What’s this?” I stared down at the envelope Ivan slid onto my lap and peered up at him.

“Open it.” His expression was as close to nervous as I’d ever seen it, and that made me nervous. I hesitated, peeking up at him one more time before gingerly opening the envelope. It wasn’t like a snake was in there or anything. As I slid the letter out, I had to read it at least three times for it to sink in. And even then, I wasn’t sure I was reading it right. A gallery opening.

“What is this?” I held out the paper to Ivan.

“For your pictures.” He pointed to the shots of clients that covered the wall. The words on the page finally started making sense.

Your unique work and ability…welcome you to present your art…gallery opening in a new exhibition space. I glanced up at Ivan, trying to figure out what he had done. He crouched in front of me and put his hands on top of mine. The heat and energy from his body made goose bumps prickle on my arms.

“When I saw these, I knew other people needed to see them too. So I snagged a couple pictures, and I showed them to a friend. He had a friend who’s opening this new gallery and, well, you have the letter,” he said, tapping it with his finger.

“But I don’t know anything about showing in a gallery. No one outside of the shop has even seen my pictures.”

“That’s not true. They were in the paper. Look at how many people called to book you after they saw that. Not only because of your work but because of who you are. More people need to see that.”

“It’s in a week. I don’t even know what the hell I need to do to get ready.”

“I’ll help you. Whatever you need, I’ll do it.” He squeezed my hands, and I stared down at him, knowing every promise I had made to myself about him had been broken. The minute he’d stepped into my shop, I knew it would happen. I knew deep down that everything I felt for him had never gone away. And then he went and did something like this. He did something for me that I couldn’t even do for myself. Saw something and ran with it.

“Okay, let’s get ready. It’s your last day. Finally finished. I won’t be able to torture you anymore.”

“You’ll be able to torture me for as long as you’d like, Dahlia.” He raised his hand and ran the back of it along the side of my face. I leaned into him as my heart raced. His other hand slid along my thigh, and my stomach fluttered.

“Don’t think you’re getting rid of me so easily. I’ll have you tattoo every square inch of my body if you think things between us are going to end tonight. They’re just getting started, Dahl.”

Like so many times before, I slid next to him to begin. The final spot was the wing reaching down and covering his heart. The intricate pattern of the phoenix’s feathers took shape as I shaded the fire and licking flames over its body. The reds, oranges, yellows, blues and blacks melded together into one of my most challenging pieces.

I worked painstakingly after laying down the stencil, and filling in the last of the color. He sat still as he always did, but the energy was different. Or maybe it was me. It was more charged than it had been before. He kept finding ways to touch me, resting his hands on my thighs as I worked, his hands massaging them, squeezing them as I tried to keep my breath steady and concentrate on my work. I had him lean back in the chair for the final touches on the tips of the wing. Protection for him. For whatever might happen.

“Last line and then your torture will finally be over,” I said with a sad smile. Even with him saying this wasn’t over, and how I felt about him, I knew this couldn’t keep going. It wasn’t good for either of us.

I’d have a target on my back being with him, even if he was leaving, and I saw how that could poison the people around me. It was a risk that I didn’t think I could take. My heart ached at the thought of never seeing him again. It was a pain I hadn’t experienced before. The sharp slice of it almost took my breath away. I knew I’d never see him again once I sent him away. I’d come to terms with it.

When he showed up at my door, it was like he’d risen from the dead, and the thought of losing him again— I’d already lost so much. I’d lost so many people.

He grabbed his phone and seemed completely engrossed in it. That hadn’t happened before in our other sessions. I think he was probably the only client I’d had in a long time who didn’t look at their phone once, especially not during our marathon sessions.

I couldn’t breathe as I ran my gun across his skin one more time and wiped off the excess ink. I took a step back and looked at it all.

“Can I finally see it?”

“You haven’t seen it?”

“I’ve seen the bits on my shoulders, but I didn’t want to look until you were finished. No. Take a picture of it. I want a place up on your wall.” And in your heart and life. That was the unspoken bit, but we both knew what he was saying. I grabbed my camera from the counter and adjusted the lights. I changed the settings and stared at him through the viewfinder.

“Can you put your hands on your hips?”

He put his fists on his hips, spreading out his back so I could see all of it. My breath hitched as I looked at it as one piece. I’d been working on it for so long that seeing the whole completed picture was something I hadn’t done since my first sketch.

When I came around the front, his eyes found mine through the viewfinder. It was like nothing stood between us. Not the camera, not the distance, nothing but him and me. My breathing sped up as his molten-hot gaze threatened to melt me.

I got closer to pick up the details and snap partial shots like I’d done for the other huge pieces. The minute I stepped into his reach, his hands were on me. I jumped and went back to my camera, my heart thrumming in my chest. His hands slid into the gap between my shredded sweatshirt and my jeans. His thumb dipped below the top of my jeans. The clicking of my camera and my harsh breath were the only sounds in the studio.

“Ivan,” I said, dropping my camera. He reached out with his other hand and put it behind my neck, dragging me to him. Then his lips were on mine and lit me aflame. The wings of the phoenix weren’t just on his chest. The beat of those wings invaded my mind and threatened to completely overwhelm me.

“Don’t say stop,” he growled against my lips.

I hadn’t even entertained the idea. It hadn’t crossed my mind until he said the words. But the throbbing in my core and the way my hands itched to finally touch him, explore him like he was intent on doing to me, meant that idea was thrown out just as quickly as he’d pushed it in.

“I won’t,” I said, breaking the kiss long enough for a breath.

Without any warning he swiped my shirt up and over my head, my hair falling out of the messy bun piled up high on my head.

“Beautiful,” he said, running his hands through my hair. He popped the buttons of my jeans open and ran his hand over my ass, squeezing it and crushing me to him. I moaned but pushed back when I felt the plastic I’d just stuck on him sticking to my chest.

“Your tattoo,” I said, pressing against his chest, but he wouldn’t let me go.

“I don’t care. I happen to know a very good tattoo artist who is excellent at fixing what others have screwed up.”

“I hear she’s booked pretty far in advance,” I said breathlessly. He gave me a lazy smile that made my stomach do somersaults and had me squeezing my thighs together.

“I think I might be able to persuade her to fit me in.”

He palmed my ass and slid my jeans down over my hips. I braced my hands on his shoulders to steady myself.

“Ivan—” The words caught in my throat as he glanced up at me. I’d said I wouldn’t say stop. I didn’t want to say stop. I wanted this, but I knew when it was all over, it would be a mistake.

“Stop thinking, Dahlia. Stop thinking and just feel.” He slid his hands up my stomach and under my bra, cupping my breasts. He toyed with my nipples, squeezing and tugging on them. I groaned as he snatched his hands away just as quickly as they were there. “I don’t want to do this here. Will you come home with me?”

He tugged my jeans back up over my ass and picked up my sweatshirt off the floor. I nodded. I knew the words wouldn’t come if I tried to say them out loud. He helped me back into my sweatshirt and grabbed my coat off the hook by the door.

“Let’s go out the back.” He threaded his fingers between mine and guided me to the back door.

“Why?”

“You’ll see,” he said, pushing the door open. In the dingy alley that no one would ever call romantic or mood setting in any way was a black town car complete with a driver in a black suit. The driver opened the door, and Ivan hustled me into the car before peering down the alley and climbing in after me. His heavy grip was on my thigh the entire trip. His hand traveled up and down my leg, keeping me on edge as we traversed the city, heading to his apartment. Each pass of his hand brought it higher and higher up my thigh.

I glanced over at him, but he kept his attention out the windows of the car. I felt like he was trying not to spook me, afraid if he gave me his undivided attention, I might try to escape, maybe even jumping from the moving car. But I had no intentions of trying to escape. I needed this. No matter what happened, I needed to have at least one taste of Ivan now. Of the Ivan I helped piece together with fragments of his past.

He ushered me into his apartment and closed the door behind him. “Welcome to my home.” I glanced around, and it was nothing like I would’ve expected. The Ivan I remembered would not have gone for the deep, rich colors and wood accents of his place. But in a way I saw how it made sense. He’d grown up in our time apart. We both had. In more ways than either of us realized.

“Stop thinking, Dahlia. I see the wheels turning. I see the excuses brewing. But I know you want this as much as I do. Need it like I do.”

My feet were rooted to the floor. With every step he took closer, my heart pounded harder in anticipation of what he would do to me. How he’d make me soar.

In bed. That was one place where things always made sense between the two of us. It was the one place where I always knew he’d catch me.

“How is it after all these years, you’re even more beautiful than I remember?”

“That could be the endorphins running through your body. I have been torturing you for the past few weeks. Maybe this is just your mind’s way of coping with being so close to your torturer,” I said, my breath catching as he wrapped his arms around me, tugging my shirt and bra off in one motion.

“Somehow I don’t think that’s true. But there is one thing I never got to do, and I’m not going to be able to resist for another minute.”

“What?”

He pressed his palm into my chest, making me fall over backward onto the soft couch. My legs hooked over the arm, and I licked my lips in anticipation. My hair flew into my face, and I pushed it out of the way and tried to right myself. He had other ideas. Both of my heels were gone in an instant, and Ivan unbuttoned my jeans and ripped them off my legs in one fluid motion, but slid the heels back onto my feet. I chuckled, ready to ask about his infatuation with my shoes, but laughter died in my throat as I felt Ivan’s hot breath on my pussy.

“I never got to taste you, Dahl. I plan to make up for it now.” He buried his face in my pussy, flicking my clit with his tongue. I clawed at the couch, my fingers digging into the cushions as a scream ripped from my throat. The smoldering balls of fire that had been brewing in my stomach and making me wet since the moment he stepped into my shop finally exploded. My body went rigid, and I collapsed back into the couch after the world’s fastest orgasm.

He stood between my legs, which were still over the back of the arm, with a big smile on his face, rolling a condom onto his thick shaft.

“That was one.”

“You’re keeping count now?”

“Making sure you don’t forget tonight anytime soon,” he said, rubbing his fingers down my slit, and I shuddered. He lined himself up with my pussy, the head of his cock rubbing through my wetness.

“Are you ready?”