But all it took was a small moan from her as he planted a kiss on her inner thigh to reignite his all-consuming desire. In a flash, he was standing as his hands flew to his belt. He was free within seconds. He pulled her up off the ground, wrapping her legs around him, and kicked away her dress. Holding her up by her ass—that perfect ass—he held her against the wall, and slid into her, with a sigh. It was as if he’d never left.
She let out a soft “yesss” lingering on the end as he began to move inside of her. She tangled her hands in his hair, her voice growing stronger with each thrust as he pumped in and out with quick strokes. He had no desire to try and control himself. He had needed this for months. His pace quickened to match her mounting moans of pleasure, the pounding rhythm bringing them closer and closer to the edge.
As she cried out his name, he could feel her trembling release tighten around him. His own was only seconds away. With a shuddering groan, he could feel himself empty inside of her. A sweet feeling of relief overpowered him.
Breathless, he supported himself on the wall with two hands, her arms and legs still wrapped around him. Their ragged breathing was the only sound in the vast hallway. He took in the beauty of her face through the dim moonlight coming through the windows.
How could he have ever thought he would be okay without her? This perfect goddess who was everything he needed? He leaned in to kiss her gently on her collarbone, tracing a line with his nose up her neck to place another lightly on her lips. She slowly put her feet on the floor. He pulled out of her reluctantly but kept their bodies as close as possible. He felt her shiver slightly against the wall.
“I...” His voice was barely above a whisper. What did he want to say? I love you? Was that what he was feeling? It couldn’t be. “I’m glad Helena wasn’t at dinner tonight.”
He felt the rumble of her body beneath his as she chuckled.
“So am I,” she breathed, the air hot on his neck. He felt himself grow hard again. He knew that this didn’t guarantee she wouldn’t leave again in the morning. Tonight might be all he got with her, and he planned on taking as much as she wanted to give him. He’d have to think of some way to get her to stay without admitting something he wasn’t totally sure about.
Without another word, he scooped her up in his arms and took her to a room she’d never seen before. She’d asked him for everything earlier. She was going to get it.
Stella breathed in the familiar smell of Anton’s sheets: surprisingly flowery for such a dark and masculine man. It was his softer, artist side she liked to think. Or just a maid who liked that brand of laundry detergent. The smell mixed with the sweat and sex of the previous night invaded her senses before she even opened her eyes. There was something else there. A powdery, sharp smell she didn’t recognize.
She opened her eyes and saw they were not, as she’d assumed, in his penthouse apartment. They were at the house, tucked away in the bedroom closest to his studio in the back. She sat there frozen, the sheets pulled tight around her. What were they doing here?
She’d only been here once, briefly, when he’d needed to get a specific shirt for an evening out. She had been so pleased at the tiny glimpse into his artist’s world that he usually kept so private. Now here she was.
They must have had more wine than she realized for him to bring her here. It was closer to the restaurant, but she also vaguely remembered asking him, as they were tangled up in each other in his car, to show her everything.
“Everything?” he’d breathed, his tongue tracing a path from her ear down her neck.
“I want to see everything,” she’d whispered boldly, her hands pressing eagerly into the bulge beneath his belt buckle.
At the time, she thought she’d meant to see his body, there in the car, which they had never done before. The discretion of his drivers and privacy partition notwithstanding, they’d never dared anything quite that intimate in a moving vehicle. There was always the risk of someone seeing past the tinted windows.
He’d merely smiled and yelled an instruction to the driver that she hadn’t caught, assuming he’d told him to ignore whatever they were about to do. She’d moaned in pleasure as he’d slipped a hand underneath her top. His hand cupped her breast and pinched her nipple first softly, then harder. She could feel herself growing wet with need as his mouth reached down to suck softly through the thin fabric of her dress.
Suddenly, the car stopped, and his mouth was gone. She wanted to pout, her fantasy of having him take her there in the car cut short.
Her disappointment at not getting what she thought she wanted was quickly forgotten as he’d pulled her out of the car and through a doorway into a darkened hallway. She’d been lost in pleasure after that, remembering only the feel of his hands and tongue everywhere, followed by the intensity of her climaxes. There’d been one right there in the hallway and then two—no three—in the familiar yet unfamiliar bed she now found herself in.
Anton walked in clothed in an old t-shirt splattered with paint, and a worn pair of sweatpants. She’d never seen him so casually dressed. He was always meticulous about how he looked. She felt a rumble of something inside, seeing him so unguarded.
His face broke into a smile when he saw that she was awake.
“Good morning.” He crawled up the length of the bed to where she lay, and planted a long, slow kiss on her mouth. She reached down, eager to see where this was headed, but she felt his hands stop hers. He pulled out of the kiss with another smile.
“I want to show you something.”
She tilted her head, brow furrowed. This was the new Anton again. The one that seemed interested in more. Her heartbeat sped up as she took in his serious yet hopeful expression.
“Come here.” He held out a hand, and she grabbed the tangled sheet from the bed to wrap around her naked body. It trailed along behind her as he led her down the hall. She nearly stopped breathing when she realized where they were headed.
They were going into his studio.
Chapter 13
As Anton observed Stella walking slowly around his studio, the shift he felt the previous night was starting to slip away at her hesitant and careful examination of what she saw in front of her.
He had realized it at some point during the night, but it must have started weeks—or even months—earlier. The need he felt for her was stronger than physical. It was bordering on something he’d only ever felt when wrapped up entirely in his work. After the initial feeling of victory of having her once again in his bed had passed, he was overcome with a feeling of peace, of rightness. He’d been so lost without her, his muse, and he needed to do whatever it took to get her to stay.
Which was why he was so unsettled by her reaction.
He thought she’d be happy to see his studio. She’d asked once or twice in their early weeks together to see it but she never pushed too hard, so he assumed she wasn’t interested in that part of his life. Which was fine by him. She had been filling a certain role in his life that didn’t require her understanding or appreciation for what he created.
But what else could she have meant the night before by “everything”? This was everything there was to him. And he’d given it. So why was he suddenly feeling like it had been a huge mistake?
The look on her face was impossible to read. She’d barely said a word since they came through the door other than “hmm” and “oh!” She was there, surrounded by the proof of how she inspired him and yet she didn’t seem happy at all. Her face was blank, her lips turned slightly down as she walked around the enormous space.
She was beautiful, her hair shining in the sunlight streaming in through the large windows that took up nearly three full walls. She shivered slightly under the sheet she had draped around her. He went to the couch in the corner to grab a blanket for her. He didn’t often notice how cold it got in here. He kept some of the windows open so that the smell of the paints and other chemicals didn’t get too powerful.
“Some things are already at the gallery,” he said. �
��We can go there later if you want. There’s an opening tonight for a painter I know.”
He said this last part softly as he wrapped the blanket around her shoulders, not sure she’d say yes. She’d never been to one of the openings with him before. To be fair, he’d never invited her. She knew about them though, and again, he assumed if she were interested she’d ask. This separation of their lives hadn’t bothered him before last night. It’s what he’d always wanted. Or at least, it’s what he’d thought he wanted.
“I’d like that,” she said, her voice just as soft. She turned her gaze to him and her wide blue eyes were intense.
He felt a sudden tightness in his chest. He hadn’t realized he’d been holding his breath waiting for her reply. He let it out in a soft whoosh. A smile slowly spread across his face. He felt brave enough to ask her another question. A more important one.
“So… what do you think?”
She was standing next to his most recent work, a collage with fabric and paint in a blue that was more familiar to him than the color of the sky. Would she notice how it matched her eyes exactly?
“It’s all really great, Anton,” she said. Her voice was strangely flat.
Now the tightness was something else. Anxiety began to creep up his chest and take hold of him.
Why did he suddenly care so much what she thought? Just because he’d realized how important she was to him last night didn’t mean her feelings had changed. She’d been the one to end things last time. She could still turn around and tell him the same thing this morning.
“This one.” She reached out a hand, and he lurched forward, as if to stop her. A small smile appeared on her lips at his movement. Her hand hovered a few inches away. “It makes me think of dancing.”
Anton smiled as well. The twisting shapes that curved around each other were indeed inspired by dance. Maybe she understood more than he realized. She had been a dancer, after all, a fact he often forget despite her flexible body. She never seemed to talk about it other than brief mentions of events for her ballet charities. Never as an invitation, just as reasons she couldn’t meet up on a particular night.
“It’s you,” he said softly, coming up behind her to wrap his arms around her. He placed his chin on her shoulder as they looked at the small canvas together. “This is all you, Stella. The way you move, the way you feel… I’m so inspired by you.”
There, he’d said it. The tightness in his chest lifted a bit at the confession. He wanted to turn her around and see her reaction but was afraid the confusion he’d seen earlier would still be there. He chose instead to begin kissing along the side of her neck, and she leaned it in the opposite direction to give him access to more skin.
“Do you really like it?” he whispered, his heart beating faster. The approval he didn’t know he’d needed was intoxicating.
“Of course.” She turned to face him. She took his face in her small hands and kissed him gently on the mouth. “I’ve always thought you were talented, Anton. I know I don’t show my emotions that easily, but believe me. I know how big a deal this is, showing me your studio. Thank you. I love... it.”
She learned in for a kiss as warm relief flooded through him.
Anton had often overwhelmed Stella in the past, but this was more than physical. The love she’d felt inklings of at the restaurant was now in full bloom in his studio. She was his inspiration.
“This neck,” he was murmuring, as he nipped and kissed his way down it, “is in countless paintings.”
He was slowly guiding her through the maze of his creations towards a small couch in a shadowy corner.
“This hair,” he said, running his hands through it, bunching it in his fist, bringing it to his nose to inhale deeply. “Captures the sun in a way I can only lamely imitate with my bronze.”
They had arrived at the couch. She turned to look up at him and sank into it, her eyes never leaving his. They stared deep into hers, and she swallowed hard. She’d never seen him look like her that way. She’d almost said the words out loud just a few minutes before, but was afraid he wouldn’t say them back. His eyes gave her hope that maybe he was thinking the same thing.
“Seeing you here, in this space, is incredible.” He leaned over her, pulling off the blanket he’d placed there earlier along with the sheet she’d bunched around her torso. The heat from his body was more than enough to light every nerve ending on hers on fire. “It’s like seeing you walk out of a painting into real life.”
If she was being totally honest with herself, none of it made much sense and it was borderline cheesy. But she turned off the side of herself that needed everything to make sense and drank it in, letting the words wash over her.
He shook his head as she reached for the drawstring on his pants and the hardness outlined so clearly beneath.
“I want this to be for you,” he said. “I want to see you come slowly, surrounded by endless reflections of your beauty.”
Stella had no words left. She merely nodded, closed her eyes and lay back, eager beyond anything she’d ever felt before. Anton took his time, his mouth making his way all the way down her legs before slowly inching back up. His nose briefly nuzzled the small tuft of hair at the apex of her thighs before placing his mouth over her mound.
His tongue was gentle at first, tracing the edges of her sex lightly while his hot breath warmed the entire area. She relaxed back into the cushions of the couch, her legs hanging loosely over his shoulders.
Then, he added a single finger inside of her to start to gradually build the heat. His tongue kept circling her clit, and her heels began to dig into his back with each new spasm of pleasure. A second finger followed the first, as he began to suck and pull harder. His fingers set a pace that alternated between maddeningly slow and lighting fast, nearly bringing her to the edge before dropping back again. Before long, she was panting. Only moans and mumbled words escaped her lips.
Finally, she was at the edge, her hands pushing against the couch, hips bucking to meet his tongue. She could feel herself tighten uncontrollably around his fingers as they slid in and out of her hot, wet center. A cry burst forth from the moans, and she was lost in a swirling and intense pleasure.
After several minutes of the sound of their rapid breathing slowing, she felt him slowly stand and swing her legs around so she was lying on the couch instead of sitting. She fluttered her eyes open to see him perched on his knees in between her legs, his shirt and pants in a pile on the floor. He placed his hands on either side of her head and leaned over her, rock hard and ready to enter. Mere inches above hers, his face was drawn and eager.
“More,” was all she managed with a small nod, and a look of relief swept across his face.
He slid into her effortlessly, her orgasm having left her wet and ready. He pulled out slowly, so slowly, and she reached up to push against the arm of the couch, trying to get him back inside.
“No,” his breathed, shaking his head with a small smile. “I want this to last forever.”
She let herself go and enjoy the slow, leisurely pace that he set, her heart rate almost returning to normal. His hands were everywhere, caressing with a gentleness that was borderline reverent. Each long thrust of his body reverberated inside of her down to her toes. It seemed to last for hours.
Then, slowly, the heat began to build as his rhythm increased. The thrusts became shorter, harder. His hot breath on her neck came in quick bursts. A soft sound of pleasure escaped her lips that seemed to urge him on faster. The pressure had built at such a slow pace, she teetered on the edge each time he plunged into her. She lifted her hips to take him deeper inside, not wanting to wait any longer for release. He let out a low groan.
“Shit, Stella, you’re so goddamn beautiful.”
Her only reply was her second cry of the morning as she felt herself explode once again around his pounding rhythm, his own moans mingling with hers as he reached his own edge.
Breathless, he collapsed on top of her, their bodies slic
k with sweat. After a few minutes to catch their breaths, Stella reached down and pulled the blanket on top of them.
“I really like it in your studio,” she said with a smile. “Can we stay a little longer?”
She felt a chuckle rumble through him, his body still pressed against hers.
“We can stay forever if you want.”
She paused, and took a breath before whispering her reply.
“I do.”
Chapter 14
Anton was surprised at how excited he was to have Stella with him at Franc’s opening. All that resisting for the past few years seemed so ridiculous now. Especially after last night... and this morning.
He loved the way that everyone looked at her when she walked in on his arm. She was by far the sexiest woman there. Her confidence and her grace were impeccable. She was born to be a countess; that much was clear. Could she be a princess one day? He quickly brushed aside the thought, but it kept coming back as he looked around the room.
Half the women were waif-like anemics with sycophantic attachment to the different artists and nobles there. The other half belonged to the grungy counter culture that he felt comfortable with but could practically see his parents—and the press—overreacting if he ever went down that road. He’d been tempted once or twice by both options, but he didn’t think he’d want to go down any other road than the one Stella was on now.
“Anton, so happy you could make it,” Marcella was stationed near the door taking note of who was attending.
“Of course. You know Lady Stella Van Der Ness.” Marcella flushed slightly at the use of Stella’s full title, knowing she’d made an error in addressing him so informally. “I was actually wondering if you’d have a moment tonight to show Lady Stella some of my work in the back that you’re preparing for my show next month.”
“Certainly, Your Highness,” Marcella inclined her head slightly and held out and arm. “I can take her now if you’d like.”
A Royal Decision Page 6
