I smiled gently, even as my heart fell over. “So which is it? Did our kiss mean something? Or was it merely a mistake?” I ran out of paint. I didn’t want to stop seducing him, ruining him. Grabbing the bottle, I tipped a puddle of rich royal blue into my palm.
I willingly vandalized my own clothes when I didn’t have disposable income to buy more. The craving to touch his paint. To wield it like he did. To prove a point that what he valued could be borrowed, sampled, taken.
And through it all, Gil stood frozen like a hunter. A hunter who would very much like to pounce.
The rapidly thickening need between us drove me to recklessness.
His voice gruffed with gravel. “I can’t answer that.”
“You can.”
“No, I can’t.” He groaned under his breath as paint slowly oozed through my fingers.
Plop.
Plop.
Plo—
His hand shot beneath mine, catching blue droplets, his gaze never leaving mine. “I don’t like wastage, O.”
Such a simple, curt sentence, yet it sizzled with something potent and passionate.
I shivered as I deliberately tipped my palm, sending a thick river of blue into his. “And I don’t like being left in the dark.”
He looked at the paint in his hand. His jaw worked. His eyes flashed. “You don’t have a choice.”
Our argument twisted with something dangerous.
My gaze landed on his handsome, exhausted face, an invitation husky in my throat. “I choose not to lose you for the second time.”
In a flash, he reached for my throat, his skin slippery and cold with blue.
I gasped as his fingers latched around me, squeezing the pigment into my flesh. It bled between us, thick and rich, dribbling down my chest and into my cleavage.
Gil followed every track, his gaze hypnotic and hazy. “You can’t lose what you don’t have.”
My nipples pebbled; time stood still. “I’ve always had you.”
Breathlessness tortured me as his fingers unlocked from my neck and smeared heavy and possessive down my chest. He cupped my breast, ruining my blouse with sapphire streaks. “That’s what you believe?” His nose grazed mine. “That I belong to you?”
“Yes.” My heart hammered against my ribs. “Just like I belong to you.”
Darkness clawed over his face. “I can’t own what isn’t mine to take.” His thumb feathered over my pulse, his lips thinning as my rapid heartbeat revealed just how undone I was.
My head grew heavy, my body swaying under his touch. “I was yours the very first day we spoke.”
His fingers kneaded my breast even as he shook his head. “I only borrowed you...I didn’t claim you.”
I bit my lip as his thumb circled my hardened nipple, drawing a crescent blue moon around it. I couldn’t look away from the smeared graffiti or the way Gil’s jaw locked with fury.
Desire didn’t just whisper between us.
It positively set fire to us.
Fireworks of need.
Explosions of lust.
“We’re family, Gil.” My eyes hooded. “Family isn’t temporary. It’s forever.”
“Stop.” His fingers slicked over the column of my throat, pushing me into the metal shelves behind me. “Please fucking stop.” A cloud of rage and rapture twisted his voice—two opposing colours mixed with a sharp palette knife.
My spine bruised as he pinned me to the many bottles and apparatus behind me.
The things Gil hid weren’t ordinary, simple secrets. They cast a shadow over everything. An ominous skulking demon that he pretended wasn’t real. They devoured him from the inside out. They left him the ghost of the boy he’d once been.
But standing there, with his fingers latched on me in possession, his paint on me in ownership, and our chests panting to the same erratic beat, there was simplicity instead of complication.
“Stop?” I arched into him, no longer caring about secrets and safety. No longer brave enough to fight for answers.
This was important.
This was needed.
Him.
Me.
Us.
“Are you sure?” I whispered.
His entire body shuddered. For a moment, I hoped he’d spill everything. It was all there, swimming in his gaze. Dreadful, grim things he’d endured without telling me. Hard, painful things he’d buried, deep, deep inside. But then he broke eye contact and embraced the ice he’d mastered. “I can’t do this again.”
I leaned into his hold, pressing my neck into his control. I wanted to nuzzle him—to rub against his cheek like a cat. “It’s just us, Gil. No one else.”
His groan sent goosebumps scattering over me. “There’s always someone else. Something else.”
“There doesn’t have to be.”
He caged me tighter against the shelves. “I’ve already put you in enough danger.” His power and heat rippled in waves. His hips pressed mine into submission. The hard hotness in his jeans said I wasn’t the only one unravelling, even though he fought it. “I can’t touch you again.”
His words and body were enemies. His body vibrated with sexual hunger; his voice condemned with denials.
He fought me.
He fought us.
I grew wet as well as furious. “You already touched me.” I looked pointedly at my blue-smeared breast, his fingers preventing my chin from tipping too far. “Your hand is on me, listening to my pulse, knowing how much I want you.”
His forehead furrowed. His fingers loosened around my neck.
Piece by piece, breath by breath, he did his best to control himself.
I couldn’t let that happen.
Couldn’t let him shut me out again.
Reaching blindly behind me, I snatched another paint bottle. Ripping off the cap, not looking at what colour I held, I bit my lip against massive ramifications and tipped the entire thing on his head.
Seconds screeched to a halt.
Gil turned to stone.
Happy, vibrant yellow licked through his messy hair, slithering to his temples and cascading down his cheeks. The contrast of sunshine pigment crowning his depressive dark splintered what was left of my heart.
He didn’t move as yellow trickled down his forehead, danced in his left eyebrow, and dripped off his eyelashes.
A sunshine droplet landed on my blouse, smearing over the blue. I rubbed it with my fingertip, blending the two together until a vibrant green formed.
Green.
Like Gil’s eyes.
Green.
Like the school field we used to walk over.
Green.
For the trees we’d hang out beneath.
He sucked in a breath as I looked up. My body no longer invited him to take what he wanted, it liquefied just like the paint, moulding to him, warming against him, changing its molecules the longer he stared.
I was pure hunger.
Undiluted desire.
He didn’t speak, his teeth puncturing his bottom lip.
My heart hammered as he reached behind me. Selecting a bottle, he twisted off the cap and, without a word, tipped a generous dollop onto my chest.
Cold.
Pink.
A rich fuchsia that glowed with femininity and fun.
Throwing the bottle to the ground, his hands tore at my blouse until my buttons popped and the fabric gaped open.
“Fuck.” His lips landed on my neck, his hands cupping my breasts and kneading pink into my skin and bra.