White-Hot and Hard

by Catherine Chernow

“You’re a fucking bastard.”

  “I am, Sloan. I am. And for that, I’m sorry.”

  He pushed in then out, his strokes short and fierce. He slipped his hands down the front of her dress, tweaking her nipples gently with his thumb and forefinger. Then he moved them back to her pussy. He stroked her there until she was mindless with need.

  Her senses were on red alert, heightened so much that she felt every move Dallen made deep in her soul.

  She shuddered, coming hard, the breath caught and held in her chest.

  She collapsed on the bed with him on top of her.

  Oh how she had missed this. This warm, wonderful feeling of joining with Dallen. That was the only way she could describe it. They didn’t just have sex, they joined, as if some unseen power held them close and wouldn’t let go.

  Maybe it was the power of art mingling with love.

  Love.

  It never lasted. She had to remember that. Love only broke your heart.

  “Get off me.”

  He didn’t move.

  “I said,” she repeated, “get the hell off me.”

  He pulled out, making her sorry she’d said anything.

  She heard him fasten his pants and zip them up. Sloan rolled to her side, not bothering to pull her dress down, her pussy on display.

  “That was fun.”

  He blinked once. “I…what in hell are you talking about?”

  “It was fun. A good fuck. I needed that. Thanks, Dallen.” She rose from the bed.

  He pushed her back down. “Oh no you don’t.” He ground his pelvis against hers. “You’re not pulling that shit. I’m not letting you get away. We’re going to work this out.”

  “We just did. I feel fit as a fiddle.” She sneered. “Now get out of here. Don’t come back.”

  “You don’t mean that.”

  “I do. It feels great.”

  He studied her for a few seconds. “Okay, I deserve that, only don’t say you don’t want me back.”

  “I may be stuck with you professionally, but I don’t need you in my personal life to fuck things up. I’m better off without you.”

  He shook his head. “No one’s better off alone.”

  She lifted her chin. “I’ll go back to James and Lee. They’d take me anytime.”

  Instead of the anger she hoped to arouse in him, all that remained was a look of hurt on his face.

  “I’m sure they would, Sloan.”

  He turned on his heel and walked toward the door. Laying a hand on the knob, he looked back one last time and said, “They’d be fools not to.”

  He walked out and shut the door.

  The click sounded very loud…

  It sounded final.

  Chapter Nine

  A few days later…

  Miles walked into Sloan’s office, cell phone in hand.

  “It’s Lisa Tremayne. She left a message for you. She needs you at the gallery today. It’s something about Dallen’s opening next week.”

  Sloan didn’t pick up her head. She continued to stare at the photographs on her desk, the ones James had sent her. Lee agreed to take some shots of Dallen’s sculptures so that they could go into the brochure she would hand out at Dallen’s show.

  It gave her a perverse feeling of satisfaction that Dallen had to accept her choice of photographer for his gallery showing. She stuck the proverbial knife into Dallen’s heart and shoved it in all the way.

  After all, she was fulfilling her end of the bargain. Promoting him as was his due.

  “Lisa can get by just fine without me.” She kept her head down, not wanting to look at Miles.

  Lately all she saw was censure in his eyes.

  “I’m sick of this bullshit, Sloan.”

  Her head snapped up. “Since when do you talk to me that way?”

  “Since I thought I worked for a smart, savvy woman who loved art.”

  “You do.” She shooed him away. “Get out before—”

  “Yeah, I know. Before you fire my sorry ass. Maybe you should, because what I’m going to say to you next will surely get me canned.”

  “Then don’t say it.”

  “If I don’t, I’ll regret it.”

  “You said you don’t have any regrets in your life.”

  “I may have if I don’t tell you the truth.”

  Her temper simmered just below the boiling point. She grabbed a paperweight on the desk, squeezing it hard. “And just what great truth must you tell me?”

  “That you truly are a bitch, but I thought you were a smart one. You couldn’t see the truth if it was written on a plaque and nailed to my forehead.”

  “Stop while you’re ahead.” Her voice was tight and controlled.

  “So you got back at Dallen. How does it feel? Good?”

  “Of course it does. He deserved it.”

  The mention of Dallen’s name made Sloan’s heart race, her body warm with lust. These past few days, she’d taken to fantasizing about Dallen spanking her. She’d sit on the bathroom floor in her condominium, furiously rubbing her cunt, hoping to quell the sweet ache in her clit and the dull ache in her heart.

  Masturbating to thoughts of Dallen was the only thing that got her to sleep.

  Life used to be a great, long expanse of time to be filled. But without Dallen, life grew shorter, while her need for him grew bigger.

  “You pushed Dallen away the way your father pushed you away.”

  She seized the paperweight and threw it, narrowly missing Miles’ head. He ducked just in time then rose to his feet and stared her right in the eye.

  “You can throw your entire desk at me, Sloan, but it won’t erase the truth. You fucked up. Big time. Dallen loves you. He’s not perfect. He’s got a big, fragile ego, but I swear yours is bigger.”

  “You’ve got five seconds to shut your mouth or—”

  “You’re an ass if you don’t realize what this is really about. You’re a damned stupid woman, and I’m not going to work for an idiot. I’ll gladly leave.”

  He opened the door and strode out, slamming it behind him.

  A picture fell from the wall, one her father had painted.

  Sloan just stood there, not daring to move.

  Then she eased her body into a chair. She trembled, coldness permeating every pore.

  You’re an ass if you don’t realize what this is really about.

  She raised a shaking hand to her lips.

  Miles was right. It was all about her getting back at her father.

  But the joke was on her, because she missed Dallen more than ever.

  More than she ever missed her father.

  She picked up the phone and dialed Lisa.

  “I can be there at two,” she told her.

  “Wonderful. I really need your opinion on the lighting in the room where I’m going to display Dallen’s sculptures. You’re so good with lighting, Sloan.”

  “Sure.”

  “Sloan? Are you okay?”

  She put on her brightest, best voice. “Of course. I’ll see you in a little while.”

  Sloan ended the call and sat there, staring at her cell phone. A few seconds later, the door to her office opened.

  Miles walked back in. She looked up to see him standing in front of her desk.

  “What did Lisa want?”

  “She needs my opinion on the room setup, on the lighting for Dallen’s showing.”

  Miles angled his head, a corner of his mouth lifting. “Wow. I didn’t think you would. I thought you were angry with Dallen. And you said yes?” He whistled low. “Amazing.”

  “Did I ever tell you you’re a sarcastic son of a bitch?”

  His grin widened. “No. Do you want to?”

  She snatched her handbag and got up from her desk.

  “Weren’t you the one who once said you wouldn’t lift a finger to help him?”

  “I say a lot of things in the heat of anger but this is business,” she replied.

  He bit back a smile. “Right.�
�� Miles nodded. “Business.”

  “Miles, did I fire you recently?”

  “No.” His grin widened. “I think it’s time, don’t you?”

  * * * * *

  A little while later she exited a cab parked by the curb near Lisa’s gallery.

  Sloan paid the driver, a sinking feeling settling in her chest. Lisa had asked her opinion countless times before, particularly before a client’s gallery show, and it always thrilled her. She loved being part of the world of art, loved giving the world more talent to enjoy.

  This gallery showing would propel Dallen into the limelight, where she’d see his face and work everywhere. It had happened before, and she’d always felt immeasurable pride in being the one to promote such great talent.

  Now all she felt was sad.

  She entered Lisa’s studio with a heavy heart.

  “Hello, my friend.” Lisa walked over to her and gave her a warm hug. She took her hand. “I need your opinion on the lighting in the room for Dallen’s showing.”

  Sloan tugged back. Suddenly this all felt as if it were the worst idea in the world. She didn’t think she could bear seeing the room where Dallen’s work would be featured. “Can’t someone else do it? Someone here in the gallery who knows the lighting better than I would?”

  “Of course someone else could. But it’s you I trust.” Lisa narrowed her eyes. “What’s wrong?” Then her eyes widened. “Oh, don’t tell me, he’s backing out? Do you mean to say that Dallen O’Neal has decided not to do this?”

  “No. No. Of course not.” The last thing Sloan needed was a panicked Lisa. “I just meant that lighting is not my forte.”

  Lisa frowned. “Did I say lighting?” She shrugged. “I meant the light-colored walls. You mentioned the unusual marble he uses so I was wondering about the walls.”

  “I could have sworn you said lighting several times.”

  “I just need your opinion, Sloan. I want this showing to be perfect for Mr. O’Neal.” Lisa grinned. “I’m always the nervous type right before a gallery showing.”

  She followed Lisa to the exhibition room.

  “This is the room I chose. What do you think?”

  She flipped on the lights. Soft, pale radiance filled the entire room.

  Instead of the unusual sculptures she thought Dallen would want to display, there was only one, and it sat dead center on the polished oak floor of the large exhibition room.

  Carved in pure, white-hot marble was a sculpture of a naked man. He sat on a plain, roughhewn bench, a woman sprawled facedown over his lap.

  She was naked.

  In that nude marble figure, Sloan saw every line and curve of her body sculpted in fine detail. Her face wasn’t visible. It was hanging down over the man’s legs, her long, magnificent hair trailing across the floor.

  The nude figure of the man was Dallen. She saw it in the length and breadth of his chest and shoulders, in the play of muscle in his sinewy body. His thighs were long and muscled, one leg extended out, facing the world.

  The sculpture was titled simply, “Spanking”.

  Footsteps echoed in the room. She turned slightly, expecting to see Lisa.

  “Do you like it?”

  Dallen’s deep voice filled her ears. He brushed some of her long hair from her face, placing a tender kiss at the nape of her neck.

  “Y-yes,” she managed, her chest so tight it hurt.

  He grasped her shoulders, turning her so that she faced him.

  “Someone has bought it already.”

  “Who?”

  “Someone who loves erotic art.”

  She thought for a minute. “Renee?”

  She could barely speak. She couldn’t take her eyes off the sculpture.

  He nodded. “Yes, Renee bought it.” Dallen read from the brochure, “White-hot and hard, yet cool and smooth to the touch, Dallen O’Neal’s unusual marble, purchased in Norway reflects the colors of nature and life. Like sun upon frozen snow, the gleaming light mirrors nature’s colors, showing them off on the smooth, crystalline surface. No impurities, no lines or veins permeate the surface, for this marble is the result of limestone and nothing but limestone morphing into a seemingly white-hot, hard, smooth surface.” He closed the brochure, placing it in her hand. “That sums it up rather nicely.” He reached into his shirt pocket and withdrew a piece of paper. “And so does this.”

  He handed her a check for five hundred thousand dollars.

  “Why are you giving me this?”

  “Turn it over.”

  “It’s signed by you and…” She shook her head and read aloud, “Pay to the order of Sloan Benton.” She looked up and frowned. “I don’t understand.”

  “The money is yours.”

  “Why?”

  “I figured it would buy me out of my contract with you.”

  Her heart sank.

  She saw the rise and fall of his prominent Adam’s apple. “I love you, Sloan, yet I’ve caused you great heartache. I won’t anymore.”

  Tears threatened. They stung her eyes. “You’re leaving? Is that what you’re trying to say?”

  He looked away then back. “I want to give you that money so that we’re square with each other. It should cover all promotional costs for my future work.”

  “Why you…” Her temper soared while the ache in her heart widened. “Only a coward would do that.” She threw the check at him. It stuck to his chest for just a second, then drifted to the floor. “You’re giving me that money to ease your conscience.” Tears threatened to spill from her eyes. “Then you’re going to leave. You’re my…”

  “Go on.” His voice was low but it held no anger, just that tenderness she adored. “Say it. Get it off your chest, once and for all.”

  “You’re my father all over again,” she whispered, her throat clogging with emotion.

  He didn’t speak for a few seconds.

  “Maybe I am. We’re both artists, after all.” He moved closer to her. “But I’m not leaving, Sloan, not even if you hurl that magnificent sculpture at me.”

  “As if I could lift it.” She snorted, raising her fingers to wipe the tears from her cheeks.

  Dallen’s hand replaced hers, his touch gentle as he caressed her cheek.

  “If you got angry enough, you probably could.” A corner of his mouth lifted.

  It made hers do the same.

  “I’d still be here. I wouldn’t leave, even if you destroyed it.”

  “It would be hard to obliterate such a magnificent piece of art.”

  “Our love, as well.” He gave her a long look. “Take a chance on me, Sloan. I realize I’m asking a lot, but I love you. I think I always have, ever since that first time I saw you in art school.”

  Could she take that chance?

  Maybe it was time to forgive her father

  Herself.

  Dallen.

  He took her in his arms and kissed her. Sloan melted into him, understanding filling her consciousness.

  Art did mimic life. They were one and the same.

  “Surrender to me, Sloan, and I promise you won’t regret it. Ever.”

  He unzipped his pants.

  She looked around. “Wh-what are you doing?” Her heart raced. Anticipation filled her.

  “Lisa Tremayne, that nosy friend of yours, is probably right outside the door and I’ll bet you so are lots of other people.”

  His arms circled her waist then he lifted her. She wrapped her legs around his waist while he backed her against a wall. Freeing his cock from his pants, he raised her skirt, pulling aside her thong. He entered her swiftly, making her gasp.

  “They probably all know what we’re doing in here.”

  She sighed against his shoulder. “I hope they do.”

  “You’re a kinky little bitch.” He grinned against her neck while he pumped into her.

  Sloan’s cunt was soaked.

  “Bastard.”

  His eyes darkened to that deep blue she loved.

  �
�You may come now,” he commanded.

  She kissed his chin where the shadow of a bruise still outlined his skin. “It’s too late for that.” She grinned. “I already did.”

  “You need a spanking.”

  He filled her to the brim, his big cock sliding in all the way. Then he came, breathing hard. When his breaths slowed, he kissed her soundly. They stayed fused together, his body melded with hers.

  Her smile widened. She looked back at the sculpture of her and Dallen. Then her eyes settled on him. “I’d love one.”

  About the Author

  I sank my “writing teeth” into my first romance novel after years of reading my favorite authors. Those ladies provided me with inspiration to write my own romance stories, and now, it is my passion.

  When I’m not writing, my favorite things to do are reading, gardening, and cooking for large crowds (I love to entertain friends and family!). My husband and I (he’s my hero) enjoy traveling—we’ve been to Aruba and all over the United States and Canada (and I’ve been to Europe…Italy is molto bello—very beautiful).

  Catherine welcomes comments from readers. You can find her website and email address on her author bio page at www.ellorascave.com.

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