Art rivals bound by mutual ruin

My palm cracked across Serena’s cheek hard enough to whip her head sideways. The slap rang wet in the rain-lashed loft. Her breath punched out of her in a broken hiss. She stayed turned away for a second. Two. Cheek blooming red under the neon bleeding through the glass. Heat flooded my own hand, stinging, and I watched her jaw work like she was deciding whether to spit or beg.

She turned back slow. Eyes glassy. Daring me.

I didn’t give her air. Fingers locked around her throat. Not crushing. Claiming. Thumb pressed the frantic jump of her pulse. I forced her chin up. Made those dark eyes meet mine. Terror clawed my ribs—the same terror from three years ago when she vanished overnight. No note. No fight. Just gone. I would not let her dissolve again.

“Look at me,” I snarled. Rain hammered the floor-to-ceiling glass. City lights smeared neon across her wet skin. My other hand found the collar of her blouse and tore it open. Buttons skittered across the concrete, pinging into the dark. I hooked two fingers under the center of her bra, right between the cups, and yanked until the seam gave with a snap loud enough to cut through the rain. I dragged the ruined thing down her arms, didn’t bother working it past her wrists, just left it hanging off one elbow. Bare breasts heaved against my chest. I shoved her back onto the cold concrete island. Legs wrapped my hips by instinct. Fabric bunched. I ripped her skirt higher. Found bare heat. No underwear. Of course.

Her nails found my shoulders first. Dug in through the shirt. Then through skin. I hissed. Good. Pain sharpened everything. She strained against the grip on her throat, chin fighting to drop, and I wouldn’t let it. Held her pinned there, still, forced to take my eyes on her while her whole body fought the stillness. Her chest heaved. Her thighs trembled against my hips. She couldn’t look away. Couldn’t move more than an inch. I felt every attempt in her pulse under my thumb, hammering, trapped.

I let my free hand trail down her stomach. Pushed two fingers inside her. Slick. Hot. Ready. She clenched hard around them. A broken sound tore from her throat under my grip, half-strangled, half-real.

“You stole the entire fucking exhibition,” I bit out, pumping my fingers once, twice, scissoring her open. “My artists. My contracts. My opening night. You gutted me in front of every collector in the city.” I dragged my fingers free. Wet. She whimpered at the loss. Same hand shoved my zipper down, left the button fastened at my waist, worked myself free through the gap. Thick. Heavy. Aching. I dragged the head through her folds. Coated myself. Didn’t push in yet. Made her feel the threat.

Serena’s hips jerked. Tried to take me. I pinned her harder with the throat grip. Forced her to stay still. Look up. Surrender. Rainwater dripped from my hair onto her collarbone. Mixed with sweat. Her pulse hammered under my palm. Alive. Here. Not vanished.

“And the ring,” I growled against her mouth. “Still in my desk drawer. The one you never wore. The one you left behind when you ran.” I thrust in to the hilt in one brutal stroke. She cried out. Walls fluttered around me. Tight. Perfect. Too much. I stilled deep, shaking. Breathed through my teeth. Couldn’t finish yet. Not yet.

I pulled back slow. Dragged every inch. Slammed home again. The island creaked. Her nails raked down my back. Fabric of my shirt stuck to the welts. I didn’t care. Needed the sting. Needed proof she was under me.

“Three years,” I panted, setting a punishing rhythm. Short strokes. Deep. Claiming. My free hand found her hip, gripped hard enough to bruise, used her body as an anchor for every drive forward. “I rebuilt everything. Hated you every second. Sabotaged your shows. Poisoned your buyers. And you—” Another hard thrust. Her back arched. Breasts bounced. I tightened the grip just enough to make her eyes water. “You still walk into my loft like you own the air I breathe.”

Her legs locked tighter. Ankles crossed at my lower back. Heels dug in. She pulled me deeper. “You started it,” she gasped, voice rough under my hand. “You undercut my first big sale. Ruined me before I could stand. So I took everything that mattered to you.”

I snarled and fucked her harder. Concrete cold under her spine. My heat pouring into her. Skin slapped wet. The loft smelled like rain and sex and old paint. My grip on her hip tightened, dragging her onto every stroke. No escape. The terror wouldn’t leave—that she would finish this and walk out into the storm again. Vanish. Leave the ring rotting in the drawer forever.

I changed the angle. Hit that spot that made her jolt. Again. Again. Her walls fluttered. Clenched. She was close. So was I. Too close. Control fraying. The grip on her throat was the only thing keeping me from shattering. I needed her eyes. Needed to watch her break first. Needed the proof.

“Stay with me,” I ordered through clenched teeth. Sweat dripped from my jaw onto her sternum. “Feel this. Feel how fucking gone I am for you even after everything.” My hips snapped. Frantic now. Rhythm breaking. Skin. Heat. The wet clutch of her, her name lodged behind my teeth.

Serena’s nails sank into my shoulders again. Drew fresh blood. She lifted into every thrust. Meeting me. Fighting me. Taking me. “Grant—” My name cracked out of her. Raw.

That did it. The sound of my name in her ruined voice. Control detonated. I slammed deep one last time and came hard. Too soon. Way too soon. Heat tore through my gut and up my spine, rooted in the grip on her throat, in her pulse slamming against my palm. I spilled inside her in thick pulses, shaking, groaning. Frantic apologies tumbled out against her collarbone as I kept rocking weakly, riding it out, unable to stop.

“Fuck—I’m sorry—Serena—couldn’t hold it—needed you too much—” The words spilled hot and broken against her damp skin. My hips jerked through the aftershocks. Still buried deep. Still pulsing. The throat grip loosened into something looser, uncertain. Thumb stroking the mark I’d left without meaning to. “I’m sorry. I’m so fucking sorry.”

I collapsed forward. Forehead to her shoulder. Breathing like I’d run miles. Heart hammering against her ribs. She was still tight around me. Still trembling. I hadn’t even gotten her there. Failure burned under the bliss. But she was here. Under me. Filled with me. Not gone.

Rain kept lashing the windows. Ragged breaths. Water dripping off my hair onto her skin, one drop, then another. I stayed inside her. Softening. Refusing to pull out. Didn’t move my mouth to her jaw. Didn’t kiss anything. Just stayed there, forehead down, waiting to feel her push me off.

She didn’t.

Silence stretched. Thick. Dangerous. The old fear crawled back up my throat. Daylight would come. She could walk. Again.

I lifted my head just enough. Met her eyes in the neon dark. Voice dropped to a raw whisper against her mouth.

“Stay. Don’t leave before morning.”