Fingers caress my temple, sliding curls away from my face. I savor the touch, keeping my eyes shut and remaining in my sleepy fog for a moment longer. I hate to think if I inch my eyelids open, I'll learn this is just a dream that feels real. It very well could be my imagination. Some cruel trick of my sleep deprived mind. I woke up several times during the night to make sure I was still wrapped in Jace's arms. Every time I stroked my fingers down his chest, he grabbed them and held them to his heart.

Another feather light touch traces the slope of my nose to the indentation above my lip. My heart flutters at knowing he is watching me while I sleep.

The way he touches me sends electric currents running through my veins, and I don't know how much longer I can stay still. When his fingertips lower to my lips and trace the outline of my cupid's bow, I can't help it; I stir and my eyelids flutter open.

When my eyes meet his, the gray in them isn't stormy, but warm and cozy, like a day that's too gloomy to go outside, so you decide to stay in and read your comfort book in your pajamas and fuzzy socks by the fire.

"Good morning," I rasp, biting my bottom lip shyly and releasing it as I search his face for what he's feeling as he gazes down at me.

He pulls his fingers away, curling them into a fist. His cheeks turn pink, like a child caught in the cookie jar. "Good morning. I didn't mean to...you just looked so...sorry if I woke you up."

I shake my head and put my hand on his, opening it and intertwining our fingers. "Don't do that; don't apologize. And please...finish your sentence. I looked so...?" I offer him a smile that I hope tells him I'm truly curious and not making fun of him.

"You looked peaceful. The way the tips of your eyelashes rested on the tops of your cheeks and your lips puckered was innocent. It was like nothing bad plagues your dreams. I bet you dream about organizing cups the wrong way while floating on fluffy clouds."

I scoff and shove him with my free hand. "I do not. Especially because I happen to organize the cups the correct way." I look up at him after we stop laughing and say, "But I did dream last night. About you."

He quirks a brow. "Oh? What about?"

"Exactly where I want to take you on an adventure today. I can't believe I didn't think of it before now."

"You dreamed about taking me on an adventure? Is this going to be the eighth circle where they pull out toenails and plunge hot pokers into eyes?

I wiggle my eyebrows and tickle his ribs. "No, that's where my dad is taking you before dinner tonight. This adventure is here in this circle. Within walking distance and everything. You want a hint?"

"Yeah. I'm intrigued. What's the hint?"

"It has a little to do with the thing you love the most."

"Quiet afternoons and peanut butter puff cereal?"

I roll my eyes and cross my arms over the top of the cover. "Come on, dude. Think a little deeper. Although you could enjoy this thing on a quiet afternoon...and I suppose you could eat your peanut butter puffs while looking at it or designing it..."

"Digital art. Is your dad looking for someone to design the new neon light to hell?"

"You are full of jokes this morning."

He releases a long breath and looks up at the ceiling. "What can I say, I'm in a good mood. And now, I'm eager to see what you have planned. Come on, little hurricane. It's time to start my last day in this realm."

My heart skips a beat at the term of endearment. It's what he called me last night at dinner, and I've never loved a nickname more in my life. "All right, give me a few minutes and I'll be ready to go."

Twenty minutes later, I've showered, changed out of my pajamas and into a sundress, and Jace and I are walking down the cobblestone streets of my father's Circle—the capital, if you will. Our fingers brush each other every so often, pulling my attention to Jace. He greets the variety of demons who acknowledge him. Big, small, hairy, naked, terrifying and human-like, his interactions with them are no different than if they were beings from his realm. It wouldn't surprise me to learn that many of the demons don't realize he shouldn't be among us. 

"So, where are you taking me?" he asks, looking down at me with a curious smile creeping over his face.

"Uh-uh. I'm not telling you. It's a surprise. You could threaten me with one of Dex's never-ending speeches about the importance of demons and angels in the human realm, and I still wouldn't tell you."

Jace's forehead crinkles. "Dex?"

"You've never heard of Dex? Iudex?"

His features wrinkle more with confusion. "I don't know who Dex is."

"She's the most powerful being in all the universe. She judges all angels and demons when we step out of line and is the one who grants us entrance into the between for eternity when we are ready to no longer exist."

"You can choose when you no longer want to exist?"

I give him a sad smile as memories of my grandparents and old friends flash through my head. "Every lifeforce eventually craves rest."

Silence stretches between us for a moment before Jace takes a deep breath. "And Dex has a tendency to prattle on I take it."

"That's a nice way of putting it," I say.

"Torturous," he murmurs, intertwining our fingers and swinging our arms between us as we walk.

The gesture is so natural, so smooth, that it nearly takes my breath away. I have to get my shit together; the theatrics of this are getting to me a bit. Because the truth remains; this is all for show. When we return to the human realm, things will go back to normal. No more kisses on the cheek or holding hands. No more little stolen touches.

I take a deep breath and nod toward the giant structure in front of us. "We're here," I announce, forcing myself away from my thoughts.

The pyramid covered in mirrors is unlike anything else in Infernis—a building clear as day and yet not. It reflects the mid-day sky and surrounding structures, blending in with the motif my father prefers while remaining unique.

Jace cranes his neck and shields the bright sun with his hand. "What is this place? It's not a tomb of dead demon rulers, is it?"

I snort and bump him with my hip. "Absolutely not. I won't take you there until our fifth date. Come on."

Keeping hold of his hand, I lead him through the revolving doors and into the lobby of the pyramid. An imp sits at the welcome desk, and she smiles brightly, her white, pointed teeth almost sparkling in the mid-morning light.

She rushes out from around the desk and curtsies deeply, her tail swishing around her. "Your Highness, Princess Desideria, welcome to L'Arte del Peccato. We are so thrilled you've decided to grace us with your presence today, and that you've brought Mr. Wilder with you."

My cheeks must be the color of my hair, I'm so embarrassed by the flattery, and Jace looks shocked that the imp knows who he is.

"Please, there's no need for all the formalities," I check her nametag, "Sila. Thank you for being here and keeping this place running; I can't wait to show my Jace everything it has to offer."

The imp beams and directs us into the first exhibit. "Enjoy yourselves. Please know the pyramid is empty besides you and the artists and will remain so until you are finished with your visit. Take all the time you need."

"Thank you."

As we walk toward the first exhibit, Jace looks down at me in wonder. "L'Arte del Peccato? The Art of...?"

I grin. "The Art of the Sin." Squeezing his hand, I push open the red door. "First up, Wrath."

A large demon with tusks and gray skin bows as we enter and points us to the center of the room. We walk up to the peak of a small hill, illuminated by a single light. The room is a void with black walls and not even the sound of our footsteps. When we are in place, a single drumbeat fills the room. It grows louder and louder, a battle cry. The demon sweeps his hands in front of him and a splatter of red runs across the walls, and he goes to work. As if he is conducting a symphony, the demon paints a picture of a battlefield. Soldiers lay lifeless on the ground and occisor demons wield their weapons.

Jace sits on the top of the hill, his eyes wide and mouth open. "It's digital art," he says.

I sit beside him. "It is."

"But how does he control the color with just his hands? And the lines are so precise."

"It is similar to virtual reality. The cuff on his wrist is programmed to respond to certain movements. Just a point of a finger can change the colors."

The lifelike battlefield morphs from reds and blacks to orange flames that engulf the devastation and the sky above us turns into plumes of smoke. The artist takes us through a moving vision of wrath in some of its greatest forms.

When the room descends into darkness again except for the single light where we sit, Jace turns to look at me with countless emotions written on his face. "Desi, this is...this is amazing. I've never seen anything like this in my life."

I smile and get to my feet, holding out my hand to him. "I knew you'd love it. Come on, there are six more rooms to go."

The next room we enter is flooded in a deep green glow, and immediately, Jace whispers, "Envy."

I hum confirmation and we go to the place the tall, statuesque demon is indicating for us to sit, a bench in the center of the room. We settle down, and Jace drapes his arm over my shoulder.

This exhibit is more abstract than the first—this artist is using every shade of green imaginable to create swirls of color around us that somehow make me feel like being caught in spirals of jealousy. I can't explain it, but the sensation is so real that I feel myself turning inward toward Jace in an inexplicable overprotective position. And when my knees meet his, I realize it's having the same effect on him. Our eyes meet and dart away from one another in an instant, and we focus again on the bursts of jade, clover, lime, emerald, and mint that surround us.

When the colors fade and we move to the next room, the air is heavy and perfumed inside, the walls peppered with soft pinks and reds.

"Is this...?" Jace asks as the door slides shut behind us.

The corner of my mouth turns up as the curvaceous blonde demon up front beckons us to the blanket in the center of the floor.

"Lust," I say, my voice a husky rasp, and I rub my thumb over the center of his palm, completely ignoring the fact that there is no one here to show off for.

With a voice rich and smokey, the demon says, "I suggest you touch during my exhibit. Lay your head in his lap or spoon together. Whatever makes you comfortable. But I've been told that the physical interaction heightens the experience."

Jace sits down and spreads his legs before pulling me into the space he's made. He arranges me so my back is to his chest and his arms are wrapped around my waist. "Is this okay?" he asks.

I swallow hard and thank every high demon that ever existed that he can't see my face right now because I am certain it is seventy-five shades of red. "It's better than okay," I murmur. "I really, really like being close to you."

"Good to know."

Jace rests his chin on my shoulder, and the demon sets to work. Like the artist before her, she also uses many abstract images, but hidden in each are the curve of a hip or the swell of a breast. Bodies in human and demon form copulating in various ways. Some pairings are innocent, a stroke of a hand or lips pressed to a cheek, and others are completely lewd. But it doesn't matter what she paints, each stroke of her hand sends a flurry of warmth through me.

I'm not the only one effected by the art. Jace can't seem to stay still. His fingers sweep over my stomach, back and forth. Each stroke seems to get lower, moving over my bellybutton and onto the tops of my thighs. His chest expands against my back and his breaths turn shallow. But it is the growing hardness at the small of my back that captures my attention and causes me to lose focus on the art.

Jace wants me. Right now. He couldn't deny it if I came right out and asked him. This knowledge multiplies my desire and I shift between his legs, fighting a moan as I feel him twitch against me.

My center throbs and my skin aches to be touched. His hands on me feel so good, but I long for them to be under my dress, on my skin. I fight the urge to crawl into Jace's lap and feel him pressed against me. My nails bite into my palms, and I chew my bottom lip, using the pain to keep me in place.

He sweeps my hair away from my neck, and goosebumps cover my arms when his lips brush the shell of my ear. "I'm so fucking turned on."

I thought feeling the proof of his need was sexy but hearing the words on a lustful rasp is enough to make me lose it. My brain chants that it's just the exhibit making us feel like this. The sexy images entwined together are arousing us, invoking a response from our bodies. If we were sitting like this anywhere else, we wouldn't feel the same.

I rest my head against his shoulder and close my eyes, exhaling a shaky breath. "Me too," I murmur. "I've never seen the lust exhibit before; it's the only one of the seven I've never visited. I've heard what it—how it can affect you, but I've never experienced it firsthand." I squeeze my thighs together and watch his fingers as they play with the hem of my dress. "This is intense."

"That's an understatement," he murmurs. His fingers inch higher under my dress. Skin on skin, hot, smooth, needy. "What if I told you that I want to touch you?"

My breath catches. I can't let myself believe that he means what I think he means, because if he doesn't, I don't know if I can handle the disappointment. So I whisper, a smile in my voice, "You are touching me, Jace."

"I want to make you come on my fingers," he groans, moving dangerously close to my center. "Let me touch you just once."

"Fuck," I gasp, pressing back against him, discovering that he is even harder than he was a few moments ago. If that's possible. "Please, please, Jace. Touch me."

I unhook my ankles and bend my knees. Jace's palms glide from the tops of my thighs to the insides, easing my legs apart. He toys with me, drawing figure eights as we watch the art materializing on the walls. Each image is more erotic than the next. The indiscernible shapes have given way to clear pictures of demons in the throes of one sexual act after another.

Slowly, oh so slowly, he inches toward my center. My heart feels like it is going to burst from my chest and each rotation of his fingers has my breath hitching. It is not until he brushes the wet fabric between my legs that I stop breathing.

"Is it the art or me that makes you wet, Desideria?"

I nearly come apart at his touch and at his words, and I can hardly speak, but when I finally answer, my voice is hoarse with desire. "Both."

It's a lie and the truth. The art stirs something that has sizzled inside me for weeks. Ever since I saw him getting ready for bed, I've ached for him. And the night I caught him touching himself in his office only escalated my lust for him. Every night I dream about touching him, putting my mouth on him, but I've stifled that need. But in this place made to intensify that desire, I'm all out of fight. I want to know what those fingers that stroked his length will feel like on me.

I slide my hand between my legs, placing it on top of his. With a racing heart that makes me tremble, I guide his fingers to move my panties to the side. "Please touch me," I beg.

Jace's finger glides through my folds, and he hisses, "Fuck."

The kisses he peppered along my neck and shoulder have turned into sucking and biting. He finds the aching bundle of nerves that has longed for his attention and presses circles to it. Every rotation is gentle and slow but with just enough pressure to have me lifting my hips for more. I shouldn't want to fall apart on someone else's fingers for the first time with an audience. I should conduct myself like a princess of this realm. But I can't stop chasing after that feeling that makes my skin sensitive and the muscles in my abdomen tighten. I want to come apart by his hand. 

"Please," is all I can manage. I can't wait any longer; every nerve ending in my body crackles with pent-up energy, and if he doesn't give me what I need, I am going to explode.

Not only that, but I want to touch him. I love the position he has me in, at his mercy, but I want to put my hands on him. I drop my hands from my lap and grip his thighs, wishing with everything in me that I could feel his skin under my fingertips.

"What are you begging for, Desideria?" His fingers slow. It feels good, but it's not enough. Not nearly enough.

"You. Just—I need you to make me come. Don't tease me anymore, Jace," I whisper, rolling my head in toward his neck, kissing up toward his jawline.

He doesn't take his gaze away from the violet, pink, and red images. He studies every brush stroke and mimics them between my legs. His free hand slides up my torso, leaving a trail that burns through the thin fabric of my dress. He grips my neck and eases his index finger between my lips. "Suck," he commands.

I draw his finger into my mouth and brush my tongue along the underside. A moan rumbles in my chest, and Jace turns my face into the crook of his neck. I suck hard and the strokes under my dress become bolder, faster. His thumb rubs me in a way that my own fingers fail to do, and he dips inside me.

"You are so warm and tight. I want to feel you come on my finger. Can you do it, little hurricane? Can you come for me like this?"

I groan and nod against him, tightening around his finger in answer, lifting my hips to push him further inside me. There is something so fucking sexy about the way he is using me as his canvas to recreate the art the artist is creating around us, and it makes me feel like the most desirable creature to ever exist in any of the three realms.

As he rubs my clit harder, I shift against him, wishing so badly that I could wrap my fingers around the length of him that I feel at the small of my back. In my head, I can still see so clearly the night in his office, his fingers gripping his cock, bringing himself to climax. I still wonder what he'd been watching, thinking of.

I could only hope it was me. Even if only for a moment.

I whimper as he adds a second finger, stretching me further. Sucking on his finger harder, my cheeks hollow out and I once again fantasize it's his cock I've got my lips wrapped around.

As if she is inspired by the reaction of my body, the sweeps of the brush move quicker and the color shifts from the romantic pastels and reds to bold, bright splatters. My skin pebbles and my core winds tight while chasing the release it so desperately needs.

"That's it. Let go and come for me," Jace says, his voice deep and dripping with his own desire.

The longing in his tone is my undoing; I can't hold back another second. The coil inside me unfurls, my lips parting, his name rolling off my tongue like a prayer. His hand slips away from my neck, across my collarbone, and into my dress. My nipple is already hard, but when his fingertips brush over it, it tightens to the point of pain.

"Jace, oh my God," I gasp, lifting my hips and writhing against his hand, losing all regard for where we are and the fact that we aren't alone. All I care about is chasing the high he's giving me, giving in to the lust I've been feeling for him for weeks, and basking in the knowledge that he wants me too.

Everything slows and the warmth of the afterglow settles upon me. I turn to my side and rest my head on Jace's chest, his heart pounding under my ear. He brushes down the wet curls around my face, and I meet his gaze. Holding my stare, he brings the two fingers that filled me to his mouth and sucks them clean.

"Is that what you've been chasing after with that drawer full of toys?" he asks.

I have to force myself to move my jaw from its unhinged position. "I—uh, yes. Suffice it to say, I never catch it. Not like that," I murmur. "Why don't you let me—"

The clicking of heels echoes through our moment, and I find the beautiful demon placing her sketching device on the hook by the door. She bows her head and says, "You may stay and enjoy my art if you like. Thank you for giving me the inspiration to create it." 

My cheeks heat and I soak in the final results. She felt the sexual tension between Jace and me and as it mounted, the wild, sexy painting on the walls and ceiling came to life. The art is an expression of exactly what she felt radiate from us.

"You're welcome. Thank you for sharing it with us," I say.

"It was my pleasure."

She slips out of the room, and Jace slides out from behind me and stands. He crams his hands in his pockets and strolls the perimeter of the room, admiring our collaboration with the artist. "Did she physically feel what we did, or is it just the emotion that she could interpret?"

"Just the emotion. Only Lux can tap into other's lust in a truly invasive way."

He continues to walk and I can't help but notice the strain of his jeans over his cock. He was just as turned on as I was, yet he never sought his own release. It must be uncomfortable to walk in such a state. I know I can't stop thinking about how slick my inner thighs are after what happened between us.

I had been about to ask if he'd let me touch him when the artist stopped painting and packed up, and I hadn't gotten the chance. I wish I had been able to get the words out. Now the spell has been broken.

"That was intense," I say, walking up beside him, my fingers brushing against his. "I'd heard about how it could affect you, but I'd always thought people were just over exaggerating."

Jace nods and he hooks our pinkies together. "The art in this room is powerful, to influence us to give into our body's impulses in such a way."

"Especially after we just talked about how we could never..." I clear my throat as we walk toward the door to the next exhibit, sure that he understands what I'm getting at.

He stops in his tracks and my pinkie slips from his. Running his fingers through his hair, he says, "Trust me, I enjoyed it too. I'm sorry if I crossed a line. I didn't mean—"

"You didn't. I wanted it to happen, but I know we shouldn't do it again."

"We can't do it again, Desi." 

I hear the words, but I also see the conflict in his features. This isn't how I want to end our time together. We have more to see in the gallery, and I don't want one moment of overthinking to ruin it. I hold out my hand and wiggle my fingers. "Come on. I hear that gluttony uses smells in the exhibit. I really hope it smells like fresh brownies."

He smiles at that, and the worry melts away. "Peanut butter cups. I hope it smells like peanut butter cups."

I grin as he intertwines his fingers with mine. "Compromise: peanut butter brownies."