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Published November 9, 2021
Stop me,” he mutters. “What?” He takes my face in his hand and tilts it up. Those blue-green eyes are all shadows now. “Stop me,” he says again.
“I can’t shove this emotion, this want, away from me. It won’t go. She’s so near. So warm. So alive. The air between us feels like an insult. The fact that I’m not touching her is a grave mistake.”
“Show me your art.”
This tone, a confident demand, has an effect on Daphne. A glimmer catches the gold in her eyes. She won’t be able to resist my authority. She wants me to see.
“Show me what you painted for me.”
"Daphne Morelli is a thousand delicate details. I thought the impression might have less impact here in the gallery. I was fucking wrong."
"I want to see her fear and her desire and her darkness on her. Not in a representation. On her skin. On her face. Between her legs. I want to let my feelings for her loose on her."
"I need to touch her, and I need to push her away. I need to fuck her but I need to put her in a frame and bolt her to the wall before I lose myself completely."