Chapter 77: SHOWER TIME

Arianna

I reached out, taking a small, fried dumpling. The first bite was a burst of savory spice and tender meat. It was delicious, but as I chewed, my gaze drifted to Vincent. He was watching me, his eyes dark and unreadable.

“Well?” he asked, his voice barely a whisper.

I swallowed, the strange mixture of fear and fascination swirling within me. “It’s… really good.” I finally managed, the words catching in my throat. Why did I hesitate?

Vincent grinned while taking a sip of his coffee,” Not hungry?”

I groaned, pushing away the half-eaten dumpling. "I need to shower. I stink and reek of sex." The words came out a little sharper than I intended, a way to deflect from the way he could make my heart do somersaults, a way to push back against the tide of desire threatening to overwhelm me.

It was early, but I felt uncomfortable, wearing the same dress for the whole night while he had ravaged me like a beast, leaving me like a complete mess, underwear destroyed.

At least, he could shower and change clothes while I slept in his car.

His eyes tracked me as I stood, a slow, deliberate sweep that made my skin crawl but in a pleasant way. "You smell intoxicating," he said, his voice a low purr. "Like a sinful masterpiece."

I felt a blush creep up my neck. Even after all the nights we spent together, he still has this effect on me. "You’re insane," I muttered, turning away from him.

“Perhaps,” he agreed, the hint of a smile playing on his lips, “but you love it, darling.”

I stalked towards the bathroom, the porcelain tiles cool under my bare feet. Our apartment was an extension of him – dark and expensive, with stark lines and minimalist décor.

It was a far cry from the vibrant chaos of my art studio. But I liked the way his darkness enveloped mine. Just like his books that described the way the villain always won over the damsel in distress. And I was now that damsel, helplessly wrapped around his evil claws.

I watched myself in the mirror, my dark hair a mess, my eyes still glazed with the aftereffects of last night. My body was marked, a map of our shared passion, each bruise a reminder of the fine line between pleasure and pain. He painted me with his touch, and I was always putty in his hands, a raw canvas ready to be ruined.

As the water hit my skin, I closed my eyes. I knew that being with Vincent was a dangerous game, a tightrope walk over a precipice. He was a predator, and I was his prey. But I was also an artist, and in my twisted mind, he was my muse. He was the darkness I craved, the sin I wanted to drown in. And I had a feeling I was already drowning.

I reached for the body lotion, the scent of strawberries, a stark contrast to the lingering aroma of the dumplings. I could almost feel Vincent's eyes on me, watching me, even through the closed door. He was always watching. I didn’t know what the future might bring, but I knew one thing I was sure of – my dangerous love for Vincent was going to be the end of me.

And somehow, that made it all the more alluring.