Page 90 of Captive Souls

It was The Devil card from my Tarot deck, towering behind me, painted in harsh strokes of black and red, contrasting the gentle pastels he’d painted me in. Hovering above me. Casting me in shadow. Swallowing me whole. The Devil was also painted in exquisite detail, almost exactly like the card in my little bag of mementos. How he’d painted it from memory was beyond. It was unbelievable.

I looked from Knox to the painting, tears crowding my eyes. It was that mind-bendingly perfect. That visceral.

“You were born to do this,” I whispered, once again captivated by the painting. I was unable to look away from it for too long. It encased beauty and darkness and the harshness of life in a way that I couldn’t quite pinpoint.

I knew what the not-so-subtle symbolism was saying. That he was The Devil. The dark cloud casting a shadow over my life and spirit. It saddened me greatly that he saw himself like that, but I understood it. He was saying it in every way he could, screaming it at me through this exquisite piece of art.

What he didn’t understand was that the coolness of his shadow was more comforting and warmer than the brightness of any sunshine in a world without him.

“No,” he said harshly, yanking at the tie of my robe so it opened. “I was born to dothis.”

He lifted me onto the table that had been cluttered with paints and paintbrushes, both the former and the latter tumbling to the floor as Knox placed me there. He immediately propped my legs up, spreading them and barely giving me a moment to prepare before he dove in. His mouth landed in the perfect spot, and I arched my back, pleasure shooting to my very fingertips. Knox was a wild animal, devouring me without restraint, without respite.

My orgasm washed over me in a wave of pleasure that shrouded me, taking me out of the room for a moment. And a moment was all he needed to remove his mouth, take his cock out of his pants and thrust into me with the same ferocity he’d eaten me with.

My toes curled at the pleasure of his glorious assault. He grasped my hips, towering over me like The Devil in his painting. His fingers were flecked with black and red, staining my bruised hips with paint. I wished the paint would sear into my skin forever.

“I was born to dothis,Piper,” he grunted, not halting his rhythm even for a moment. “For you.” He slammed his hips harder to punctuate the point, sending me exploding around him all over again.

The entire time, I stared at the painting, transfixed by it.

I couldn’t help but believe I was born for this too. Born for him.

Seventeen

Piper

My toes curled into the damp grass, head tilted upward at the gentle breeze.

I hadn’t been able to sleep. There was no way I could sleep. Not with the energy thrumming through me. Even though Knox had thoroughly tired me out, my limbs heavy and my body sated.

He was sleeping, his arms tight around me like they always were. He didn’t exactly cuddle me; he encased me in the vice of his arms as if someone might try to take me in the night.

As someone previously accustomed to their own space, with strict no sleepover rules, initially, I wasn’t sure I’d be able to sleep like that. Turned out I could. I slept deeper than I had in my adult life.

But not on this night.

Not with the looming pressure of the outside world, oppressive like a weight in the room, pushing at the walls, the ceiling. Not with the exquisite painting sitting in the room like a living thing, staring at me.

My body was still stained with the paint smeared from Knox’s hands, and the paints cluttered on the dining room table. Knox didn’t seem bothered when I refused to let either of usshower. He was trapped in a hungry trance for me. As if he needed to fuck himself into oblivion in order to distance himself from whatever had opened up inside him as he painted.

I hadn’t complained.

The door to the cabin opened and closed. I’d anticipated it, though he took longer than I’d thought. I’d expected him to wake the second I crept out of bed, his arms locking around me. But he’d been in a sleep so deep, I hadn’t roused him when I extracted myself from his brutal grip.

The deepness of his slumber spoke to just how exhausted he must’ve been. How special it was for him to give away completely to slumber, be that vulnerable with me. It was something beyond extraordinary when a man who defined himself by his strength let himself be ‘weak’ in front of you.

I’d wanted him to sleep. But my absence must’ve roused him.

Arms went around my waist as he pulled me to press against his torso, mouth nuzzling into the curve of my neck. His teeth brushed the skin, sending a delicious shiver down my spine.

“I don’t like waking up to you being gone.”

“I didn’t go far,” I told him, my body prickling in awareness of the threat in my midst, my skin tight with excitement.

His hold on me tightened. “Anything outside of the bed is far.”

I rolled my eyes. “It’s a full moon,” I pointed out, though I didn't need to since the moon was shining in our faces, refusing to be ignored.