The ride home was filled with tension. Ajax’s grip on the wheel was so tight the veins on his forearms were visible. My knees buckled together, and my breath was ragged. He went beyond the speed limit, and I kept my eyes away from him, concentrating on my frantic heartbeat and the full moon shimmering in the night.
We had a limited time to give in fully to each other, racing against reality. And that’s what we did the moment we crossed the main door. The world became silent, giving us the stage. We didn’t even bother to turn the lights on, lips crushed together and tongues intertwined. We kicked the moving boxes to the ground, and I collided with the wall, Ajax’s hands capturing mine.
I circled my legs around his torso, and his hands roamed over my body as if they always belonged there before he lifted me up. We had an end date—our contract ended tomorrow, and we were both leaving—but tonight, it didn’t matter. The side character deserved one night pretending to be the hero. One night of lust and nothing else.
I’d pick up the pieces of my shattering heart on the ground tomorrow but not today.
“Bedroom or atelier?” he growled between kisses.
“Atelier.” I slammed my lips on his again, and he carried me to his universe.
We coordinated a team effort: he turned the handle, and I kicked the door open, still kissing, exploring each other’s mouths like it was a whole universe. He carried me through his studio, and I made sure the sculptures and paintings wouldn’t fall with our contact.
“Leave them, I don’t care,” he breathed, animalistic and rough, while several cans of paint spread out on the floor.
I laughed a little, and he positioned me on the ground where I’d posed for him.
“Just a minute,” his lips whispered to me, the rustle of his breath making my heart jump in my throat, missing a few beats on its way.
He left me alone in the penumbra, and in the midst of the silence, he ripped down the curtain that hid the bay window in one harsh move. I slammed my hand over my mouth. Spectre was deliberately tearing apart his own studio, making a mess, and yet he still found the will to do something affectionate such as using the curtain as a blanket on the floor.
The full moon and the garden lights lit up the space in midnight-blue rays as Ajax invited me to join him in the dark waltz we had started, his gaze making me feel like I was an art piece he couldn’t drift his eyes away from. I hesitated for a moment: I was no virgin, but with him, I felt naked in a way I never had before. I was exposing my flaws.
His eyebrows knitted almost instinctively. “You don’t want to.”
“I want it very bad—that’s why I’m scared. It’s been a long time, and you’re you, and I’m me.” It didn’t make sense, but what I meant was that the meaning behind it was so much more painful than with the other men. “But it’s just sex. It’s not a big deal.”
“Forget the other men.” He spun me to him, and when his lips met mine again, he dissipated everything.
His skilled fingers traveled under my dress to the side of my leg in a slight caress. They reached higher and higher until meeting my panties. I inhaled deeply and held my breath as he continued his way to the inside of my thigh. He paused for a moment, his eyes searching mine before he reached where I’d been wanting him to.
He stroked me on top of my panties in a phantom touch. He was a tease, and I rocked my hips forward. One of his fingers slid under my panties, and he met my wetness, a thin line appearing on his lips before he pulled it back, leaving me frustrated.
“This…” He locked my panties in his grip and pulled them up, sending a delicious friction to my clit.
I bit on my lower lip to hold in a moan.
“This is not just sex.” He continued his torturous friction. “It’s more possessive and intimate. Sex doesn’t get my core raging with the need to fuck every inch of you and taste you until stealing all of your breath. So no, Aurore, having sex is bland, boring, devoid of feelings—this isn’t.”
And I was hot. Burning hot. And needy. I wrote about sex a lot, but never in my life had I arrived to that state of angst, that need to collide with someone else’s soul and, on another less poetic note, the need to be ravaged. Right after this statement, he ripped my panties. He fucking ripped them. The memory of my underwear found itself at my feet, and I was bared for him.
“I’ll buy you ten others,” he added as if he could read my thoughts and my huge eyes. “In fact, I’m not even sure you’ll need those anymore around me. It doesn’t do justice to you.”
“Are you insulting my underwear?” I gasped, my repartee still alive. I didn’t wear granny ones. I wore slutty ones like any good respectable villain.
“It was in my way.” His voice, slow and deadly, made my clit throb.
“Your way?” I raised an eyebrow.
“My—” He made the word last, just as much as he made the pleasure last when his fingers stroked my wet folds. His jaw went rigid, and he brought one of his fingers to his lips, tasting me shamelessly. “—way,” he finished.
He unbuttoned his jacket and let go of it with lethal calm, his dress shirt clinging tight to his Greek warrior muscles. As he readjusted his cuffs, his eyes slid straight to mine.
“Would you strip for me, Aurore.” His voice kept his usual dryness and control while his dark eyes betrayed the hunger submerging him. “I want to take you in fully.”
He tilted the mirror beside him in my direction, as if hoping to see me from every angle at the same time. He stood behind me, my back brushing his torso, and I felt his hardness pulsing behind my butt cheeks. Despite the fairy-tale dress, I looked like an animal with flushed cheeks. He pulled down the zipper of my dress, and his sinful lips landed along my neck. His fingertips brushed the valley between my breasts, and just then, he took a step back.
Our eyes met in the mirror, and I lowered the strap of my dress and made the other follow right after. I lifted my chin and let the dress slide to the ground, exposing the shape of my body without shyness. His gaze detached from mine to take in each of my curves, those of my breasts to my belly, to my hips. At that moment, it felt like I was posing for him. He approached me, and his hand brushed my bare back, still controlling himself.
“Can I taste you.” The rasp of his voice, half filled with need, half with lust, was torture. “Please.”
Him begging made the wetness between my legs pool even more. He screamed dominance in a way that aroused me while pleading to me without shame, and that was hot.
“Yes,” I dropped.
His fingertips went to circle around my breasts and closed on the bud of my nipple. He rolled it between his forefingers, and I gasped. He continued, cupping my breast fully while kissing the spot right below the lobe of my ear.
“You’re even more beautiful than I imagined you, and I did. A lot. You haunted every part of me for years.”
My hands reached to grasp his hardness from behind, but he stopped them in their course, locking both of them with one of his hands. “You’ll make me explode if you do this now. I’ll take my time with you, just as long as you made me wait. So fucking long.”
“I always knew you were cruel,” I attempted a joke, giving him a truthful smile.
“Your lips, or more accurately, your smile, is one of the things I prefer about you.” His hand dipped between my legs and closed on my clit. “You have a different way of smiling, which betrays what you’re thinking.”
I gasped, and my hand collided with the mirror in front to keep me steady. “What are the others?”
“Your freckles.” His pace around my clit was slow and teasing. “They tell a story.” His other hand closed around my throat, and I tilted my head back. “Your eyes—those are the first things I drew of you.” He kissed me, his thumb still circling around my clit. “And now your body, but I want to keep it to myself as a secret. My muse.”
“It’s unfair I’m naked next to you, and you—” I gasped when he intensified the pressure around my clit, the mist of my breath and the mark of my hand taking shape on the mirror. “I hate you, you know that?”
“Never stop hating me, Aurore. I’ll take everything from you apart from your indifference.” He kicked apart both of my legs so I’d spread them wider. “Don’t move so I can taste you properly.”
I used to be a combatant, but facing that adversity, I caved. Ajax spun me around and teased the soft spot below my ear. He dipped lower and left a trail of kisses from my breasts to my belly until he was kneeling in front of me. He, the epitome of untouchable, was kneeling for me. My lips parted, and my clit throbbed in angst of what was coming next.
He adored my inner thighs by depositing light kisses, like a phantom touch on my body. My hands passed through his sleek hair, and his mouth finally closed where I wanted him to. I moaned. He kissed and sucked on my clit, holding me in place so I wouldn’t move. I rolled my hips to meet his pace, which intensified, tasting me with eagerness. My belly tightened to the point my breaths were ragged and my knees buckled. His hand grasped my butt cheek, and when he pushed one of his fingers inside of me, I leaned forward, losing control.
His tongue flicked over me again, holding me under his mercy like a prisoner until the last minute. He slapped my butt cheek and pumped his finger into me, again and again. I swore my eyes had rolled behind my head the moment my orgasm crashed in a burst of fireworks. I came without warning, my legs shaking. He didn’t pull away at first, encircling me with his arms.
I eventually regained my breathing, and he stood up, unbuttoning his shirt to display his hard abs and defined muscles. Then, his belt followed, which he rolled in a circle before carefully placing it on the desk next to him. That maniac. Pants and underwear followed until there was nothing left but his hard erection rising in front of me.
“What are you thinking?” he asked, coming to me, breaking the few centimeters separating us.
“That my nickname for you, Greek warrior in a suit, was appropriate.” I didn’t mention where my perverted mind went.
He lifted me up, giving me a feverish kiss, my legs wrapping instinctively around his torso. Carrying me with one arm, he tipped over everything he had on his desk with a single gesture. The glasses that carried the brushes shattered on the floor, and some of his tubes of paint spilled onto the desk. As for the pieces of paper, they flew around us before gravity brought them back to the ground.
“You’re all I fucking feel about,” he cursed, and my heart lashed across my chest.
He put me on top of the desk, and I opened my legs as he captured my waist. The paint came up to my thigh and down his leg, but neither of us moved.
“You’re all I think about,” I admitted.
And it was after those confessions that we were muses to each other and he was everything I never knew I wanted, that Spectre and I had the same idea bouncing around our minds. He picked up the blank linen canvas next to him and posed it right behind me on his desk.
“Let’s make art,” I said, taking the paint off my leg to trace a path on his biceps.
He followed the movement of my hand, his chest lifting up and down as if he, too, struggled with breathing.
“I’m clean,” he said out of nowhere, as if his brain was calculating all the possibilities. “Do you—”
“I am too,” I cut him off. “And I’m on the pill.”
“I have never done it without a condom. Never wanted to. But with you, I want to feel you properly.”
“I do too.”
Once things settled, it all then happened so fast. We made art, Spectre entering me slow and deep and igniting my world in the shapes of a thousand words and colors.
“You’re mine, my fairy, just like I’m yours.”
He cupped my face and thrust inside of me harder this time, to the point I could feel him in my belly. My nails raked behind his back, and our hips rocked in harmony. My heart couldn’t handle this conflict of emotion. I offered him my neck, which he claimed, and our moans melted together. He was right—this wasn’t just sex; it was a mix of hunger and fate, of need and hatred, of passion and tenderness. A mix of us.
I lay down on the table, and he pulled my legs toward him before taking the smallest tube of paint that he carefully chose and poured it down my chest. It was purple. A lavender type of purple. I bit my lip. He was eating me up with his stare, and feeling me with his skilled fingers, spreading the paint along my lustful body. My chest heaved, searching for my breath under his slow but deep thrusts.
He pulled one of my legs over his shoulder and kissed my ankle, his strong arms circling my leg to keep me steady under his embrace. This time, the playtime was over. Goose bumps erupted over my skin. His body tensed. And then, he pulsed into me, and I bounced against the desk. His pace intensified, and he pounded into me harder, keeping my hips locked in place as I laid my arms behind my head. My hands dug into the canvas, trying to hold on to something under the intensity of his merciless drives.
A helpless moan came from my lips. “Ajax, it feels—”
“I know, my fairy,” he cut me off, reading my mind. “I know.”
All of his muscles worked and tensed, and behind him, the mixture of moonlight and dust formed sparkly particles of blue floating in the air. He leaned forward, his hand closing on mine, the shapes of them immortalized on the canvas behind us as our bodies full of paint merged together. He squeezed my bottom, and I shut my eyes for an instant. This was like nothing I’d ever felt before, a mix of bliss, of pain and pleasure, of love and heartbreak.
We switched positions, knocking over his easel. Ajax sat on the floor, carrying me on top of him so I’d sit on his crotch—gentlemanly enough to not make me collide on the harsh floor and let me on top, but not so gentlemanly with the way he filled me to the point he’d own my screams and moans. His hands skimmed over my skin, tightening on my flesh as if I was only his. A carnal burning heat inhabited us; it was like we had been a silent volcano all along, erupting together, and it was messy and beautiful in our own weird way.
“Oh god—” I moaned.
“God is for nothing in all of this, my love.” He pulled a strand of my hair away from my face. “Say my name.”
“Ajax,” I breathed.
He gave me a hard, forceful thrust. “The one you loathe, my fairy.”
“Spectre.”
A thin line drew on his features. That bastard. He even possessed my hatred.
His eyes assessed me fully, darkening to a pitch-black intensity as I offered him a full view of my body, riding him to my pace with a daunting smile. I worked my fingers over his muscular chest, but he stopped them in their tracks and brought them to his lips. He kissed them with adoration and eroticism right before his lips explored my breasts and captured my nipple between his teeth. I leaned forward, giving in to him, tangling my hands in his silky hair. Ajax gripped my waist and cupped my jaw so he could drink me in with his burning eyes. Strands of my hair fell beside his face, like a curtain enclosing us in our moment. Moans echoed under his forceful, slick thrusts, and he took back control of our pace, savagely and hopelessly.
We were a mess, paint all around our bodies, and if this wasn’t enough, Spectre hooked an arm around my waist and switched positions.
“I want to worship and see every inch of you. Is that okay?” he pleaded from the sultry rasp of his voice, and the moment he withdrew from me, I missed him.
Not like I had a choice. My body was burning to the point of eruption. I needed more. “Yes.”
“Show me your back and your ass, my fairy.”
I did, brushing my breasts on the canvas as I stood on all fours. A guttural grunt escaped his lips, and he brought me back to him so my butt cheeks grazed his hardness. Kneeling behind me, he bent down to kiss my shoulder, his hot breath teasing my neck, to the point the hair on my skin hissed.
His hands clasped my breasts, then traveled the length of my spine to finally settle on taking a fistful of my hair and pulling my head back. I craned my neck to meet him for a kiss, his tongue demanding entrance. My wetness pooling between my thighs, I was in angst, the feel of his hardness pulsing behind my back, bringing me to the edge.
He slammed into me, and I screamed a helpless moan. He kept me steady against his torso with his arm wrapped around my stomach. He seemed even thicker than he already was, and I dug my nails into his grip. My brows slithered into a hard line, and I lost complete notion of time.
He released me from his torture, his hands clamping down on my hips, and I leaned forward, my breasts brushing on the canvas, my bottom up. I curved my back, feeling him pulsing inside my belly. Under the roughness of our exchanges, the wood creaked, the once-stretched canvas loosening. I held on to the very end of it, my cheek brushing against it. My eyes searched for Ajax, and the view of him, on the verge of losing control with his eyes eating me up, created a new wave of heat inside of me.
He slid his hands down my stomach, and he towered over me to deposit soft kisses along my spine. My belly contracted. My clit throbbed. My mind went into delirium. This was all too intense. Too good. Too—
“I can’t take it anymore.” I gasped for air. “I need to—”
Come. I swallowed my last word, and he accelerated his frenetic pace to a rhythm that let me know he was close too. I moved my bottom against him, again and again, right before he sent me into oblivion. My strength vanished, and we exploded together in one last intense thrust. He kissed my nape, and we both collided next to the canvas that illustrated our first time. We remained on our backs, taking in the mess we made inside his studio as we regained control of our breathing.
Our heads turned toward one another. I was probably flushed, and he was gorgeously untidy for once.
“You know I won’t let you get away again,” he said with certainty, probably referring to our contract ending tomorrow—not that it mattered.
The anxious knot around my heart formed again. “Our situations are complicated.”
“I know.” He didn’t insist. “Do you want to stay like this for a bit more?”
“Yes.” I smiled, and he opened his arms so I’d lie on his chest, wrapping myself under his embrace. “But just for a moment. We can’t pretend this is real, or it’ll hurt too bad when we wake up.”
“I believe it’s too late for that.”
I closed my eyes. “I know.”
“You did it, Aurore. You inspired me,” he whispered.
You inspired me.
The moon disappeared through a dark cloud, and this felt like the end.
