Page 155 of Pink Ink

No.

I can’t do it like this.

I need to see her.

Reyna cries out when I withdraw from her and spin her around. My lips crash into hers, swallowing her gasp and plastering her back against the paint as I wrap her legs around my hips. I’m slamming into her before she gets a chance to recover, fucking her like she was handpicked by the divine to be my own undoing.

My hands roam over her body, from her waist to her tits, to the column of her throat, then to her paint-stained hair.

Reyna latches onto my opened shirt like she’s incapable of letting go.

“Maddox, I—” She claws at me, slapping the canvas behind her before gripping me, smearing paint all over the both of us. Her teeth sink into my lips, drawing blood.

“Do you know how hard it’s been not to drag you into my office every day and fuck you into the couch until you become nonverbal?”

Her answer is a jumbled compilation of incoherent words, choked by hiccuped moans against my lips. Her brown eyes glaze over, seeing me, yet completely unfocused. Lost, and like the only thing she knows is how it feels to be consumed by me.

I want every part of her. Even the parts she isn’t ready to give or thinks I don’t want. My life consists of her, and only her. Dying would mean nothing to me as long as I burn in hell with the taste of her still on my tongue.

My thrusts turn relentless. Her tightening pussy has spots clouding my vision. She’s strangling my cock tight enough to feel like it might break. Nothing is as enrapturing as watching her let go. She quivers and shakes, chanting my name like I’m the only thing that exists in her mind. I can feel her climax in my bloody soul.

And I have it all on camera.

The canvas creaks as I continue, never giving her a second to come down from her high. She isn’t just art; she is a goddess, perched on the altar for me to sacrifice myself in the name of worship.

“My devotion to you has turned me deadly,” I whisper, even though she’s too lost to hear me.

My lips meet hers so she can taste the damage she’s done to me. I want to be an irrevocable part of her. I want her to always have a part of me, and know there isn’t a second that goes by where she isn’t at the forefront of my mind.

Loveisn’t strong enough for what I’m feeling. It’s the maddest kind of obsession that turns a man insane.

Reyna’s hand skates beneath my top, smearing wet paint across my waist as she reaches for my back. I capture her wrist and hold it above her head before I can ruin this moment.I shouldn’t have unbound her hands.

“Take your top off,” she moans, staring up at me with her deep-brown eyes that I picture before I fall asleep.

I shake my head. I’ll do anything she wants, except that. I won’t let anything ruin what’s between us.

“Please.” She tugs the collar.

I never would have thought someone could have so much control over me.

As soon as the clothes are gone, she’ll see the truth of what the Order has done to me. Every foul, depraved wound caused by the people who were meant to take care of me. That I’m not a tortured artist; I’m a full tragedy.

I drop my head into the cradle of her neck and wrap my arms around her. I won’t take my top off, but I can’t stop her from finding out the truth. When she does, I don’t want to see the pity on her face.

So when her hands move beneath the shirt to my back, I pull the soft skin of her neck into my mouth to pretend we’re in a world where she doesn’t know that I’m a patchwork of scars. Covered in burns and slashes from a time when being my own person was a fool’s dream.

I hate those fucking marks with every fiber of my being. Every day, I wake up and go to sleep wearing the permanent reminder that I was bred to live beneath someone else’s thumb.

I don’t want Reyna to see me as weak.

Her body tenses against me, and I hold her tighter because if I lose a part of her to this, I at least want to know what it feels like to be wholly complete for a short while.

Reyna keeps running her fingers over my back regardless of how hard I’m thrusting into her, hoping I can make her forget that they’re there. I’ll never be as perfect as she is. One day she’s going to realize I’ll never fully escape the past. Then she’ll stop looking at me like I was the one who hung the sun in the sky.

A crater forms in my chest when she pushes me back. I wish I hadn’t asked her to put a camera up to capture the moment everything shatters.

She holds my face in the palms of her hands and stares into my eyes.