By the time the light outside began to fade, Lena realized how much time had passed. Her body ached from being touched, kissed, studied, and loved in a way that felt entirely new. Damien stood back from the canvas finally, his eyes narrowing as he studied the progress.
“It’s not finished,” he murmured.
“Neither are we,” she whispered back before she could stop herself.
The way he turned to her then, eyes burning, made her breath catch all over again.
He didn’t correct her. He didn’t laugh. He just reached for her hand, pulling her back toward the table, his fingers lacing with hers.
The session, she realized, was no longer just about painting. It was about surrender. About letting him pull parts of her out she hadn’t known were there.
And as he touched her again, slow, deliberate, li
