A Heart-Racing Dare - Chapter 5
I didn’t know what to say, so I nodded.
Zhaobei lowered his eyes and forced a smile. “Am I… disgusting? What you saw is real, Xiaxia. I love you. I have for a long time. Since the first moment I saw you.”
A deathly silence stretched between us. He backed away, swaying. “Go. I’ll handle the engagement, and Shen Xu too. Just go. I’m sorry. I wanted too much. It’s my fault. I…”
He kept talking, perhaps without knowing what he was saying, as if murmuring was the only way to keep the silence from swallowing him. I walked up and lifted his chin. Beneath his falling hair, his beautiful eyes held an almost feverish devotion.
“Shen Zhaobei. Didn’t you want me to see?”
Hundreds upon hundreds of portraits showing me looking straight at him told me he knew he had something to confess. He tried to turn away; I caught his face and made him meet my eyes.
“Answer me.”
“I’m despicable. I’m guilty,” he said hoarsely.
“Are you?” I laughed softly.
He had longed for me to discover him, and dreaded that moment with all his heart. Pain and love were intertwined. I liked that contradiction in him, even his tears. I especially liked how he struggled, loving me so fiercely it hurt.
My fingers traced an idle circle over the fine line of his collarbone. “Shen Zhaobei, I absolve you on behalf of the gods.”
My hand moved lower and undid his first button. “Your punishment is—”
I mouthed the last three words. His breath caught, just as I’d hoped. A few seconds later, he shifted and crossed his legs rather self-consciously.
“Looks as if this punishment might be hard to carry out,” I said with a pointed glance.
He smiled helplessly. “Xiaxia, don’t toy with me.”
“Why not? Didn’t you say you were willing?”
He met my eyes, resigned. “Yes. I am.”
“You’ve painted me so many times. Fair’s fair—now I get to paint you. Just in a different way.”
I raised my brush, touched its tip lightly to the center of his forehead, and gave him a cool command. “Undress.”
…
Later, the studio was a mess. Open and unopened tubes of every color lay scattered across the floor. Only my portraits remained neat. I drew another stroke across his back.
“Punishment failed.”
After a silence, he said, “I’m sorry.”
“Try harder next time.”
The sun had set at some point, and the last of its light slipped through a gap in the curtains.
“What are you painting?” he asked.
I made the final stroke without answering. On the other side of his heart, a sunflower bloomed in brilliant color.
