5

Lev

It’s a cute place, warm and small like Eliza. I think it fits her well, but I have to duck to get through the doorway, and the slanted walls make it even more difficult for me to

move with ease.

“It’s not much, but I’m working with what I got,” Eliza says with a nervous laugh, making her way to the stove. “Would you like some tea?”

That’s an invitation to stay longer, and I’d die before saying no to her. I don’t know why, but I feel the need to be close to her, to learn everything about her, inside and out. Maybe it’s the innocent way she pouts her lips, or the inviting swing of her slender hips.

She has a body like a dancer. I bet she knows how to move when she’s on top.

“I’d love some tea,” I say, snapping out of my perversion for the briefest of moments before my eyes begin following her body again.

Perfect waist, perfect breasts, perfect everything. It almost makes me angry that a woman can look so good and not even realize it. Valentin would laugh at me, but I legitimately believe I’ve found the most beautiful woman in New York.

Probably the most beautiful woman in the world.

“I just have earl grey. Is that fine?” she asks.

“Darling, you could spit in that cup, and I’d drink it,” I say, the words coming out of my mouth before I can stop myself.

Her cheeks instantly turn as red as her lips, and she looks down at the mug in her hand like she’s trying to find a way out of this apartment through it.

“Yes, earl grey is fine,” I say, laughing a bit to ease the tension.

She laughs with me, nodding vigorously and turning away to put the kettle on. She’s so innocent. Jesus, she’d probably lose her mind if I told her what I really wanted to do to her.

The painting is just a bonus at this point. I’ve already decided that I’m going to have her legs in the air and her panties hanging off her foot if I have to turn the entire world upside down to do it.

I sit down on the edge of her bed, the only place available in her small studio apartment. The mattress reminds me of what I slept on during my years obtaining a degree in economics from a university back home in Moscow. I swear they used to make those damn things out of cement.

“Oh, yeah, you can sit there,” Eliza says, looking over her shoulder at me. “I’m sorry I don’t have any chairs. There’s not much room for them.”

“The bed is fine,” I reply with a thin smile, watching her as she tries to distract herself with the kettle.

She’s just standing there, watching it and waiting for it to whistle. All the while, I get to watch her, staring at the hem of her little black dress and wondering what color her panties are underneath.

Maybe they’re sheer white, and I would even be able to see how she keeps her garden. I’d hate for it to be mowed down to nothing. That’s just no fun, especially when the hair on her head is such a vibrant shade of red.

After a few moments, the kettle begins to whistle, and she pours us both a cup of tea. I try to keep from staring at her as

she comes to me, but my eyes are fixated on her perfect figure. It’s difficult to hide my attraction to her.

“I hope you like it,” she says, handing me a green ceramic mug. Her voice is so soft and needy, like she’s terrified of me but wants my approval, anyway.

I take a sip of the tea, allowing it to burn my tongue. It’s a needed distraction from Eliza. She doesn’t realize what she does to me, how insane and out of control she makes me feel. Having her this close, smelling her sweet floral scent, is making my cock so hard it aches.

“Very good,” I say, my throat tight as I lower my mug.

“Would you like to see the painting?” she asks, her eyes widening with eagerness to show me her work. Her knees are drawn together, both hands on her lap holding her tea like it’s trying to jump off.

My eyes meet hers again, and I’m able to see much more now that she’s sitting so close. There are little flecks of green in her hazel irises, sparks of color that increase in intensity as they move toward her pupils.

I’m captivated, but I must remain collected. I can’t reveal my obsession. She would run like a little scared rabbit, and I’d never get to sink me teeth into her delicate flesh.

“I would love to see it,” I say, my voice barely above a whisper.

She doesn’t move at all, almost as though she hasn’t heard me. The words came out, but she’s not focused on them, not aware of anything but the meeting of our eyes and the connection of our souls.

A chill moves through me suddenly, like a ghost gliding into my body and out just as quickly. I’m certain she feels it too, because she breaks from my gaze with a shudder, pulling her shoulders together and looking down at her tea. “Yes,” she says, frowning like she’s bothered by the way she feels. “I’ll get the painting. It’s… It’s in the closet.”

She springs up from the bed, putting her tea on the counter and rushing to the closet next to the front door. She pulls it open

like she’s trying to leave the apartment through it, or as though she’s going to lock herself inside until I go away.

But after a moment of shuffling through things in the darkness, she returns with a canvas. She keeps the painted side facing herself, smiling nervously as she walks toward me with it. “I finished it not more than half an hour ago, so the paint is going to take a little while to dry. It’s oil, you know. That stuff takes months to dry fully, but it should be fine to hang tomorrow if you’re careful with it. Just don’t touch it too much.”

I nod. I’m used to dealing with new paintings, but most of the ones that come in are acrylic. Like everything in the new world, faster is better, and quality takes a back seat over quantity.

That’s clearly not the case with Eliza’s work. As she turns it around to reveal it, I’m blown away by how much thought was put into it, how many fine details there are, but how everything feels lie it comes together so effortlessly.

“Wow,” I say, losing my breath for a moment.

She laughs, pushing her hair from her face and tucking it behind her ear. “You really like it?”

“I love it,” I say, standing up and leaning forward. “It’s just… Fuck, you’re so good at this. Do you have anything in any galleries around here?”

She shakes her head, her hair coming loose from behind her ear and sticking to her lips. She tucks it back again, but it drops down again without mercy. She gives up this time.

“You should have your stuff everyone in this city. You could be big. Very big,” I say, meaning every word. “I could get you into some places, if you’re interested.”

“Oh, I could never ask that of you,” she says, her cheeks turning a violent shade of red again. Even her freckles turn darker.

“You don’t have to ask,” I reply, stepping toward the painting and shaking my head in admiration. “I want to get you in. I work as a curator of sorts. A middleman. I would get your

work in front of some very wealthy people, and I’m certain they would be interested.”

“And you would get a cut, of course,” she says, practically begging for a way to repay me for what I’m doing. She doesn’t feel like she deserves it. She’s so used to giving that she can’t stand to get without immediately finding a way to pay back the favor.

Clearly, the world hasn’t been so kind to her, but that’s also a good thing. She isn’t spoiled.

But I’m going to change that.

I’m going to spoil her rotten and make her into my princess. My queen.

“You will find a way to repay me, I’m sure,” I finally say, purposefully leaving out the details of how that will happen. I’m sure she will discover ways she can thank me eventually, but I’m not going to coerce her to do anything lewd.

I’m classier than that. Or, at least, the man containing the beast is.

When the time is right, she’ll surrender so fully that she’ll beg me to ruin her, and only then will beast be unleashed.

“Do you have any more paintings?” I ask, looking up at her again with a smile.

“Oh, um, yes. I have a few more in the closet. I was trying to get those in at a few restaurants nearby because the galleries wouldn’t accept them, but that wasn’t working out either.”

“Believe me, darling, once those places realize your stuff is hanging in the best galleries in the city, they’ll be begging you for even the worst of your work, the stuff you would throw away. You’ll find those motherfuckers digging through your trash at night. Might have to buy some bug spray to get rid of them.”

She laughs, and the entire room grows lighter from her joy. “I don’t think I’m that good.”

I wave my hand dismissively. “That’s not for you to decide. I think you’re amazing, and I know many people with deep pockets who would agree.”

“Well,” she says, finally accepting the compliment. “Thank you. I would love to meet them, and I really appreciate your help. I just don’t know how to thank you.”

I wink at her, putting my hand on the canvas and leaning in further. “I’m sure you’ll think of something.”