"I painted this for you," she stated softly. "I created it at the art shop with Miss J. I simply wished to paint something that would remind me of you."

Leo set the painting down on the bed. The canvas rested against the blanket, the stormy sky visible in the warm glow. Then he stood, turning to face her fully. His gray eyes were dark, intense, and unreadable as he looked at her deeply.

Bella’s heart pounded, and her hands clasped in front of her, fingers twisting together. "Do you like it?" she asked, her voice trembling slightly. "The painting... it reminded me of your eyes. The storm. The lightning. The way the sky looks before everything changes."

She opened her mouth to say more, but he kissed her.

His mouth captured hers, hot and demanding, stealing the words from her lips. His hand slid into her hair, fingers tangling in the soft strands, tilting her head to deepen the angle. His other hand pressed against the small of her back, pulling her flush against him.

Bella gasped against his mouth, her hands flying to his chest. His heart pounded beneath her palms, fast and strong. She could feel the heat of him through his shirt, the solid wall of his muscles, the tension coiled in his shoulders.

He kissed her like he was starving, like she was the only thing keeping him alive. His tongue swept across her lower lip, and she opened for him, whimpering as he slid inside. The sound only made him more demanding.

He backed her toward the bed, his mouth never leaving hers. Her legs hit the edge of the mattress, and she sank onto it, pulling him with her. He followed, his body pressing hers into the blankets, his weight a warm and familiar comfort.

His hand left her hair, trailing down her neck, her shoulder, her arm. His fingers found hers and laced together, pinning her hand beside her head. She whimpered again, and he swallowed the sound, kissing her deeper and slower now but no less intense. His tongue moved against hers in a rhythm that made her toes curl, her back arch, and her free hand clutch at his shirt.

He finally pulled back just enough to look at her. Her lips were swollen, parted, and glistening. Her cheeks were flushed, her eyes half-closed, and her chest rose and fell with ragged breaths.

"Leo," she whispered.

He murmured against her mouth, his breath warm and his voice low, "I like your painting. More than the painting, I like the person who painted it." He pulled back just enough to look at their interlocked hands, her small fingers laced with his larger ones, her pale skin against his. "And these hands."

He lifted their joined hands to his lips and kissed her fingers one by one. Thumb. Index. Middle. Each touch was slow, deliberate and reverent. His gray eyes never left hers.

Bella’s breath hitched. "Leo..." Her voice was soft and trembling. "You’re injured. We can’t. We shouldn’t."

He hummed against her skin, not stopping. He kissed her ring finger where her wedding band sat, then her pinky, then her palm. Her eyes fluttered closed.

He kissed her lips again, deeply and hungrily, his tongue sliding against hers. His hand released hers and tangled in her hair, tilting her head back. She gasped, and he swallowed the sound, pulling her closer and pressing her into the mattress.

She could feel the careful way he held his weight on his forearms to avoid crushing her, but there was nothing careful about his kiss. He kissed her like he was obsessed, like he couldn’t get enough, like she was air and he had been drowning.

She clutched at his shoulders, her nails digging into the fabric of his shirt. Her mind screamed at her to be careful, to remember his injuries, to stop before he hurt himself. But her body betrayed her. She arched into him, her legs parting and her hips lifting. A small, desperate sound escaped her throat.

He groaned in response, low and rough, and kissed her harder.

"Leo—"

He said against her lips, "I know. I know."

He kissed her jaw. Her neck. The hollow below her ear.

"Injuries," she gasped.

He kissed lower. "I don’t care."

"You should."

He pulled back, his gray eyes dark, his chest heaving. His hair had fallen across his forehead, and his lips were red and swollen. "I’ll be careful."

She stared at him.

He added, "I promise."

She should say no. She should push him away. She should remind him of the bandages, the bruises, the danger of reopening wounds. Instead, she reached up and pulled him back down.

He kissed her again, and she let herself fall.

⊹₊˚‧︵‿₊୨୧₊‿︵‧˚₊⊹

Next day

Morning light streamed through the curtains, golden and warm, painting stripes across the tangled sheets. The candles had burned out hours ago, leaving only small pools of wax on the nightstand. The flowers still smelled sweet, their petals soft and slightly wilted.

Bella sat up in bed, her hair a wild mess, her lips still swollen. She glared at the man beside her.

Leo lay on his back, one arm tucked behind his head, his gray eyes half-closed, and a lazy smile playing on his lips. His bandages were still intact, miraculously, and he looked utterly, insufferably pleased with himself.

Bella’s legs were sore. Her hips ached. Her body felt like it had been through a storm, fitting given the painting still propped on the nightstand.

She carefully pushed his arm away and tried to slide out of bed.

He caught her waist and pulled her back against his chest.

He murmured against her ear, his voice low, rough, and amused. "Daring bunny. Throwing me away after using me?"

She elbowed him lightly. "You used me."

He pressed a kiss to her shoulder. "I’m injured."

She turned her head to glare at him. "You didn’t act injured last night."

"I was very careful."

She huffed. "You were not. My legs hurt."

His smile widened. "Good."

"That’s not good. That’s mean."

He hummed, his hand sliding under the blanket and finding her thigh. His fingers traced lazy circles on her skin, moving higher and slower.

Bella’s breath caught.