Chapter 13: The Unfinished Canvas
Caspian said nothing, just looked at Seraphina. He could see the pull to respond and reassure Leo and also the urge to stay with him in this moment written all over her face. “I have not ever worried about anyone replacing me, let alone a mere mortal,” he said, turning away from her, letting his gaze fall back to her painting.
Seraphina fixed her nightgown and looked at her phone, its screen a glaring rectangle of normalcy in the gothic gloom. “Are you really jealous?” she said, her voice shaky.“Of a human? Of course not.” Caspian’s profile was a sharp cut-out against the dark canvas.“I however am jealous of the connection you share. I will not make you choose though.Go to him if you must.Like I said, I do care. It just looks different on me.” His eyes never left the painting as if finally understanding the complexity of it.For a long moment, Seraphina watched him. The proud line of his shoulders, the way his hands hung loosely at his sides, the uncharacteristic quiet that clung to him. She picked up her phone.Her fingers moved quickly over the glass.I am busy tonight. I need space.She set the phone down, screen facing the rug, and walked to Caspian. She pressed her body to his back, feeling the warmth of him through his shirt, the firm muscle of his spine.He went very still.
“I am used to men falling over themselves for me,” she murmured into the fine linen covering his shoulder. “Leo is kind and understanding of art in a way that is refreshing.But he is no different.You however do not fall.You command. Unfortunately for you I do not do well with commands.”
“Neither do I.” His voice was low, a vibration she felt against her cheek.“Well it seems we are at a stand still. Two doms. Evenly matched.”
He turned then, slowly, forcing her to step back or be caught in the circle of his arms.She stepped back.The space between them crackled. A ghost of a smile touched his lips, but his emerald eyes were deadly serious. “Oh whatever shall we do?”
Seraphina’s answering smile was pure challenge. “Negotiate.”
She reached behind her neck, untied the single silk ribbon holding her nightgown closed, and let it slide from her shoulders. It whispered to the floor, a pool of rose at her feet. She stood naked before him, the chill air pebbling her skin, the evidence of their recent fucking glistening on her inner thighs.She made no move to cover herself. This was her territory now.
Caspian’s gaze burned a path from her eyes to her toes and back again.His own arousal was obvious, thick against the fly of his trousers. “Your terms?”
“No commands,” she said, taking a step forward.“Only requests. And they go both ways.”
“Requests can be denied.”
“They can. That’s the point.”
He closed the remaining distance, but didn’t touch her.His breath fanned her lips. “Then I request you get on the bed.On your back.”
Her violet eyes held his. She could feel the power in the simple act of compliance, the choice inherent in it. She turned and walked to the massive four-poster, the old floorboards cool under her soles. She climbed onto the crimson duvet and lay back, her black hair fanning out like a shadow. She kept her eyes on him, watching as he undressed with a predatory economy of movement. His body was a sculpture in the low light, all hard planes and latent strength.
He knelt on the bed, caging her with his arms.“My turn,” she breathed.“I request you taste me. Where I’m slick from you.”
A low groan escaped him.He didn’t need to be asked twice. He moved down her body, his hands sliding her thighs apart, widening her for his mouth. He didn’t tease.He buried his face between her legs with a single-minded intensity that stole her breath. His tongue was hot, broad, and relentless. It lapped through her folds, gathering the taste of them both, before circling her clit with a pressure that was just shy of painful.
“Oh, god,” Seraphina gasped, her head pushing back into the pillows. Her hands fisted in the duvet.This was different.In Paris, in the closet, it had been a battle. This was a gift, given and received. His mouth was wicked, skilled, but there was a focus to it, a devotion that felt utterly new. He was learning her, memorizing the rhythms that made her hips jerk and the sighs that caught in her throat.
He added a finger, then two, curling them inside her, finding a spot that made her vision blotch with white. “There,” she begged, “right there, yes.” Her politeness shattered. “Fuck, Caspian, don’t stop.”
He didn’t. He drove her with his mouth and his hand, the wet, filthy sounds of his ministrations loud in the quiet room. The orgasm built like a storm, slow and inevitable, then broke over her with shocking force. She cried out, her back arching off the bed, her thighs clamping around his head as she shook through the pulses.
Before the last tremor had faded, he was moving up her body, his mouth wet, his eyes dark with hunger.He kissed her, letting her taste herself on his tongue.
“My request,” he growled against her lips, his cock, iron-hard, nudging at her entrance. “Let me in.All the way. Let me see you.”
It was the ‘let me’ that undid her.The request, not the command. She nodded, breathless, and hooked her legs around his waist. He pushed in slowly, a torturous, glorious invasion that stretched her, filled her completely. When he was fully seated, he went still, forehead dropped to hers, his breath coming in ragged gusts.“Look at me,” he whispered.She opened her eyes. The raw vulnerability in his gaze was a shock more profound than any physical sensation. Here was the arrogant lord, laid bare.Not commanding, but asking.Not taking, but sharing. She saw the chaos from her painting, but she also saw the frightening clarity of his focus.On her.Only her.
He began to move. Not with the brutal, punishing pace from before, but with a deep, rolling rhythm that was infinitely more devastating.Each thrust was a claiming, yes, but it was also an offering. Their bodies moved in a syncopated counterpoint, sweat-slicked and desperate. He whispered filthy, beautiful things in her ear—how tight she was, how good she felt, how her cunt was milking his cock so perfectly. She answered with moans and bitten-off curses, her nails scoring down his back.The climb was slower this time, a steady ascent into a blinding light. She felt her second orgasm coiling, tighter and hotter than the first. He felt it too, his pace becoming fractured, his control unraveling.
“Seraphina,” he choked out, his voice breaking on her name. “I’m gonna—fuck—come with me.”
It was the last request she needed. The sound of her name on his lips, ravaged and real, triggered her release. She convulsed around him, a silent scream locked in her throat, her body clenching him in a series of ruthless spasms. He roared, a raw, animal sound, and emptied himself deep inside her, his own orgasm wracking his frame as he collapsed onto her, their hearts hammering against each other in the sudden, profound quiet.Minutes passed. The scent of sex and salt and skin filled the air. Eventually, he shifted his weight, pulling out but gathering her against him, turning them onto their sides.He didn’t let go.
Seraphina traced the line of his jaw, her fingers unsteady. “That wasn’t a stalemate.”
“No,” he agreed, his voice thick.He caught her hand, pressed a kiss to her palm. “It was a treaty.”
Outside, the wind picked up, moaning through the stone turrets. Somewhere in the estate, a clock chimed three. They lay entangled in the dark, the ghosts on the walls looking on, while between them, something new and fragile and terrifyingly potent began to beat its first, quiet wings.