Velvet Knives

Between The Strokes

Rina had never thought of herself as the kind of woman who would rearrange her entire day for someone.

And yet here she was, standing outside Selene’s studio at dusk, her heartbeat thudding like a drum in her ears.

She had spent all day in meetings, nodding, smiling, pretending she cared about budgets and client preferences, but Selene’s hands, Selene’s mouth, Selene’s eyes—they haunted her. Every glance at her own reflection felt different, like Selene’s paint-streaked fingers were still on her skin.

Rina didn’t knock this time. She opened the door and stepped inside.

Selene was waiting. She wore only a long silk robe, loose, barely tied. Candlelight painted her skin in gold and shadow. Her dark hair was damp, curling over her collarbones. The studio smelled of turpentine, wax, and something floral—jasmine, maybe.

“You came back,” Selene murmured, setting down a brush. Her eyes moved over Rina slowly, possessively.

“I couldn’t stay away,” Rina confessed, closing the door behind her. Her voice felt shaky, unsteady, but real in a way she hadn’t felt in years.

Selene crossed the room, unhurried. “Good,” she whispered. “I didn’t want to wait.”

Selene’s hands cupped Rina’s face, thumbs brushing her lips. “Do you think of me?”

“All day,” Rina admitted. “It’s—insane. I don’t even know you, but I feel like…”

“Like you’ve known me forever,” Selene finished, voice low and certain.

Rina shivered. “Yes.”

Selene kissed her then, slow and lingering, drawing out a moan from deep in Rina’s throat. The robe slipped from Selene’s shoulder, revealing the long line of her neck, the swell of one perfect breast. Rina’s hands moved instinctively, sliding beneath the silk, pushing the robe off entirely until it pooled on the floor.

Selene stood naked before her, unashamed, every inch of her body a masterpiece. Rina felt hunger sharpen inside her—not just lust, but awe, reverence, something deeper.

“You’re beautiful,” Rina whispered.

Selene’s lips curved. “Then paint me with your hands.”

Rina’s palms mapped her body slowly, tracing the hollow of her throat, the curve of her breasts, the smooth plane of her stomach. She dropped to her knees, kissing Selene’s hip, tasting salt and skin, hearing Selene’s sharp intake of breath.

Selene’s fingers tangled in Rina’s hair, guiding her. Rina kissed lower, trailing her tongue over the soft skin of Selene’s inner thigh, savoring the shiver that went through her. She pressed kisses higher, closer, until Selene gasped her name like a plea.

Rina slipped her hands beneath Selene’s thighs, gripping firmly as her tongue found heat. Selene’s knees buckled and she braced herself against the wall, moaning low and guttural.

“Yes,” Selene gasped, voice rough. “Just like that… deeper—”

Rina obeyed, tasting her, savoring her, licking and sucking with deliberate, hungry strokes. Selene’s hips rocked against her mouth, her fingers tightening painfully in Rina’s hair. Every sound she made was music—raw, desperate, alive.

Selene climaxed with a sharp cry, trembling, her thighs clamping around Rina’s head. Rina held on, drawing out every pulse, every shudder, until Selene sagged against the wall, breathless and flushed.

“God,” Selene whispered, pulling Rina up, kissing her fiercely, tasting herself on Rina’s lips. “You’re going to ruin me completely.”

Later, they lay tangled on the studio floor atop a threadbare rug, the candles burning low. Selene traced lazy patterns on Rina’s bare stomach.

“You want to know who I am,” Selene murmured.

Rina turned her head to look at her. “I want to know everything.”

Selene’s eyes softened—something vulnerable flickered there, something almost afraid. “I’ve never let anyone in here twice,” she admitted quietly. “Never let anyone touch me like you just did.”

Rina’s chest tightened. “Why?”

“Because it’s dangerous.” Selene’s gaze drifted to the darkened window. “People… want things from me. They pay, they beg, they take. But you—” She looked back at Rina, eyes dark and bright all at once. “You make me want to give.”

Rina reached up, brushing her fingers over Selene’s cheek. “Then give. I won’t take anything you don’t want to give.”

Selene kissed her fingers, slow, almost reverent. “Careful, little muse,” she whispered. “You’ll make me believe you.”

Hours later, as Rina dressed to leave, Selene moved to a corner of the studio and pulled a small drawer from a battered cabinet. She held something out—a folded piece of heavy paper.

“For you,” Selene said softly. “Don’t open it until you’re home.”

Rina smiled, touched, tucking it into her coat pocket. She kissed Selene goodbye, a kiss full of promises, and slipped out into the night.

The city was alive, buzzing with midnight energy as she hailed a cab. She didn’t open the paper until she was in her apartment, shoes kicked off, coat still on. She unfolded it carefully.

It was a sketch—charcoal lines sharp and intimate—of Rina herself, captured mid‑ecstasy, head thrown back, mouth open in a soundless cry. The artistry was flawless, haunting. In the corner, Selene had signed her name.

But there was something else scrawled beneath the signature: a single sentence in looping handwriting.

He knows about you.

Rina froze, heart stuttering.

Who?

Her phone buzzed on the table. A message from an unknown number:

Stop seeing her.

Her blood went cold.