Page 26

He moved the brush higher, but his fingers brushed the inside of her wrist—an accident that pulled his breath tight. He stilled, brush suspended midair.

Her breath had hitched and he’d felt it down to his spine.

He let the brush linger above her skin, hovering as if waiting for her to vanish. But she didn’t. She stayed open—bare and trembling and real. He shifted, brought the brush to her shoulder. Gold followed, sliding over bone. A line. A pause. A breath. Then another.

His hand slowed. The brush skimmed her shoulder, each pass gentle, deliberate, asking more than taking. She was being a canvas that pulled the man to the surface, one stroke at a time.

He dipped the brush again, slower. Dragged it across her collarbone—center to shoulder—then let his eyes settle on her breasts—soft curves that tightened his grip on the brush, demanded his focus, and stoked something hot behind his ribs.

Her breath snagged under his gaze, caught in the silence thick between them.

She held still. Fierce surrender, chest rising as if her body had chosen him before her mind could catch up.

He tracked the flicker in her throat, the shift in her fingers next to her thighs.

Every twitch pulled his focus. Every stillness asked him to stay present.

He moved lower, brush sweeping along the arc of her bicep.

His hand steadied, but the hunger behind it didn’t.

He moved down her arm, but his focus had already shifted back to her breasts.

Pink peaks tipped tight from cold or anticipation—he didn’t care which.

His gaze only cared about studying them, drawn like a tide.

The ache that had gripped him in the shower flared sharp behind his ribs. Not just need. Hunger.

His grip shifted. The brush slowed.

“You’re beautiful ,” he murmured, voice caught between wonder and ache.

She gasped. “Okay—stop.”

He froze.

She stepped back, breath stuttering in her chest. “New game,” she hurried, voice lit with something wild.

Her fingers brushed hair from her eyes. Sheturned toward the shelves and grabbed something—whatever it was, it wasn’t paint.

She didn’t meet his eyes when she faced him. “Your turn to follow.”

****

Jaxi moved quietly, one arm across her chest, and reached for the paint.

She didn’t speak. She dipped two fingers into the gold and dragged a smooth arc across her forehead, curving it up over her temples like a coronet.

For a princess. Not a queen. She didn’t need to be a queen, a princess was enough.

She knelt on the floor, gaze locked on him. Before she could stop herself, she blurted, “I realize I’m not her.”

He stared at her, brows drawn until he was devastatingly handsome. “Who’s her?” he asked, voice low.

Jaxi swallowed but didn’t look away. “The one you were made for,” she reminded, forcing her tone light. “The one the universe built just for you. The one you lost—and never stopped hearing.” Or talking about.

Kohl held her eyes while she kicked herself. “I’m not thinking about her when I hesitate.” His voice stayed steady, but tight. “I’m thinking about what happens if I give you everything I’ve got—and it’s not enough.”

His words stole her breath and she lowered slowly to her calves. “You’re not the only one risking something.” She forced her voice to remain even.

He came before her and dropped to one knee, eyes level with hers. “I’ve never done anything without power.” His voice rumbled low, eyes hot and digging. “And I don’t know if that’s enough to hold someone like you.”

She stared at him, his words making her dizzy with want. “You don’t need power to hold me,” she said quietly. “You just… need to want me.”

****

Kohl tracked the tension in her shoulders as he raised his hand. Her breath stayed even, but her eyes followed every inch. He touched her jaw with the back of his fingers, then brought his thumb to the gold near her temple.

“I do want you,” he vowed softly, gaze dragging slowly over her breasts. “That’s the only thing I’m sure of.”

She swallowed and raised her hand, taking hold of his.

She brought it to her mouth, sliding his fingers over her lips.

He flexed them, feeling the softness and heat of her breaths.

“I’ve… never done this part either,” she confessed quietly.

“With a man.” She brought her other hand up, holding his, pressing small kisses on his fingers. “But… I think it starts with kisses.”

The realization crashed into him. She was scared.

She slowly lowered to her knees. He followed, searching her eyes and body for direction, his human body suddenly filling with new urges. Ones focused on her fears, not his.

She suddenly let go of his hand as she sat.

He knelt before her, still watching. The need to assist her somehow grew as he recognized what he was seeing.

She wasn’t building anticipation, she was walking a tightrope, trying not to fall.

And his gaze seemed to be her choice of tether as she placed her palms behind her on the floor and drew up her closed knees.

Several breaths passed as she sat still, watching him. His pulse jumped at realizing she was waiting for something. Fuck, she was calling him onto that rope. Waiting for him.

He needed to go carefully too. His every move had the power to throw her off balance. They both had no idea what to do and yet she was the only thing he had to guide him.

He searched his mind for anything to help him. Any tool that might be useful. He had a body with needs, she had a body with needs. He knew what his were, but what were hers, exactly? What order did he fill them in? How quickly did he fill them?

“Touch me,” she whispered, her voice fragile and shaking.

The green light unleashed his adrenalin then tangled his breath in his lungs. He lowered his eyes to her locked knees, knowing it was the door leading in. He needed to open it.

He moved carefully, eyes on his target. Her breaths turned shallow when his hands touched down. He eyed her face, searching for fear.

The look in her soft gaze slammed into his gut. Approval. Silent and scared. But also hot. So fucking hot. She wanted it as much as she feared it. Or maybe she feared how much she wanted it. Something in his head said they were the same thing or close enough.

He kept his pace slow, gliding his fingers along the silky skin just past her knees.

He focused his attention on her breaths and eyes as he explored.

The lower his fingers got, the higher the heat built.

The molten look in her gaze turned his cock into steel.

His fingers slid along the seam of her legs, searching for give.

Her lips parted with shaky breaths, her eyes lowering to his hands. “Yes,” she said, the word all breath.

All the cues hit his stupid brain, and his own breath rushed out at what they said. She was waiting for him to open that door. Not just hungry for it, desperate.

A memory hit him. Dying for it. unlock that door.

It hit his stupid brain what she was saying to him.

A memory hit him, adding fuel to his ability to think.

So maybe I’ll shove my fingers past your lips…

drag them along your tongue… like a promise.

His words had wrecked her little artistic tirade and set her on fire.

She’d liked what that man had said. More than liked. And she’d wanted it.

To ask her to open the door was wrong. He didn’t need to ask. He just needed to do it. “I’m going to open you,” he said, his voice low and sure.

The lock on her body suddenly broke, her breaths flying out as she closed her eyes.

Heat surged through his cock and blood at the victory. He slid his fingers along the seam of her legs, up and down, eyeing her pretty face as he coaxed.

He began to open her, inch by reverent inch.

Her breaths staggered and his own froze as the sight of her—bare and waiting—seared into him. His throat tightened. Heat pulsed low in his body. She was giving this to him. Letting him see her. Open and vulnerable and beautiful.

He didn’t stop till every inch was bared to him. He swallowed once, voice nearly caught. “You’re breathtaking.”

She looked down at herself, face and body flush and trembling.

Kohl slowly lowered himself between her open thighs, his gaze holding hers as he went. He was no longer searching for cues, he was devouring the answers screaming at him.

Between her legs, he stroked his fingers along her outer thighs, lips gliding along the inner. Her scent throbbed in his cock, pressed against the floor, turning his breaths thick and hot.

He opened his mouth more on her. The warmth of her skin put a steady fire in his stomach. His heart thudded as he kissed, letting his tongue taste now.

Her breath hitched with a sharp gasp when his fingers moved to her inner thighs and pressed them to the floor, feeling the muscles.

His mouth hovered right at her glistening pussy, breaths ragged and ready. He stroked his thumbs along the bottom of her folds, her frantic breaths punching against his cock.

“Kohl.”

His name flew out between her hot breaths, the aching need driving him.

But he was no longer in a hurry to meet them.

He wanted to explore them. He was quickly becoming obsessed with her reactions.

Needing to explore them. Measure and define exactly what they meant.

He weighed his options. He could ask for what he wanted.

He could say what he wanted. He could take what he wanted. Or he could ask what she wanted.

He needed all of those answers. Wanted them even more.

Which one did he want first?

A last lingering doubt pointed the way.

“Do you want me to kiss your pussy?” he asked, massaging her soft petals.

She answered yes with sharp gasps. No words.