CHAPTER 231: ON ME

ISABELLA’S POV

His chest was a wall of heat and muscle, solid enough to anchor me, suffocating enough to steal my air. I buried my face in him anyway, my lungs tightening with every second of his grip. We still haven’t left where the car is parked. It feels like we’ve been outside for eternity.

"Adrien..." I managed, my words muffled against him. "Can’t breathe."

He pulled back slightly, his eyes, the color of amber, gazing down at me with an intensity that always made my stomach flutter. They were frantic, intense, and held an emotion so potent it made my own heart pound a frantic rhythm against my ribs.

His hands, still warm from cupping my face, now rested on my waist, his thumbs tracing slow circles against the soft fabric of my sweatpants. "Forgive me," he breathed, his voice husky, a subtle tremor running through it. "I... I forget myself sometimes."

Before I could tell him I was fine, he was already easing the strap of my shoulder bag off and tucking it under his arm. Then, with a suddenness that stole my breath all over again, his arms scooped me up as if I weighed nothing.

"Adrien!" My protest melted into a laugh. He held me tightly, his eyes devouring me with that same overwhelming intensity. I should have gotten used to him randomly carrying me but it still baffles me. A lot.

"It’s freezing," he said simply, as though that explained everything as he started walking towards the mansion doors.

The cold air, which had seemed to prickle my skin moments before, was now a distant memory, a forgotten sensation as I was enveloped in Adrien’s warmth. He carried me with a strength that was both alarming and incredibly comforting, like a protective shield against the world. The mansion loomed ahead, its imposing facade bathed in the fading twilight, but all my focus was on the man holding me.

"It’s not freezing," I argued playfully, though my words were lost against his shoulder. "It’s barely even chilly."

He just chuckled against my hair, a deep, rumbling sound that I felt more than heard. "To you, perhaps. To me, you are a fragile, precious thing that needs constant warmth and protection."

My heart did a ridiculous little flip. "Fragile? Precious? I’m wearing sweatpants, Adrien."

"Yes, ma’am." He paused momentarily. "What was in that paper bag?"

"Paint. Brushes," I answered, my smile tugging wider at the way his brows drew together, curious, skeptical.

"Paint?" he repeated, like the word was foreign on his tongue.

"Mm-hm." I leaned into him, resting my cheek against his chest as he walked. "I’ve been meaning to try something. I saw this body art piece the other day—it was beautiful, like carrying a whole forest on your skin."

I thought of the image that had caught my eye: a river bending through green trees, light and color alive on bare skin. The idea of creating something that raw, that alive, thrilled me. "I wanted to try it on you, I saw pictures of ladies doing so on their lovers." I admitted softly.

His steps faltered for a fraction of a second, a near imperceptible hitch in his stride. I felt it through the solid muscle of his chest, a subtle shift in his tempo. My breath caught, a silent question forming on my lips.

Then, he resumed walking, his gait even more assured than before. A low chuckle, deeper than any I’d heard from him, vibrated against my ear. "Body art?" he echoed, his voice laced with a mixture of surprise and something that sounded suspiciously like... excitement. "On me?"

"Yes," I confirmed, my own voice softening with anticipation. "On you. Or, well, if you’re willing. I thought... I thought it might be interesting. A chance to escape the canvas, you know? To become the art." I paused, then added, my voice barely a whisper, "And you have such... compelling lines, Adrien. Such a strong structure to work with."

"Compelling lines," he repeated slowly, his voice a low, resonant hum. "A strong structure." He let out a soft breath, a sound caught between amusement and something more profound, something that made the hairs on my arms prickle. "You have a very specific way of seeing things, Isabella."

"Is that a bad thing?" I asked, tilting my head back to try and catch his eye.

He finally lowered his head, his amber gaze meeting mine, and the world tilted on its axis. There was a warmth there, a playful spark that chased away the earlier intensity, but the underlying depth remained, a quiet promise of the universe I’d glimpsed earlier.

"Never," he whispered. "It’s... intoxicating. Do you know how much I’ve dreamt of you seeing me that way? Not as the boss, the businessman, the... the peacock you sometimes call me, but as a canvas?"

My heart gave another little leap. "I see all of you, Adrien."

"And what do you see now?" he murmured, his voice raw with an emotion I recognized, an emotion that mirrored the dizzying pull I felt towards him.

"I see you... considering it," I responded, my own voice catching on a breath. "And I see... anticipation. And a hint of... mischief."

A slow smile spread across his lips, a genuine, unguarded expression that made me want to capture it, frame it, and keep it safe. "You’re right, princess," he conceded, his eyes twinkling. "I am considering it. If you want to paint on me, on any part of me, you can. You can paint a universe on my skin, and I’ll stand perfectly still, holding my breath, just to feel your touch." He paused. "You don’t need permission for anything you want to do with me."

Okay.. that was hot!

"Adrien," I murmured, my voice thick with unshed emotion. "Are you serious?"

He pressed his forehead against mine, a small, tender gesture that felt more intimate than any kiss. "More serious than I’ve ever been about anything, Isabella. You want to create? Then create. You want to explore? Then explore. With me. On me."

My gaze slipped lower as we crossed the threshold of the mansion, the warmth of his body pressed against mine grounding me more than the steady sway of his stride. Broad shoulders, the slope of his neck, the ridges of his chest beneath his shirt—all of it drew the same whispering thought through my mind: canvas.

I imagined color unfurling across him, my brush chasing the cut of muscle across his back, the dip of his spine, the breadth of his shoulders that so often carried the weight of entire empires. What would it feel like to trace those lines, not with my hands alone, but with deliberate strokes meant to leave a mark, however temporary?

The thought made my pulse stutter. Because it wasn’t just paint. It wasn’t just art. It was intimacy in its purest form. To touch him that way, to lay color against his bare skin—it felt bold, vulnerable, and dangerous. Like I’d be peeling him back, seeing more than even he intended to show. And maybe, selfishly, I wanted that.

"Princess," Adrien’s voice broke through my thoughts, a low hum close to my ear. His arms tightened fractionally around me, as if sensing the tremor in mine. "You’re quiet."

I swallowed, lips curving faintly. "Just... thinking about where to start."

He paused mid-step, his amber eyes burning into mine with that infuriating ability to see too much. His mouth quirked, slow, knowing. "On me." It wasn’t a question. It was a vow.

My breath hitched. He didn’t know what that simple certainty did to me.