His hands unbuckled his belt, unzipped his jeans, and removed both his trousers and underwear in one swipe, just like last time. With a kick of his boots and tug of clothing, he stood beautifully naked and utterly sinful before me.

I drank him in, goosebumps prickling at his powerful perfection. I stepped toward him as a trickle of lust dampened my underwear.

“No.” He bared his teeth, stopping me from going to him. “I want to see you. Every inch.” His paint-smeared hand went to his cock, heavy and hard between his legs.

He didn’t care yellow still trickled down his chest or that black, pink, and blue streaked his fingers, marring his erection the longer he pumped.

He didn’t see anything but me.

He didn’t want anything else but me.

And that was the headiest, most potent aphrodisiac.

With shaky hands, I unclipped my garter belt and let it fall. My skin glowed pink from paint and hot with needy blush.

He smirked with tight lips and turbulent eyes, fisting himself. His forearm pulsed with corded muscle as he granted pleasure I wanted to give. “Keep going.”

I flushed. Sweat prickled beneath the colours and I wobbled as I slowly rolled a stocking down my leg, never taking my eyes off his.

He groaned long and low as I reached my foot and stepped daintily from the sheer garment. “Fuck, I could come just watching you.”

A full body quake hinted how close I was to an orgasm myself. I could come from nothing else but his eyes and breath. Eyes that drank me, ate me, devoured me. And breaths that spoke the truth. That he couldn’t survive without having me. Even though he’d survived for years without me by his side.

Removing my other stocking, I stood as elegantly as I could and hooked my fingers in my underwear. If I did this, he’d see how desperate I was. How wet. How needy.

But I wasn’t the only one. His cock jutted out, thick and engorged. His thumb pressed into the slit at the top, his jaw locked and body rippling with yearning.

With a quick inhale, I slipped my knickers down, almost embarrassed by the glisten of desire on the fabric. But a guttural, curse-filled groan came from Gil, and I was no longer embarrassed.

I was pleased.

Thankful that he knew just how much I wanted him. Wanted him for most of my life.

Without tearing his eyes from my nakedness, he marched to the trestle table holding more paint. Grabbing a few bottles, he marched toward me, his cock bouncing between his legs with each ground-eating stride.

Standing at the base of the podium, he passed me the colours, his eyes lingering on my body. Hesitatingly, I took them from him as he backed up with visible hardship.

“What do you want me to do?” My voice mixed air with need.

“Paint.” He swallowed hard. “You’re the one who wanted to waste my supplies.” He bowed mockingly. “So play.”

Placing the bottles by my feet, I selected a royal purple with glitter flecks. “Is it safe...for, um, personal places?”

He chuckled with a strained groan. “Yes.” His skin flushed as I uncapped the lid and held out my arm. Wincing against the coolness, I locked eyes with Gil as purple cascaded over my forearm and fell in glittering droplets to the floor.

Stepping in the mess, I smeared my toes, covering my feet with purple just like my arm rained in it.

A long ago melody of elegance and ballet nudged awake muscles that’d been torn and stitched in the accident.

This was a dance.

A dance of colours and need.

And I didn’t fight the flow of sensuality as I tipped the bottle again, standing on tiptoes, moving to the silent beat of my heart. My arms soared upward, losing myself in the magic of movement. Purple drizzled from above.

“Fucking hell.” Gil froze. The camera remained forgotten by his feet as he stood transfixed, hypnotised by the paint and my nakedness.

By the private dance I gave him.

Twinges reminded me I wasn’t the perfect ballerina anymore. Healed scars restricted certain skills. But my audience didn’t care. His hand found his cock again, squeezing brutally hard.

My core clenched with every heartbeat, imploring him to stop wasting time and join me.

I no longer wanted to dance alone.

I wanted a partner.

Everlasting.

My heart raced faster and faster, sending blood and oxygen through my veins as well as colour. Bending as swan-like and regal as my back would allow, I selected another bottle from the stage.

Metallic silver.

So perfect and luminescent it looked like pure starlight.

This was too special to waste. The colour too pure.

But Gil looked like he stood in Hell, all while I teased him from Heaven. And I wanted to erase the misery inside him. I embraced debauchery and tipped the silver starlight over my breasts.

Sterling perfection rivered over me, pebbling my nipples as it turned my skin from pink to priceless.

I followed its path with my fingers, biting my lip as it trickled through my trimmed pubic hair, dripping lazily down my thighs to my feet. It tickled and teased, more erotic than anything I’d ever done.

“Gil...” I moaned as my finger strayed between my legs, touching how hot I was, how drenched. I flinched at the sensitivity, turned on to the point of pain.

He snapped.

In one leap, he cleared the step, grabbed me, and swung me off my feet.

A second later, he sat on the stage, moved me until my thighs were spread over his lap, then fisted a hand in my hair. Yanking my head back, he kissed me before I could speak.

He kissed me savagely, deeply, forcing my every sense to lock onto him.

While his lips corrupted me, his other hand dove between us. He thrust two fingers inside me, testing, making sure I was ready.

I convulsed in his arms.

With a feral groan, he withdrew, grabbed his cock and angled it at my entrance. He stopped kissing me, sucking in air and pressing his forehead to mine. Our eyes snapped together, wild and wanting.

Our souls spoke. Our bodies commanded.

He never looked away as he thrust inside me, plunging deep, taking everything.

I cried out.

He snarled, his chest rumbling with vicious greed, spreading me, taking me.

My mouth opened wide beneath his as he kissed me again and again. My body stretched and yielded to his sudden invasion. I moaned as he thrust upward, pushing my body onto his.

He gave me nowhere to run, no space to wriggle away from the oversaturation of his possession, no way of easing into his violence.

His brow came down, casting shadows. His entire body vibrated with everything I wasn’t allowed to know. Terror shone in his gaze, ravenous longing coloured his lips, and a bone-deep depression painted him better than all the other colours I’d marked him with.

Gil had sad eyes.

He always had.

But with him driving into me, my arms slung over his shoulders, and our gazes stitched together, I understood something I hadn’t before.

Gil had lost his way.

While life had dragged me along, stealing my dancing dreams and gracing me with scars, he’d endured his own hardship. And it wasn’t physical. It was emotional.

He couldn’t tattoo over the wounds on his heart. He couldn’t pretty up the defects and craters left by whatever nightmares he’d walked through.

My pulse pounded as his body ravaged mine and tears prickled for him. I would’ve been there for him if he’d let me. I would’ve held his hand in the dark and raised a sword in his defence if only he’d kept me by his side and not tossed me away.

I hated him for that.

Hated him as much as I wanted him, blending two opposite emotions into a treacherous one.

I was vulnerable in that moment.

I was angry in that moment.

Nuzzling his nose with mine, I kissed him.

Kissed him sweet and soft to combat the harsh, hard way he took me.