Until You Say Stop

on't

ca

your name inked into his skin, the knowledge that he's been building a

to. He's already marked you without laying a finger. The weight of his presence be

he says. Not a questio

ess. You remember painting in the park. You remember wandering the museum halls at night. You

ing under your skin like it knows th

your own reflection like she might help you expla

ses through his face. Bar

," he says again. "You were st

ants to touch you, to apologize, or to remind you that he's

n't touch y

long to you," you whisper.

wa

r hands, folded in your lap. They don't

ask for an

's not cruel. It'

es. "But you

onger able to stare into the g

I walk

won

'm that easy

waiting to be seen for so long, you'd

e yourself more for the way your body heats at the sound of

ruth?" he says,

u

one finger-not rough,

on't lo

ence when it carries the weight of someone else's obsession. And Adrian's obsession, you're start

e's always belonged there. Like the air shifted

d your eyelids. The version of you sitting here, quiet and trembling, doesn't match the versi

e shift of shadow, and then the softest whisper of heat as his fingertips

the vanity seat, breath

Just breathes. Jus

hould have been missed-he s

e body go

and watch your lips part, press my mouth t

e doe

want

. God,

the space below your ear. Not your skin. The air just above it. The heat of

wanted me from the moment you sat across that table.

roat ti

spers, and there's a smile in it. A cruel, b

ng. And maybe you have. Drowning i

ou can even decide if you want to. And somehow

says. Calm.

ly. Every ne

far side of the room. "Inside. Left wal

se. "Yo

I've been pre

e. Cold marble beneath your feet. Soft lighting. Everything in shades of blac

m is label

open

heen of crimson when it catches the light. And beside i

ick i

air tomorrow. Nothing else. W

e smells like him. Expensive col

gain, but you close the drawer quietly. You

lready

urse

d to linger when he's alre

ting through the air, low and golden like candlelight. It leads you past marble columns, along velvet-lined walls, into a sunken lounge that bel

turn when

hift. A pause in his breath.

dares you to close the distance, and like everyth

ou w

e only sound that follows unt

id you f

nce. "The

s the glass do

link.

econd time that night, the air between you

m not to. The silk slips through your fingers, softer than breath, dan

wat

dle

the third time and he moves toward y

r hands away w

o it,"

into a loose twist, ties the ribbon at the base of your neck. His hands are steady. Practiced.

mehow-

s when he finishes

at him. "Wh

't reach his ey

until only the fireplace casts flickering gold across the room.

it

. "You're no

" he says, reading your mind

asily he finds the truths you h

he adds. "Until you le

r ears. "You said this w

imself another drink.

the chair,

me repeat my

u

y. Wa

en-you

. Just sits and drinks and watches. You shift under the weight of it, crossing and uncrossing your

lly, he

somethi

ink. "

ourself. Something

Then: "I wante

ys no

Before you. I was tired of bein

that follows, som

g across your ribs. Because he doesn't rush to fi

ly. "That day in the galle

first time tonight, y

hands clenched in your lap. You should feel ridiculous. The ribbon, the silence, the way he

een. Which

lass balanced between two fingers, head tilted slightly as he studies you. Like yo

ys. "Tell me s

ch. "I j

utes ago. I w

It feels like he's peeling you layer by laye

you say eventually. "I think

not in judgment but something

he first honest thing you've said

tomach

feels like it's made of static. He doesn't come toward you. Not yet. He ci

e says as he passes

reath

ak the pieces that were never meant to fit. S

One hand drags slowly acr

he says. "I won't touch

ress together

o be wanted-until the absence of me h

the words betray you. He sees the way your breath stutt

" he murmurs. "

mouth close to

a warning befo

s in front of you no

om

hesi

ays, a small smile tugging at

your han

ot to the bedroom, not to the dark places your mind races toward-but to a single, locked do

erile and strange. Books line the walls. A drafti

fr

they'r

ze. A lifetime of quiet obsession rendered in graphite and ink. Your hand sl

ow," Adrian sa

tu

"She thought they were st

ng p

r name," he admits. "No

over the paper. You d

flattered," he says. "

ready to admit: this isn't a story that began in the office or the cont

before you ha

voice low. "Not like a voyeur. Like an artist

tch down, careful not to smudge the g

thing," you murmur,

And then I did. And by then, I'

hesitation. As if not wanting to spook whatever fragile part of

"And what exactly d

smile. Do

thoughts that make you flinch. The versions of

thunders in

he continues. "Not yet. But I w

tight around

ed than real. His hand comes up-not to grab, not to claim-but to lightly brush a lock of hair beh

t

rything tonight," he says. "Bu

how made you sign away pieces of your

w to give you th

nt," he murmurs

The contact is light. Barel

ot ton

d your chest ache

sleep in you

You're sendi

"I'm letting yo

on't

resistance in you-he adds, "But if you e

tch room. The obsessio

't walk out

aves

by ink and graphite and years

look

the begin