Evelyn stiffened when he found a particularly sensitive spot, fighting not to squirm and writhe in reaction to the electrifying feeling. He took his time, painstakingly creating smaller vines growing off the large one, arching them over her shoulder, across her collarbones then down the other arm. More of them were painted down the sides of her body, skimming her breasts, winding over her belly, then down her legs. Parting her legs, he lay between them, swirling the brush down her inner thighs in patterns that made her eyes roll up into her head and her toes curl. All the while, his breath fanned against her exposed cunt, making her yearn for him to put his mouth there. But, he refrained, seeming determined to finish his work. After the vines came the flowers, little buds that he painted along the vines in shade of bright blue, lavender, and soft yellow.
He stared up at a her with a smile when the brush swirled over her nipple, staining it purple. Repeating the action, he watched her nipple pebble against the brush, hardening to near painful limits. He went on creating the flower around the tightly furled bud, as Evelyn lost complete control of her sense. Closing her eyes, she forgot his directive to lie still, soft moans spilling from her lips as he teased her with the brushes, finding the most deliciously sensitive places to paint his flowers, and seeming to derive satisfaction from her reaction to each touch.
She trembled beneath him, her back arching when he painted a flower around her navel, dipping the brush into the hollow and swirling it. God, whoever knew painting could be so stimulating? She felt as if she’d go up in flames at any moment, and he had only touched her with the brushes.
The paint dried quickly in his wake, unlike the oils he used on his canvases, and the tautness of it on her skin only added to her agitation, her need. And thank God for that, because the moment he was done she did not think she could wait another moment without throwing him down onto the bed and mounting him.
He finished at her left ankle, creating one final blossom there, before signing his initials beside it with a flourish.
By the time he returned his brush to the paintbox and climbed back over her on his hands and knees, she was in a state, panting and squirming, desperate to have him inside her.
“My masterpiece,” he whispered, stroking his finger along the line of her jaw. “Would you like to see how magnificent you look?”
What she wanted was for him to make love to her, but curiosity once again got the best of her. She nodded, so he stood, then offered a hand to help her from the bed. He led her to the mirror standing in the corner, much like the one he’d stood her before in his studio.
She found herself glad she had looked, because she was once again stunned by Hugh’s skill. She looked like some sort of woodland nymph, as if real-life vines had climbed up her limbs, bursting with flowers all over her body.
“My compliments to the artist,” she said, glancing over her shoulder to find him removing his shirt.
“This artist finds himself bursting with inspiration whenever you are around.”
He stripped off his breeches and stockings, now as naked as she as he pushed a chair toward her. Her bemused expression melted into a knowing one as he sank into the seat, spreading his legs and taking hold of the hard root of his cock. Her mouth watered at the sight of him stroking it, his eyes growing heavy-lidded as he reached for her.
“Come here.”
She obeyed, letting him position her so she faced the mirror, then pull her down onto his lap. He reached around to take hold of her thighs, abruptly spreading them so that her legs hung draped over his, her quim exposed to the mirror. She leaned back against him for support, but the vision in the mirror held her rapt attention.
When had she become this wanton creature? A shy, virginal Evelyn would never have stared so boldly in the mirror at her nude body spread and draped over that of a man. But this Evelyn...the one who’d found her carnal desires awakened by the man reaching down to fit the head of his erection against her opening, found it all so thrilling.
She sank down onto him, her lips parting on a cry that never emitted at the fullness of him inside her. It had been so long, but her body accepted him with ease, her wet channel enveloping like the tight clench of a fist. Resting his chin against her shoulder, he took hold of her waist and urged her to move, to ride him to her satisfaction.
The friction of him at this angle sent a burst of warmth and delight through her core, spreading out to the far reaches of her body. She found the rhythm, easing up and down his cock while undulating her hips in a hypnotic motion. Hugh’s gaze remained locked on the mirror, his breaths coming out harsh as he moved his hips in counterpoint to her every motion. Her eyes began to drift closed, but she forced them open, arrested by the sight of his thick shaft sliding in and out of her, slick with the wetness of her arousal.
One of his hands found its way between her legs, and he pressed his fingers to her clitoris, rubbing in swift circles. He kissed and nibbled her neck, avoiding the paint on her shoulder and urging her closer and closer to the inevitable end. She shook, biting back a shrill scream and climax overwhelmed her in a rush, her channel pulsing around him, his fingers never ceasing their erotic assault. She fell limp against him, unable to do anything more than ride the waves of his every move, his pelvis slamming into her buttocks as he chased his own finish. He trembled, the hand cupping her mons tightening as he held her against him, surging as deep into her as he could go just before he raptured. His head fell against the back of the chair, his teeth gritted around a roar of releases as his cock release the hot streams of his seed within her.
She rested against him, her head lolling on his shoulders as their ragged breaths mingled together in the silence of the room. He wrapped his arms around her, his hands lightly stained from where he’d touched her painted skin. Pressing soft kisses to the back of her shoulder, he sighed, a sound that could be mistaken for none other than contentment.
Shifting her off his cock, he turned her so she was curled in his lap, holding her tight.
“You are a wonder, Mrs. Radcliffe,” he murmured against her temple, his voice heavy with drowsiness. “And the best canvas I’ve ever worked with, I must say.”
She raised her head to give him a mock glare, her lips quivering as she tried to keep from smiling. “I had better be the only human canvas you’ve ever painted.”
He nuzzled her nose with his and laughed. “You just so happen to be the first, and for as long as I live, you will be the only.”
“That is good to hear,” she declared. “I have never been a jealous woman, but you are mine now.”
He took hold of her chin and graced her lips with a short, sweet kiss. “And you are mine. Now...I hate to ruin my own work, but I suppose a bath is in order before we can climb into that bed.”
“Bed?” she teased. “Will there be any sleeping?”
He scoffed. “Not likely.”
Climbing out of his lap, she sank onto the rug and then stretched herself out, spreading her legs in a provocative offering.
“Then the floor will do.”
Hugh rose from the chair, his cock already stirring back to life at the sight she made, splayed and willing, and completely his.
“Have I told you lately how much I love you, Evie?” he rasped, coming to his knee between her spread legs.
“Yes,” she whispered, reaching up to pull him down over her. “Now, come and show me.”
For what remained of the night, he proceeded to do just that.
Epilogue
Benedict glanced up from the letter on the desk in his study as the third man invited to this little gathering entered the room, his fingertips playing in a habitual motion over the scar on his temple. The missive had come from Hugh, who had taken temporary residence in Devon while working as a prospective artist under the architect, Noel Russell. Four months had passed since his friend’s hasty nuptials, and in that time Hugh had become quite in demand as a portraitist, while picking up commissions on the side for architects like Russell who needed someon
e with the skill to take their two dimensional diagrams and turn them into full renderings of their final product, complete with detailed landscaping. Evelyn traveled with him, and Hugh reported that her first novel—which only a handful of their friends knew had been written by her—had sold so well that it had gone into a second edition, with the publisher stepping in to front the costs for publishing her next work.
The two seemed deliriously happy, so much so that Benedict could hardly stand to be around them. It wasn’t that he begrudged his friend the happiness—if anyone deserved that, it was Hugh. Benedict knew very well how it felt to be cast out by one’s family, and found it fitting that Hugh had now begun his own family and reconciled with his sister. The earl and the rest of his brood still turned their noses up at the sight of Hugh, but it no longer seemed to hurt his friend as much. Not now that he had a wife to love and the eventuality of a child to look forward to. No impending birth had been announced yet, but Benedict was willing to bet it soon would be, as was customary shortly after the beginning of a new marriage.
Hugh was not his problem today. No, the Gentleman Courtesans had a far worse problem on their hands, thus the reason he had called those closest to him here today. The others needn’t concern themselves yet, not until he’d spoken with his confidants and figured out how they ought to manage this.
He watched as Dominick sank into a chair between David and Aubrey. The three men gave him curious looks, seeming to wonder why he’d called them here. Which only meant they’d yet to get their hands on the paper he laid on his desk and pushed toward them.
“We have a very serious problem on our hands,” he said, gesturing for Dominick to pick it up.
The other two read over Nick’s shoulders, the words Benedict had already pored over several times and memorized by now:
Something scandalous is brewing in London, and it is happening in full view of le bon ton with no one the wiser! This writer overheard a conversation between two ladies who were not very good at whispering, else I should never had detected a word. I know it is dreadful of me to eavesdrop, but I could hardly turn away once I discerned the direction of their conversation.
My friends, I stand on the cusp of the most sensational story I’ve ever written, and it is only a matter of time before I uncover the truth and expose it to you all.
I have it on good authority that there are certain women of the ton—who shall remain nameless until such time as I have determined for certain who was involved—who have lowered themselves to the practice of hiring male courtesans to service them!
If you are scandalized beyond belief by this prospect, you are in good company, for I was most shocked to learn of such outrageous behavior. I declare in this very column, where I have exposed outrageous scandal after scandal for your delight, that I will not rest until these men are unmasked as the debauchees they are.
Benedict grimaced as three heads lifted, and he was confronted by three faces displaying varying degrees of shock and rage.
“Bloody fucking hell,” Nick groused, running a hand through his hair.
“I’ll second that,” David whispered, staring off across the room with unseeing eyes.
Aubrey lifted the copy of this morning’s The London Gossip, sneering at the page as if it were excrement he’d just scraped off the bottom of his boot.
“It is as I said,” Benedict said, folding his hands atop the desk. “We have a very serious problem.”
Free Bonus Book!
Thank you for pre-ordering or purchasing your e-copy of Portrait of a Lady during release week. As a thank you, I’d like to gift you a copy of the prequel novella, Tempting the Bluestocking for FREE! This prequel story follows Edward Norton, who you might remember was mentioned as being an object of Benedict’s scorn by falling for his keeper. Read his fun, hot story … Click here to download!
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After her first lackluster experience with intercourse, Clare Dunnaby swears off romantic entanglement for good. At twenty-one years old, she remains unattached and content—pursuing the study of botany and geology with single-minded focus. She remains certain she has no need for the amorous attentions of the opposite sex … at least, until she enters her bedchamber to find a nude man waiting in her bed.
Desperation has driven Edward Norton to accept an arrangement as a courtesan to Clare. Purchased as a surprise for her birthday, his mission seems cut and dry: seduce the outspoken bluestocking into bed with him and keep her happy for the duration of their one-month contract. If he can do that, he’ll earn enough money to set his failing shipping company right again.
But when a strong physical attractions evolves into something more, it becomes clear that thirty days will never be enough. When their time runs out, will they choose to build on the visceral connection born of a contract, or will pride and stubbornness keep them apart?
The Gentleman Courtesans
Series Reading Order
Now Available:
Tempting the Bluestocking (prequel novella)
Portrait of a Lady
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Coming Soon:
What a Courtesan Wants
Making of a Scandal
Taming of the Rake
Chasing Benedict
More by Victoria Vale
Enjoy this Dark Romance series, The Villain
The Villain
The Dove
The Butterfly
The Damsel
The Scandalous Ballroom Encounters Series
Masquerade
A Marriage Most Scandalous
Tempting Two
Submitting to the Marquis
Dominating Mr. Darling
Her Beautiful Bastard
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Scandalous Christmas Encounters Vol. 1
Scandalous Christmas Encounters Vol. 2
About the Author
Sexy heroes … sassy heroines … electrifying erotic romance.
Victoria Vale has written over two dozen Romance and Young Adult novels under various pseudonyms. As a lover of erotic romance, she enjoys nothing more than a sexy hero paired with a sassy heroine, flavored with a dash of spice and lots of heat. A wife and mother of three, she enjoys reading (of course), cooking, sewing … and other activities that aren’t appropriate for inclusion in a biography.
Portrait of a Lady: The Gentleman Courtesans Book 1 Page 24
