and with a wry grin, says, “Tell me what you really want.”

My breath is coming so fast, I can hardly form words. “You,” I manage to huff. “I want all of you. Now.”

His head dips again, blessing me with one long, tormenting stroke of his tongue. Then he dips once more, sanctifying me with another.

“Do you know how much I’ve missed you—missed this?” His tongue relentlessly lashes me like a famished wanderer finally offered a feast.

But as much as I love this, as much as I crave every brush of his lips on my flesh, there’s something else I want even more.

“Do you have a condom?” I ask.

His gaze locks on mine and he rises onto his knees. Framed by a meadow of purple irises swaying and shivering at his back, Braxton is more magnificent than I’ve ever seen him.

“You know there’s no rush,” he says, tenderly cupping a palm to my heat. He begins teasing me with the tip of his finger, rubbing and pressing against just the right spot.

My head falls back against the pile of pillows, lost in this glorious sensation. And yet, my need for him is so immediate and raw, I won’t take the chance of Arthur interfering.

“I can’t wait.” My voice is a rasp, torn between wanting him to continue what he started and my insatiable craving for more, more, more. “I need to be with you—no more delays.”

Suddenly, his hand moves away, and I find myself aching for the warmth I just lost.

In one fluid move, he reaches for the nightstand, rips open the small package he grabbed from the drawer, then expertly rolls a condom onto himself.

His gaze, deep as the ocean and just as vast, locks onto mine. Pulling back slightly, he centers his hips, rears back his head, and says, “This is just the beginning.”

My heart resonates with the truth of his words. Instinctively, I nod, understanding fully. We stand on the cusp of something new, something deeper—a transformation into who we were always destined to become.

Then, with a quick intake of breath, and a single hard thrust, he is settled inside me, and the world around us unfurls, blooming into a kaleidoscope of color and light. Van Gogh’s flowers no longer relegated to the background, they shimmer and multiply until we are seamlessly woven into the fabric of the artwork.

Braxton’s eyes spark and glow like stars, as brilliant, amethyst-colored irises trail down the length of my body.

“Tasha,” he gasps as I hook my legs tightly around him, my hands gripping the muscles of his back, pulling him closer, deeper than I ever thought he could be. And all the while our flesh swirls like clouds as our hips continue to grind and drag, desperate for all this and more.

Together we move, our bodies rocking, hips bucking, as Braxton slides and slams into me over and over and over again.

Beneath the veil of a whirling night sky and the soft, golden wheat field yielding beneath us, we soar, piercing through constellations, bursting through stars. The two of us fused, joined, we spiral as one, until lightning cleaves the heavens, and we break, plummeting back toward earth with a gasp, a shout, a strangled cry of each other’s name on our lips.

When it’s over, Braxton lies by my side, gently sweeping a stray lock of hair behind my ear, as I rest a hand on his chest, soothed by the steady rhythm of his heart.

“Are you okay?” he asks, his voice brimming with reverence and adoration that mirrors the depth of his gaze.

“No,” I tell him, my mouth pulling into a theatrical frown.

At first, Braxton rears back in alarm. But then catching the playful glint in my eye, he visibly relaxes.

“I’m afraid you’ve altered me forever,” I say, my fingers skipping from his heart to his navel. “From this point forward, I’ll never be the same.” My fingers slink lower. “I’m going to need to repeat that experience at least once every day. But honestly, probably even more. At a minimum, twice.” My fingers slip lower still, delighted to discover he’s as ready for me as I am for him.

Braxton’s smile widens. “I think we can arrange that,” he says.

As he draws closer, his lips inching toward mine, instead of eyes that shine like stars and a face that glows with the warmth of Van Gogh’s sun, his features grotesquely transform into the haunting image of one of the artist’s lesser known, earlier works, Skull of a Skeleton with Burning Cigarette .

My breath catches.

My heart hammers hard against my chest.

As my fight-or-flight impulse kicks in, urging me to run as fast as I can.

“Tasha—you all right?” Braxton’s voice, laced with worry, cuts through my panic.

In the blink of an eye, the ghastly apparition dissolves, and Braxton’s familiar features return, calming the storm of fear in my heart.

It was just a glitch. Surely, Arthur didn’t intend that.

Or did he?

Braxton traces a finger along my jaw, then trails a path down my neck, over my shoulder, and along my arm to where a third golden ring has appeared.

His deep blue gaze fixing on mine, he says, “You sure you’re okay?”

I push the thought away and press my lips to his, seeking refuge in his kiss.

“Always,” I manage to whisper. “Always when I’m with you.”