Looking Inside

by BETH KERY

  “It’s fabulous. All of it. Is that a Lichtenstein?” she asked breathlessly, pointing at an original painting.

  “Yes.”

  “And a Stella? And a Paschke . . .” she murmured in awe.

  “You know your art.”

  “I have degrees in art history and textile preservation,” she said dazedly as she walked the length of the room. The painting over the soaring ivory marble fireplace caught her eye and she wandered over to it in wonderment. “And I love this Hearn of the blues musicians. Is it an original?”

  “Yes. Jeanine gave it to me when TalentNet showcased her work several years ago.”

  She glanced back to where he stood at the far side of the room. He just watched her soberly, his expression giving nothing away. Eleanor had met Jeanine Hearn, the painter, at an exhibit the museum did featuring young and upcoming Illinois artists. Hearn was extremely pretty and disgustingly talented. Not only was she a renowned artist, she was also a violin virtuoso, thus her favorite topic for her paintings: musicians at work. She was precisely the kind of woman Eleanor could easily picture with Trey.

  She also had a pretty good idea that Hearn had given Trey the painting for reasons beyond jumpstarting her career.

  It was intimidating, to think of the brilliant, beautiful women he’d known . . . the ones he’d slept with. How would he think she measured up: boring, bookish Eleanor Briggs?

  “Come here, Eleanor.”

  She turned slowly, fully facing him. He looked beautiful and somber standing there, his face shadowed and grim with determination. Looking into his eyes at that moment, she knew it didn’t matter if he potentially gave her a low grade for her lovemaking. At least in the moment, it didn’t matter. With him, she played the part so well. She became someone other than Eleanor, someone more interesting and exciting. Liberated. The only thing she could think of in those seconds was finally touching him. She dreaded the idea of disappointing him, but she feared the idea of missing her chance to be with him even more.

  She started toward him, her lungs tight. He moved in her direction, their paces increasing as they drew nearer.

  They crashed together. His arms closed around her, bringing her flush against him. His mouth seized hers in unapologetic possession.

  Finally, she knew his strength. Finally, she was drowning in it.

  He inundated her, his scent, his taste, his bold, ravenous kiss, the sensation of his spread hands moving up and down along her waist and her sides, his fingers delving into the flesh of her hip and into her back. He intoxicated her. She grew dizzy on him. He plunged his tongue deep, exploring her thoroughly, drinking his fill and sucking on her subtly. She felt that pull all the way to her sex.

  His opened hands moved hungrily along the side of her body, cupping her flesh, detailing her shape unerringly. She felt small in his big hands. Feminine. Beautiful. His palms skimmed the sides of her breasts, and she moaned shakily into his kiss. Suddenly he sealed their mouths and muttered a rough curse.

  “No bra. I’ve been wondering all night,” he said, plucking at her lips with focused hunger. She smiled when she saw his small, wry grin, but he didn’t stop kissing her or pause in his explorations. He cradled her breasts and massaged her gently. She felt his cock jerk against her lower belly. His eyes glittered down at her. “God, you’re firm. So nice,” he breathed out, his rough, awed voice causing her nipples to shrink tighter and the little hairs on the back of her neck to stand on end.

  His hands shifted, and suddenly he was finding the tab of the zipper at her neck. He drew it down to the top of her buttocks in one swift, sure motion. His expression grim, he pushed the romper off her shoulders, peeling it off her arms and down to her hips. He let it drop and the fabric slithered down her ass and thighs and past her knees. He backed up several inches, his stare scorching her.

  She was naked now, save for the thigh-highs and boots and the bunched romper at her ankles. She’d never been so aware of every patch of her skin in her life as she was at that moment. Her lungs hitched, making her breasts rise in the air. One of his spread hands glided along the indentation of her waist and hip, and the other cradled a breast, shaping the flesh to his palm. She grew mesmerized by his enthrallment.

  “Jesus, Eleanor. You’re so beautiful,” he said, sounding stunned. Gratified? Then his expression darkened. “You showed up at those reading events, wearing nothing but your gorgeous skin and some skimpy, clinging fabric. You’ve really got nerve, you know that?”

  Her breath froze in her lungs when she saw the glitter in his eyes. He wasn’t particularly happy with her about that fact. Horny because of it, yes, but not happy. She didn’t have the opportunity to try to plead her case, because suddenly, he dropped to his knees in front of her.

  She cried out shakily in surprise. He pressed his face to her belly and pulled her tighter against him with his hands at her back. His hot mouth moved, scorching her, sending shivers of pleasure along her skin and down her spine. She trembled, overwhelmed by his erotic adoration. His lips skimmed the sensitive strip of skin just above her sex. He nuzzled the top of her mound, making her cry out helplessly. She delved her fingers into his thick hair. He planted his lips at the crevice of her shaved labia and inhaled, catching her scent.

  “Trey,” she muttered, awed at his boldness. Increasingly desperate.

  “It’s okay,” he soothed, his warm breath feathering her outer sex. He rose slightly, running his lips along her hipbone, back and forth, back and forth, as though he were memorizing the sensation of her against his mouth. Eleanor knew he probably could feel her quaking. “I’ve never felt skin this smooth. This soft. God you smell good.”

  He rose in front of her, and she glimpsed his face. His somber expression barely cloaked a primal edge that sent a thrill through her.

  Jesus. What kind of storm did I brew up?

  He reached for her. He gathered her naked body to him, and her feet left the carpet. The romper slipped past her boots and fell to the floor. He swung her into his arms, muscles flexing hard, and she was reminded of his sexual boldness and displays of raw strength. But now, she was the focus of it. The room flew past the periphery of her vision. His face eclipsed her entire awareness.

  “You’re going to be all mine,” he told her.

  I already am, she thought wildly. She dug her fingers into his hair and brought him to her mouth for a kiss, forcing him to halt in a long, dim hallway. He made a rough sound in his throat, accepting her invitation. Their tongues tangled. He was delicious. She was reminded she must get her fill now.

  This could be her one and only night with him.

  The thought amplified her hunger. She deepened the kiss, pulling him tighter to her. He dropped her legs and her boots hit the floor with a clunking sound. She found herself pressed between Trey and the wall. He leaned down over her, a dark, demanding shadow, feeding from her with a single-minded fury that she loved. The noise of her heartbeat pounding in her ears mingled with their moans. His hands moved along her sides, owning her nakedness, stroking the curves of her hips, the indentation of her waist, her ribs and the sensitive sides of her breasts.

  Suddenly, it struck her as unbearable that he could touch her nude body at will while he still wore his clothing. She wrenched her hands between their pressing torsos, her fingers frantically searching for the buttons of his shirt. She found one and yanked it through the opening, but suddenly his hands were on her wrists. He spread her arms in a wide V-shape and pressed them against the wall. He wasn’t rough with her, but he was firm. She couldn’t move.

  “Not now. You’re about to make me come in my jeans,” he muttered tensely against her lips. Her heart soared at his words, and then his mouth was tracing a molten path down her neck, pausing to flick his tongue over her pulse. Eleanor moaned, her desperation mounting. He bent to kiss and lick at the skin of her chest. Pinned against the wall like she was, she stared down
at him, helplessly aroused. His lips brushed against the top curve of her breast. Her nipples pulled so tight they hurt.

  “Trey,” she entreated.

  He slicked his warm, wet tongue over a nipple, and her legs almost gave way. Maybe he sensed her trembling, because he let go of her wrists and grasped her rib cage, holding her firmly against the wall for his erotic assault. His mouth closed over a nipple, encasing her in his heat. She gasped. Her head banged softly against the wall. His mouth felt velvety warm. Firm. Insistent.

  He sucked on her, then laved her nipple with his tongue. She felt his fire, knew his honest, pure hunger firsthand. She grabbed at his head, her hips shifting restlessly, needy for pressure against her sex. His hands moved to the sides of her breasts. He pushed the mounds together as he released her nipple. He pressed his face between her breasts and made a thrilling, feral growling sound. His hands were so matter-of-fact on her, shaping her flesh masterfully, any way he wanted it. He dipped his head, sucking the other protruding nipple into his hot mouth, drawing on her with a single-minded purpose that knocked the wind out of her lungs.

  In that moment, Eleanor knew for certain that she’d been foolish in teasing Trey Riordan. But even that misgiving thrilled her to the core.

  His hands went to her hips, lifting her effortlessly again. This time, he carried her with her front pressed to his, high up on his body, so that her gaze matched his. She dipped her head, his mouth calling to her.

  “Don’t, Eleanor. You’re making me fucking crazy. At this rate, I’ll never make it to the bed,” he said sharply, and she stilled herself. Then he was lowering her, and the back of her thighs and ass hit a mattress.

  At last, she was in Trey’s bed.

  “Lie back,” he said, his tone grim. She looked up at him, half in trepidation, half in lust.

  Now she was going to have to face the consequences of torturing him.

  —

  A flash of guilt went through him when he saw her flinch slightly at his harsh demand. He couldn’t help it. He’d never been this primed for a woman. There was something about her that went beyond her firm, svelte curves, exotic features and eyes he could drown himself in. She was so fresh. So unexpectedly honest in her passion.

  And her taste—he’d like to see how long he could survive subsisting solely on her, three meals a day, afternoon and midnight snacks . . . maybe he’d never stop eating—

  A loud roar started in his ears at his erotic thoughts while staring down at Eleanor lying on his bed, naked, save for those sexy stockings and boots. The curtains were open, allowing in enough light from the city for him to see the paleness of her skin against the dark blue of his bedspread and her high, full breasts rising and falling so enticingly, such delicate, mouthwatering prey. He lunged toward the bedside table and flipped on the lamp to a dim setting. There was no way in hell he was going to miss any detail of this.

  Her nipples were dark pink in color. They glistened from his mouth. The areolas puckered incredibly tight. She was extremely responsive. They’d been so hard and distended beneath his tongue. He resisted an urge to fall on her like a wild animal.

  “There’s no one in your condo who can look over and watch while I have you, is there?” he asked her sardonically. He tore his stare off the intensely erotic vision of her naked, flushed labia. She’d strike him dead from an overdose of lust. He forced himself to attend to the mechanics of undressing.

  He realized she looked confused by his statement.

  “The curtains are open,” he clarified. Even the rote task of undressing was nearly impossible with her lying there, her naked skin gleaming, breasts heaving slightly as she panted, her large eyes shining with excitement. She leaned up on her elbows, dragging her gaze off him, and glanced over her shoulder at the window. All was dark in her condo across the way.

  “Oh . . . no.” She faced him. “I live alone.”

  “That’s good to hear,” he muttered dryly.

  He discarded his shirt, feeling her gaze move down over him. He grit his teeth, annoyed at the response he had to her eyes on his naked skin. One of his shoes skidded several feet under the bed, he’d kicked it off so forcefully. He lifted a foot and ripped off one sock, then the other, tripping slightly on the second one because he couldn’t take his stare off her.

  His cock plagued him. He couldn’t think about anything else but finding blissful relief in that sweet little pussy. He watched her, gritting his teeth as he tore open the button fly of his jeans and jerked them off his body. By the time he drew the waistband of his boxer brief out and over his erection, he was wincing in agony.

  His freed cock fell forward, heavy and hurting.

  Now naked, he opened the bedside drawer to retrieve a condom. He glanced over his shoulder. She was checking out his ass and cock in profile with what he could only call openmouthed wonder. Her unguarded appreciation made his cock jump up in the air. He fisted himself, wincing at the sharp tug of lust she’d inspired.

  “Move back on the bed, honey. Spread those beautiful legs.”

  She looked a little startled, but her golden green eyes definitely glowed with arousal. He planted his feet, his cock still in his hand, and watched her as she scooted back on his bed and opened her thighs. God, she was gorgeous. That smooth, golden skin, those succulent breasts, those long, long legs . . . and oh Jesus. That pussy. He pumped his fist, stroking himself more strenuously. She watched him with wide eyes. He halted, letting his cock go.

  “No more coming alone while you torture me, Eleanor.”

  “Did you . . . come?” Her voice trembled. “Last night?”

  “Do you honestly think a straight man could have watched you and not come?” he asked her bluntly.

  She didn’t reply, and he was too abuzz from lust to decode the expression on her face at that moment. He rolled the condom onto his cock. It felt like he was going to burst through his skin, he was so hard. He scrambled onto the bed between her opened legs.

  “I’m afraid this first time is going to have to be hard and fast,” he said. He glanced up at her as he took his cock into one hand. “That’s a natural consequence of teasing me mercilessly.”

  Her lips parted and the color in her cheeks mounted. If he’d had his guess, he’d say she’d been turned on by him saying that. Would miracles never cease?

  “Open your legs farther,” he instructed. “Good. Now reach above your head and grasp your wrists. Don’t let go.”

  “Ever?” she asked incredulously.

  “Not until we’re done. I’m going to own you right now, honey. Not the other way around.”

  She did what he’d demanded with gratifying eagerness. The position stretched the skin tight across her rib cage and thrust her breasts forward.

  “God, you’re so pretty. Open wider, Eleanor.”

  Her long, slightly bent legs slid along his suede bedspread until she was practically doing the splits. He recalled vividly her flexibility from the night of her striptease. Tonight, with her spread out before him like a wanton feast, he could see every jaw-dropping detail of what had previously been denied him.

  He made a rough sound in his throat and inched forward on the bed, drawn irrevocably. He reached between her thighs, feeling her wetness. Her softness. Brutal arousal sliced through him. He moved his hand in a taut circular motion, stimulating her outer sex. She cried out in excitement, but his gaze remained fixed on what he was doing. Such a pretty, pink pussy. He used his middle finger to penetrate her while he rubbed her clit with the ridge of his thumb. A groan ripped his throat. It was like pushing his finger into a squeezing channel lined with warm honey.

  “Ah Jesus,” he muttered, crazed by the sensation. He might want this to be a fast, hard ride for the first time, but she was so small. He’d have to either be patient or cruel. Trey may be many things, but he wasn’t the latter.

  Time to see if all that control
he was supposedly learning in his tai chi lessons actually worked.

  Her hips twisted on the mattress. He glanced up at her whimper.

  “You okay?” he asked, all the while massaging her outer sex with the lower part of his palm and plunging his finger deep.

  “God, yes,” she whispered.

  “Because you’re very small. You haven’t done this in a while?” he asked, puzzled. Concerned.

  The color in her cheeks deepened. He’d embarrassed her with his bluntness.

  “I don’t want to hurt you.”

  “You’re not hurting me. It feels so good.” He could feel her flesh trembling around him. He pressed his finger deep and circled his palm. She gasped, opening her flushed, pink lips wide. He thought of plunging his tongue between them while he did the same with his cock into the tight, slippery sheath of her pussy.

  “Fuck me, Trey.”

  Her whisper clung in the air between them, locking his lungs. He inched forward, his cock in one hand. It wasn’t a request he was capable of resisting. He leaned down over her, supporting himself with one arm. She watched as he moved his swollen cockhead in her smooth, wet sex. He stroked the cleft between her labia, stimulating her clit. She twisted her hips, her moan sounding frantic.

  “Hold still.”

  She stopped thrashing, biting her lower lip while he continued to move his cockhead in her cleft.

  “You’re nice and wet,” he said gruffly, glancing up into her strained face. “Did you get wet for me there at the reading event? Or were you turned on by your book?”