The Stolen Kiss Painting Novels & Stories

Finding his confession ridiculous, Jade let out a humorless chuckle. "You made a mistake, Sophia is the real culprit." "I'm certain, you are the thief who stole my heart," Tyler insisted. "If you say so, I'm giving you your heart back," Jade was stone-faced, her voice edged with scorn. "Don't give it back, I'll steal your heart and we'll get even," he said and reached out to caress her face. Jade held his wrist, stopping him from touching her face.

He brought them to my lips, painted my own taste across them like gloss. “Open.” I did. His fingers slid from my mouth, slick with my own taste, and before I could draw a single steady breath he yanked me into him. The kiss wasn’t a kiss; it was a theft. His mouth slammed over mine, tongue driving deep, claiming every inch I’d just cleaned for him. He kissed me like he was starving, like he wanted to erase every lie I’d ever told Julian with the stroke of his tongue. I tried to gasp his name; he swallowed it.

The gesture was so natural, and so careless, that I literally froze the second my fingers brushed his mouth. This was girlfriend behaviour. His eyes caught mine, dark and unreadable, and for a heartbeat, the world around us blurred... cars honking, vendors calling, tourists chattering. All of it faded until there was only him, only me. Then he caught my wrist, pressed a kiss to the spot I’d touched him, and let me go with a devil’s smile. “Careful,” he said. “You’ll make me think you like me.” “You’re insufferable.” I tore a bite of my own crêpe just to cover how hot my face had gone.

Around them, people laughed, danced, exchanged pleasantries—but it all blurred into nothing. She should have walked away. Instead, she asked, “Why me? There are others—smarter, hungrier—” He cut in softly. “None who would understand the cost of beauty like you do.” Something in her chest twisted. She looked away, catching sight of a painting being auctioned on stage—an original Caravaggio, the same one her father had tried to acquire years ago. The auctioneer’s voice rose over the music, declaring bids that climbed like flames. Lucas leaned close enough that his breath brushed her ear. “That painting,” he murmured, “was stolen twice before it was ever displayed. Its history erased, its truth

“You were looking for him for weeks, and you didn’t find him once. Just accept that I am the only reason you found him and give me what I want.” “You want a painting? Which one?” I asked her. A promise was a promise, and she was right. Viktor was stupid when it came to women. He was so dumb that he allowed a woman I left a restaurant with to get his address. “I want the painting named Nativity with Saint Francis and Saint Lawrence by the artist Caravaggio. It was stolen in Palermo, Sicily, and I know you know who has it. Remember, you can’t back out of our deal.”

The invitation had arrived a week ago. A corporate gala. The kind of event where champagne flowed in crystal, and men in suits measured each other with polite smiles and sharper agendas. Chris insisted I attend, and for once, I did not argue. Because Sebastian Cross would be there. I told myself, as I dressed, that my choices were about professionalism. About looking the part. But the truth lingered beneath my thoughts, whispering through every brush of fabric and hairpin. I left my wedding band and engagement ring in the jewellery box. A subconscious decision, though I refused to admit it even to myself.

In a husky whisper, Xavier confesses, "I couldn't resist any longer, Athena." His words hang in the air, and before I can comprehend, he closes the gap between us, initiating a passionate, heated kiss. The world around us dissolves into the background as the unexpected moment takes hold. The taste of spontaneity leaves me breathless, my initial surprise giving way to the magnetic pull between us. As the kiss deepened, Xavier's hands cradled my face gently. I find myself surrendering to the allure of the stolen moment, where time seems to stand still, and the intensity of our embrace becomes the only reality in this hidden haven.

he says. And then he kisses me. I groan against his mouth as his fingers migrate down my thigh, stroking me through my pants. I’m powerless to stop this. Damn you, Ethan! I think. Our kisses are feverish and urgent. Each taste is a heady mixture of want and need, driving us both into a frenzied state. His teeth nick my lip, and I snarl, my claws coming out and tearing the shirt from his back.

"I am the only reason you are in a silk bed instead of a concrete cellar. My men wanted to handle this much more... efficiently. I chose to be decent." "Decent?" she hissed, her face inches from his. "You kidnapped me!" "I gave you a chance to see the truth," he countered. He released her wrist and stepped back, smoothing his shirt as if she were nothing more than a minor inconvenience. "Wash your face. There are clothes in the closet. A woman will be here in an hour. We are having dinner." "And if I refuse?" Romeo paused at the door, a small, chilling smile playing on his lips. "Then I will let the man who broke your door down come and get you. He isn't nearly as 'decent' as I am."

After the feast, the gods looked at Cassius very differently. They didn't look at his face anymore. They just kept stealing glances at his crotch, whispering. "I heard His Highness's divine seed has withered..." "Shh, keep it down. No wonder he couldn't even satisfy a wood nymph." "No wonder the Saintess Lyra was so desperate..." Cassius stormed out of the hall with a dark face. The whispers behind him made him want to crawl into a hole and die.