by Nikki Sloane
He’d barely pocketed the phone before I lashed out. “I’m not going to lift a finger until you assure me my artwork is safe.”
“Safe? From what?”
“Your hands.”
Luke’s jaw tightened, televising his displeasure. “You don’t seem to understand how this works. That sculpture is mine. It’s property I own and can do whatever the fuck I want with.”
I reared back. It wasn't that I had a problem with profanity, but it was so unexpected, it sent me stumbling until I had my back against a wall. He approached deliberately until he filled my vision. He was all aggressive eyes and wild hair.
“If anyone’s a danger to my sculpture, it’s you,” he said.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
Once again, he put his hand on my shoulder, but it wasn’t to guide me out of the way. This time he pressed down. I hadn’t realized how tender I was from toppling the crate over earlier. I gnashed my teeth through the pain and couldn’t keep it from my face.
“She told me what you did.” His touch was gone, but it still smarted. “You intentionally damaged what’s mine. My very expensive property, which we’ve already established is your best work. Why?” Something flickered in his eyes. Sadness? “Why on earth would you do that?”
The air swirled around us with tension and choked the truth from me. “I don’t want it twisted into something it’s not.”
His nostrils flared, and the color of flames heated on his neck. His gaze drilled down into me as he seethed. “It’ll ruin you all over again, and you were lucky you got a second chance. No one will touch you after this. Are you really that stupid?”
Yes, I was.
All I ever did was make poor choices and mistakes.
I couldn’t render a response, and my mouth went dry when he set his hands against the wall on either side of my head. Alarms rang in my mind, flooding tremors down my legs. I didn’t know this large man, who I’d certainly upset, and his thick arms caged me in.
Yet another terrible choice I’d made without thinking it through. Were we here alone in his house? Would someone hear me if I screamed? There’d only been one car in the garage, and he wasn’t wearing a wedding ring.
Somehow, I found my voice. “No, I’m not stupid. I’m . . . passionate about my work.”
Did he find that amusing? He chuckled, but there was no warmth in his eyes. “And you feel so strongly, you’re willing to go back to prison?” He was only a breath away, so close I could see the sapphire strands in his irises. “You willfully vandalized my sculpture. Given how much I paid for it, I’m sure you committed a felony. Tell me, Nikita. Are you still on parole?”
Oh, God. My knees buckled, and I slapped my hands against the wall to stay upright.
I couldn’t go back to prison. I’d rather die right now than every night for God-knew how long. In trying to save my work, I’d damned myself. A sob developed in my chest, but I refused to unleash it, and it hung heavy in my body, weighing me down like an anchor.
“Luke,” I whispered, hoping to appeal to him as a broken woman. It wasn’t a hard role to play.
His voice was low, matching mine. “You can make this all go away.”
He lingered so close, hovering as if he were waiting for something. The sliver of his tongue dragged slowly across his lips, moistening them. It was provocative and sexual. I pressed my hands harder into the wall, needing further support. What was he insinuating he wanted?
A kiss?
Sex?
I pressed my lips together as I considered it. There’d been plenty of passionless nights with Sidor. I could handle this task easily. I’d put my body through worse things to get what I wanted. A quick evaluation of Luke reminded me this wasn’t a big hardship. He was attractive and seemed reasonably smart, even if he was the enemy. Plus, there was that odd spark still humming in my skin from where he’d touched me.
I hadn’t been intimate with anyone in years, but I doubted sex had changed much since my last time. Could I become a whore for my art again? Yes, I told myself. Maybe this time I’d even enjoy it a little.
The best years of my life were behind me, but I was still an attractive woman. Sex and lust remained weapons in my arsenal, and I felt powerful wielding them.
I stared up at Luke through half-lidded eyes, tacitly agreeing to whatever he wanted. His gaze washed over me, traveling across my forehead, sliding down the line of my nose, and coming to rest on my lips. I shivered in anticipation and perhaps excitement. When he drew in a tight breath, I moved forward, closing the gap between us.
There was no contact between our mouths. The heat from his body was gone as he dropped his hands and straightened. He looked utterly shocked. “Whoa, whoa, what are you doing?”
It was humiliating, but I was no stranger to that and wasn’t blinded by mortification. I saw his intent in the shadow of his victorious smile. I hadn’t read the situation wrong—this was him preying on weakness. It seemed he enjoyed doing that, not just in art, but in real life. This was him fucking with my head.
I nearly laughed at him. Oh, Mr. Rafferty. I’ve been playing this game far longer than you have.
I kept my chin up and my tone matter-of-fact. “You told me I could make it all go away.”
“I meant once you’ve fixed my sculpture.”
“Oh.” Did he expect me to be flustered? I smiled widely. “You don’t want to sleep with me?”
Surprise went through him like a bolt of lightning and was gone as quickly as it had appeared. It was replaced with distrust. “You’re in a world of trouble. And your plan is to, what? Seduce me?” He shifted closer and his deep voice went to a provocative whisper. “And then I’ll just forgive and forget what you’ve done?”
Once again he was over me, invading my space, and this time the air was charged. Heat and unexpected desire wrapped around me, cinching me tight as a straitjacket.
“I paid a lot of money for your artwork, Nikita. You must be quite confident in your skills in the bedroom.”
His tone was mocking, made my blood boil, and I wanted to shut him up. My fury clouded my judgement. This man toyed with me, but deep down, he also wanted me. Strangely, I wanted him too, if for nothing else but to take back my power. So, I latched a hand on the back of his neck and yanked his face down to mine, slamming my lips against his.
-6-
A noise of surprise came from Luke’s throat, and then his hands were on my face, his fingers sliding through my long blonde hair. I’d persuaded him in a single breath. His grip made it impossible to run, and easy to follow his lead.
I allowed him to tilt my head back so the angle was more comfortable and he could better kiss me. When he pressed his soft tongue against the seam of my lips, I welcomed him to thrust his tongue deep into my mouth.
I even allowed his possession of my mind.
He was supposed to push me away and call my bluff, not pull me closer. It felt like the world was spinning out of control, and for both of us, not only me.
He was strong. His hands were roughened, but gentle against my cheeks. I moved my lips in time with his, responding as I should when a man kissed me. However, I wasn’t prepared for the feeling of his tongue sliding against mine, or the noticeable throb that pulsed between my legs. I wasn’t prepared for the tidal wave of lust and want, which was burning me alive.
It was just our mouths meeting, tentative and exploratory at first. Then, his body pressed into me. His firm chest flattened against mine, and beneath my bra, I tightened and pebbled in response. He brought his hips square, so the lines of our bodies were flush, and I sighed.
Luke’s tongue slipped deeper into my mouth as his hands began to inch down my neck. I shuddered, thrilled with this new experience. I was Goldilocks. In the bedroom, the first boy I’d slept with had been timid, and Sidor had been too rough. Would Luke’s touch be just right?
“This won’t,” he said between rasps, “get me to ch
ange my mind. Just so we’re clear. If we do anything, it’s because we want to and that’s it.”
He moved so his knees were between my legs, and his body pressed against me from chest to groin. His hardening erection pushed against my belly, and it sent a shockwave of lust to my center. This man held sway over my art, my career, and my life, and yet I felt like I was the one in control. I was high on desire, which dulled my capacity to think or care about anything else. What difference did it make anyway? I always did the wrong thing.
His fingertips traced the neckline of my blouse, following the vee down between my cleavage, even as my chest was heaving. I was confident enough in my abilities, yet still nervous. His gentle, almost teasing touch and the hot mouth locked on my neck drew out a tremble.
I choked on a moan when he pushed the gauzy fabric to the side and dipped a hand inside the cup of my bra, his fingers twitching. The pulse between my thighs roared, building into an ache.
“Okay,” I gasped. “What do I have to do to change your mind?” For added effect, I eased my hand along the front of his shirt, down his notched abdominals, and crept over the bulge beneath the zipper of his jeans.
He jerked back from me so abruptly I almost fell over, and his expression was disappointment. “No. I told you, this is separate from that. No strings, or this isn’t happening.”
I wasn’t going to give up without a fight, especially when my body was tingling. “We only do it if we want to.”
“Yeah.”
I channeled the most seductive voice I could. “Fine. What do you want to do?”
His shoulders lifted on a heavy breath. His eyes said he didn’t trust me, but his desire won out. “I want you to get on your knees.”
A sticky lump grew in my throat, making it hard to swallow. I was eager to see how far this spark between us went and was terrified I’d imagined it. I lowered slowly to kneel on the wood floor. It was gorgeous but not soft. Last time I’d knelt on a hard floor, I’d been in a hospital room and changed the course of my life. Would I be able to save myself this time?
I kept my gaze on Luke’s back as he went to the large patio doors and shut them with a dull thud.
It was getting dark outside, cloaking the studio in shadows, and as he stalked toward me, I trembled so hard my knees squealed against the floor. His long, artistic fingers moved to the button of his jeans, undoing it with a tug. Then, his zipper rang out.
It was really happening.
My gaze crept steadily up from the fly of his jeans, over his tight white t-shirt that covered taut abs and developed muscle, until I reached his eyes. One step, then another, until his toes were against my knees. His expression was carnal. I wanted to capture it in my next project . . . if I ever got the chance to create another piece.
Luke said nothing, not that he needed to. I understood what he desired. For the first time in my life, I wanted it too. He’d undone his jeans, but they stayed in place, hugging his hips. He reached for me, skimming the tip of his index finger across my forehead, tracing it along my hairline, down until he cupped my cheek in his palm, his thumb pressed to my parted lips.
His finger slid inside my mouth. Just to the first bony knuckle, and then it retreated so he could drag the wet pad of his thumb across my lips. It pressed inside my mouth once more, this time all the way in, and I felt him flat against my tongue. Our gazes were locked on each other.
The man I kneeled before looked so intense and determined I was grateful not to be standing. Luke had me bound and restrained far more than the few times I’d allowed my husband to do it physically. These invisible bindings were stronger than the steel handcuffs and restraints chained to my waist I’d worn when leaving the courthouse years ago, and far more pleasant.
He seemed to have difficulty focusing when I closed my lips around his thumb and sucked. His eyes hooded, and his chest rose in a deep breath.
“I’m going to paint this,” he whispered. “The feeling of this moment.”
I pulled back off his thumb, startled. “I had the same thought.”
The corner of his mouth lifted in a smile, but it grew serious as I took his thumb in my mouth again. This time I simulated exactly what I’d do if he let me. The throb between my thighs grew out of control. I felt foolish and wicked, but not enough to stop.
My hands, resting on my thighs, tensed into fists as he dug his free hand inside his underwear and began to stroke himself. If I was going to stop him, I had to do it now. Once he was in my mouth, I couldn’t backtrack. It couldn’t be undone.
It was quiet from him. “I’m not going to destroy your sculpture.”
It was as if he’d injected relief into my bloodstream. Everything in me relaxed, and when the tension was gone, something dark and hungry took over. I fisted the sides of his jeans and underwear, and tugged down, releasing his erection. It jutted out from his body, hard and reaching for me.
Did he notice my hand shook when I grabbed him at the base? I was a mixture of nerves and something which felt very much like excitement. In the past, I’d never enjoy pleasuring a man orally. It felt dirty, and . . . too intimate. Much more so then letting him in my body, because at least that act had purpose. Taking him in my mouth was only for pleasure, and only for his pleasure.
However, I’d emerged from prison a changed woman. Perhaps this new version was more sexually confident. Maybe I could peel at the corner of the “robot” label my husband had slapped on me.
Luke’s hand retreated from my mouth and snaked to the back of my head, urging me forward. I claimed the tip of his length between my lips, squeezing my eyes shut tight. He sighed as I slid further along, widening my mouth to accommodate. He was long and thick, and tasted faintly of salty sweat.
He shuddered as I drew back off him, and the hand behind my head nudged forward. It wasn’t something I particularly liked, and I pushed it away. I was on my knees, begging and groveling in a way I hadn’t done before, and that was all the vulnerability I was willing to give to him. I’d expected to be disgusted, as I usually was when servicing a man, yet . . . I felt only the ache in my center and the dampness which clung between my legs.
“Fuck.” His voice was as dark as the room had become.
I shivered.
His fingers twisted in my hair, tugging at the roots, speeding me along. My brow wrinkled in frustration. I wanted him to be easier, gentler, and stop battling me for control, but I also didn’t want him to stop. Luke’s soft moan punctured the quiet, and I could feel the vocalization on my skin. It reverberated down my spine.
I struggled to rasp air in through my nose as I kept up with the pace he requested. He had his grip tangled in my hair and moved his other hand to hold himself steady as he thrust into my mouth. Behind my closed eyelids, my eyes began to water. His dick surged deep into the back of my throat, causing me to clench tighter on the sides of his undone jeans.
Just as the words began to bubble up from my throat for him to stop, he slowed. His languid strokes were more manageable, and not at all unpleasant. He was hard and pulsing on my tongue, mirroring the heartbeat racing in my own chest.
“I want you topless,” he whispered. It wasn’t an order. It came as a desperate plea, which threw me further off balance. I’d had demanding, and I’d had silent, when it came to partners. The in-between was new and welcomed. Could I give in to his request?
I sat back on my heels and stared up at him as he retreated from my mouth, his dick shiny with my saliva. I crossed my arms, curled my trembling hands on the hem of my top and drew the fabric up, stretching upward until I was free of it and cast it aside.
But that was as far as I could go. Nerves locked me up until my muscles refused to respond. I was already so exposed. It didn’t seem to matter to Luke. His gaze traced the curves of my breasts encased in a simple white bra, and his lips parted to gulp down a huge breath. He stared at me, a man who’d been thirsty for days and only I could quench his thirst. My face heated with a flus
h.
He gripped the sides of his jeans and hiked them back up on his waist but left them unzipped.
It was stunning when he sank to his knees before me and repeated the action I’d just done. His arms crossed, and his large hands yanked at the white cotton, freeing his body from his t-shirt and tossing it away with force. He was all tanned, smooth skin, like he spent more of his time surfing than creating his art.
I inhaled sharply when his warm arms wrapped around me and located the clasp of my bra. His mouth locked onto mine urgently. I’d wanted this to be a simple transaction: I took him in my mouth to completion, and then we renegotiated what to do regarding my sculpture. But now he was on his knees as I was, equal, and he seemed just as much of a slave as I was to the unexpected pull between us.
I moaned against his lush mouth and sank into his arms like a woman possessed. He was a stranger who could end my career and send me back to hell. Why was I consenting to this? Why in the world was I enjoying this?
Why did it feel like I wouldn’t survive without it?
My bra went slack, and the straps fell from my shoulders. I let him fist the center of it and tug it free from my arms, but I was a panting disaster. It was embarrassing, the sounds coming from me and how my sex-starved body arched into his touch, willing him to fill his greedy palms with my naked flesh.
His hands roved from one side to the other as if painting lust on my body. I fought to quiet the yelp as he tweaked a nipple, pulling it with a tug of discomfort but that doused me with heat. I was dizzy and out of breath, drunk off the sensation as he pressed his bare chest to mine. His soft, warm skin against mine made me delirious.
Luke’s kiss shifted from sweet to commanding in a single breath. He sucked my bottom lip into his mouth and bit down, nipping at me. It wasn’t hard, but there was a faint edge of pain, and it intensified the tug of desire low in my belly.
Before, I’d wanted pain and pleasure to stay separate. I believed pain had no place in my bedroom, and yet that was mostly what I got. I’d been pinned down, and tied up, and done things I wasn’t interested in. I’d even tried it Sidor’s way once. Not all that much, but I’d made an effort, wondering if playing the role of submissive was the key to my enjoyment. It wasn’t—it had only ended in disappointment.
