The Art of Me (The All of Me Book 1)

by S. J. Blaze

  “That’s it, love. Remember, he’s yours, bring him home.” I swallow, my throat dry. I don’t know if I can do this.

  He leans forward with parted lips and sucks my top lip into his. This time the pace is slower and the heat builds hotter. The tightening is intensifying and I can feel my muscles twitch in upcoming release. “Now Charlie!” he growls into me while biting my lip.

  With shaking fingers, I bring him to my opening. My thigh muscles are burning and everything feels quaky. I feel the pressure as I try to slowly bring him inside of me. My eyes have again dropped to watch his entrance, but in a moment of fear I jerk up to lock in on his eyes. I need them. I need them to bring me into the shallow waters and safeguard me.

  His smile has fallen and his face looks tense. The muscles nearly as locked as my own. “You’re doing great love, don’t stop,” he grinds out through clenched teeth. His breathing is labored and matches my uneven breaths. We might lose consciousness in this bathtub if things don’t ease up soon.

  His eyes in sight, the coiling still churning, with a full breath I whisper loudly, “Don’t lose me.”

  I slam him into me and then scream. My body arches violently and my muscles lock horribly. The coiling is gone, the stormy waters evaporate. I am pain. That burning. It haunts me, rips me, tortures me. It was far worse than the ripped limbs and smashed bones. It was invasive and immoral.

  “Charlie! Look at me, love. Look at me!” His hands come around me and pull me back to him. Coen? “Stay with me, Charlie. This is me, this is yours, this is us! Stay!”

  I have to blink a few times to find now. I’m with Coen. I can feel him throbbing inside of me while my body burns with the stretching it’s doing to accommodate him. I’m shaking and can feel the ripple travel through me. This isn’t an orgasm, this is me making Coen mine, and he making me his. Mind over matter. I am stronger than this.

  I lean my sweat-covered forehead against his chest. I don’t want to move. I just need to find my breath. Closing my eyes, I breathe him in, and then wrap my arms around his neck.

  “That’s it, love.” He kisses my brow. “You’re doing great, Charlie. I love you so much.” He grunts a few times in between, reminding me that this isn’t easy for him, either.

  “What do I do now?” I ask softly into his ear.

  “I have to move. You feel too good, my love. Ready?” I nod and shift so that we are face to face. His hand sweeps up and glides some hair which has plastered itself to my wet cheek and neck, behind my ear. His smile is dazzling and shines brightly for me.

  “You’re my world. Right here, this is our future. It’s the path that destiny has designed for us. You can’t ever stray, love.”

  A soft kiss and then his hands grab my thighs and move me up. The pressure there eases but then increases when he slides back down. Up and down. Up and down. His hands move me and I don’t resist. He is with me and with each cycle, the pain absconds. The water around us gets caught up in the stormy hurricane of Coen and escapes over the ledge. The sounds of grunts and gasps reverberating through the tiled marble has become the symphony.

  His face is a concentrated mask while his eyes rage icy blasts. My hands lock on his shoulders as I try to find the patterns to match his drive. The heat that remained in my face and neck has slithered down and engulfed me entirely. My skin is ablaze with sensitivity and erupting from the inside out. The tension that was lost earlier has reignited and is building deep inside. Even my toes can feel the pulling begin.

  Up. Down. Up. Down. The heat is immense and I find myself shaking in an entirely new way.

  “Coen?” I nearly scream. This is too big; I can feel my vaginal wall soak him in. Squeeze and pulse, everything feels like it is throbbing.

  “It’s good, love. I’ve got you. I’m almost there.” His hands firmly locked in place on my thighs, he leans forward. “Your tongue, love. Bring it to me.”

  I lean across pressing my open lips to his and entangling our tongues. His taste, his hands, his cock throbbing and slamming into me. I let go and let myself free fall into the abyss. My body again arches back while I dig my nails into his shoulders trying to hold onto him. Even with my eyes closed I can see the spots dancing behind my lids. My mind goes numb and every thought centers on the pulsing movement between my thighs. I’m hypersensitive to every hair softly scratching there. I can feel the ridge of his head as it bumps across the plains of my inner walls. Everything is tense and alive and explosive. I don’t even realize that I’ve been screaming his name until I hear him grunting and screaming my own.

  I finally understand what he meant when he said that we needed to connect on this plane. In this world, it’s different. He is part of me. I am now part of him. I want this. I want this future. I want this life.

  Chapter Thirty-Eight

  I awaken in Coen’s arms. My warm stiff pillow is the best the world will ever offer me. I can already feel the rigidness in my muscles. My lower body throbs reminding me what we did in the tub.

  I must have woken him because I feel his soft hand rub up and down my back. “You awake, princess?” I shake my head no, which earns me a little chuckle.

  He rolls us, so that I’m on my back, his hands smoothing my hair away so he has a clear view of my eyes. “Hi.” He smiles brilliantly my way.

  “Hi.”

  “We’re skillful orators in the morning.” Chuckling again, he grinds his heavy cock against my upper thigh and plants a sweet kiss on my lips. I can feel they are still sore from last night. I think even my scalp is tingly. Coen sexed every part of me. “You sore, love?”

  I nod and whisper, “Yeah.”

  He climbs high up my body. His right arm shifts above my head and curls back down to caress my cheek while his left raises my chin. “What we did, Charlie.” He looks down and swallows. After a moment he regains whatever thought he lost and finds my eyes. “It might not have been the way I’d planned or what I envisioned for our first time, but that doesn’t change its significance. You and I, Charlie, we’re imminent. Infinite. You feel this.” He pulls my hand to his heart. “You’re the only reason it beats. Your soul is my religion, your body my sanctuary. I can’t survive without you. I won’t!” He growls that last part.

  My own heart stutters with his electrifying revelations. I don’t even realize I’ve been crying until I feel him wipe away the tears. “Sshh, love. Don’t cry, my heart.” He smiles and quirks his head to the side. He looks like a little puppy getting ready to cause trouble. I can’t help the giggle that escapes me.

  “You’re a nut. You know that, right?” Scrunching up my nose to drive home my point, it only excites him further. He licks my nose while laughing. Jumping out of the bed and marching to the closet, I watch his beautiful smooth watertight butt wander away. I do enjoy watching him.

  Intrigued and incredibly nosy, I follow him to see what the crazy man is up to, when I notice he is digging into one of my jewelry drawers. Spying me hovering by the doorway, he walks over and grabs my left hand.

  “This is never to come off, again. You belong to me, Charlie Rose Paz.” I look down as he slips the ring on. Was that the equivalent of a marriage proposal? This man does nothing normal.

  I salute the boss man and begin to saunter away towards a much needed bathroom moment when he grabs me, pulling me back.

  “I don’t think we properly sealed the deal, love. I think you need a more thorough sample of my commitment level.” He pulls me to him. My back to his front, I can clearly feel his intent.

  He pushes me against the wall and my arms shoot up to stop myself from face planting.

  “Coen, baby, slow down. If I wanted to be bruised up, I’d be in the Cage.” I chuckle, finding my joke amusing. Apparently, he didn’t because he bites my shoulder and pushes himself harder onto me.

  “Not funny, Charlie. The only marks you’ll ever bear are the ones I give you every day when I make you mine. This is my art, love. No one else will ever color it, again.”

  My heart
skips and I’m suddenly bathed in serene warmth. Logically, I know that what he’s saying should upset me but I want him this way. I want him to own me in these moments. I don’t want to think or worry or hurt. My brain deserves a vacation and with Coen at the helm, I gladly hand it over.

  He continues to devour me, to assault me in the most deliciously wicked ways. Tongue, teeth, hands, I can no longer tell what touches me, only where. When he enters me from behind, I scream, but not in fear or pain. In relief as I relish the feel of this closeness. I’ve never felt such connectivity. We climax together and return to this world, together.

  We shower and dress and then it’s time to tackle the hefty day. I call on Turner, Coen’s PA to organize all of Greyson’s funeral arrangements. We are going to need the funeral service and burial followed by a reception in Greyson’s honor. Coen wants to wait until late next week so everyone can visit and pay their respects.

  I phone my group of merry men to let them know what’s going on with Coen and that I’ll be out of reach until things settle. The trio isn’t thrilled with me bailing in the middle of an interview but they know I don’t mess around when my loved ones need me. Tank understands and says he will cancel my fight until I’m ready to move. The partners were apathetic and encouraged me to take all the time I need and to let them know if I require any assistance with my case files.

  Coen refused to go into work or to leave my side. We did everything together for the remainder of the week. When I ate, he did. When I worked out in the basement, he did. When I showered, he did. I guess he was serious about the entire commitment thing.

  He was in a somber mood for the most part and wanted nothing to do with any of the arrangements. When I had Turner meet us at the house to discuss the ceremony, Coen barely spoke. He remained next to me but would defer to me on everything. “Whatever you think, love?” Or, “I trust your judgment.”

  In the end, Turner and I coordinated everything while Coen gave the final okay. It was rather challenging to plan a funeral for someone I didn’t even like. Greyson wasn’t the most pleasant man, and for some reason he wasn’t particularly fond of me. But I didn’t do any of this for him, I did it all for Coen.

  By the time Friday morning rolled around, Coen had fallen deeper into his stoic stance. His beautiful smile was lost and desolation rolled off of him in gigantic tidal waves. Dressed in complete black and with his facial hair unruly, he looked like a different person. I stood next to him, apparently my new place, in a long sleeve black sheath dress with black stockings.

  Turner and I had sent out over three-hundred and fifty invitations and by the time we reached the church, every seat was filled, and many people were standing along the back. Who knew so many people were waiting to pay their respects? Coen didn’t want to sit by with idle chatter, so he insisted that we be one of the last ones to arrive. As we passed each pew, I felt eyes all over me. It made my skin crawl. I didn’t dare look, though. I was here for Coen.

  Taking our seats alone in the front row, Coen wrapped one arm around me and held my hand with the other. The priest gave a lovely eulogy on the many accomplishments of Greyson and how he impacted our world. Afterwards, Coen had asked that a few of Greyson’s friends speak. Then came Coen’s turn. I was almost afraid that he would drag me up there with the way he continued to hold my hand, but finally he climbed the steps and onto the podium solo.

  His calm remained as he spoke briefly of his childhood and summer vacations. How his father attempted to make up for the absence of his mother, and finally how he introduced him to the world of Collins Corp. He ended by saying that his father’s legacy will live on through the next generation and how he hopes that when he and I have children, that we do Greyson proud.

  The gravesite burial was somberly beautiful. A few words were exchanged and then we each took turns walking to the casket and throwing a rose onto it. Coen pulled me along commencing the rose dropping portion of the service, and then we stood to the side while everyone took part and shared their condolences with us. Many individuals I didn’t recognize, while several I knew from the office or through other charitable exchanges.

  Not wanting to have the reception at Coen’s house, Turner and I chose to do it at The State Room. It made catering and clean up much easier and we were able to accommodate not only those attending the service but any additions, as well.

  I find several Collins Corp employees and even a few from my firm, mulling around. But it is Darrien Renault who catches my eye. He’s off to the left speaking with a gentleman who I’m not familiar with. Something about this deliberation has my hairs raised. I need to be a fly on that wall. I manage to slip out of Coen’s grasp, with promise of a swift return, when I casually make my way over. I stop at a group nearby and vacantly join their conversation, while keeping my ear to Darrien.

  He and his conversationalist are speaking in German. I suppose they thought they’d be less conspicuous this way.

  Darrien: “It’s important to strike while the iron is hot, my old friend. His son isn’t as knowledgeable nor as ruthless. It’ll be an easier take over from the inside.”

  Strange guy who I now hate says, “What do you suggest we do, as all our funds are tied up? Are you implying a buyout? We can start with stocks and see where we go from there.”

  Darrien: “Yes, I think that may be the best route. What we need is patience to see where the boy takes the company. Then we tackle the board. Careful, that’s his fiancée, there.”

  Strange guy, now looking around, eyes me casually. “There’s a pretty thing there. Do you know this brunette? I’d like her for the night. Possibly two if she’s good on her knees.” He chuckles and pats his belly.

  Darrien: “That’s Collins’ bride, fool. You don’t touch her.”

  That’s when I take my cue and jump in. I need to get this guy’s name. Even though I’ve never met Darrien face to face, we have had some intense phone and skype conversations. He is, to use the term loosely, an asshole!

  “Darrien, et toi?”

  Darrien, is that you?

  “Oui, vous devez être la belle Charlie qui a capturé le cœur de la jeune Collins. Félicitations à vous.”

  Yes, you must be the beautiful Charlie that has captured the heart of the younger Collins. Congratulations, he says while kissing both my cheeks.

  “Merci, je l'ai eu de la chance. Et merci pour assister les services de ce matin. Vous étiez un visage accueilli dans la foule.”

  Thank you, I have been fortunate. And thank you for attending the services this morning. You were a welcomed face in the crowd.

  “Vous parlez trop gentiment de moi. S'il vous plaît permettez- moi de vous présenter un de mes amis, Gunther Droblowski, il est mon partenaire dans plusieurs de mes activités financières et voulait être présent pour partager ses condoléances.”

  You speak too kindly of me. Please allow me to introduce a friend of mine, Gunther Droblowski, my partner in many of my financial endeavors and he wanted to be present to share his condolences.

  I stretch my hand out to shake. After Darrien told Gunther not to touch me, I’m curious to see how well his pet follows commands. He latches onto my hand and brings it to his swarthy lips. Apparently, not well at all. He speaks to me in English with his thick German accent.

  “You’re quite a beautiful lady. Perhaps there’s still hope to steal you from Collins, yes?” Not likely buddy. I dislodge his lips from my hand and smile sweetly.

  “Oh, you’re a handful, Gunther. I better get back to Coen. I just thought to thank you for your support today.”

  I continue smiling as I walk through the crowd and pull out the cell that has been resting in my pocket. I send Malice a quick text to find out everything he can on Gunther. He and Darrien are definitely up to something and I’m going to find out what it is.

  For the remainder of the evening I’m a statue at Coen’s side. He clings even tighter now that I left him. He seems to be uncomfortable with all of these people wanting to talk ab
out the good old days with dad or when a few of Coen’s college friends want to rehash their glory year stories. I fabricate some excuse about a headache and we make our exit fairly unnoticed.

  That night, while we are lying in bed. I ask Coen about Darrien and if he has any concerns with him. Instead of responding with a concrete answer, he is dismissive and somewhat patronizing. Coen is an incredibly intelligent man. He ranked in the top one percent in his graduating class at

  Stanford for the MBA program. He can’t be this naïve. Surely, he knows something is amiss, otherwise why did his father literally work himself to death?

  Chapter Thirty-Nine

  Coen refuses to leave the house. He doesn’t answer his calls and he even gets upset with me when I mention anything about my work. Apparently, the thought of letting me out of his sight, even now, throws him into a tailspin. I thought after we laid Greyson to rest, that Coen would ease up, but it feels as though things are worse.

  When I brought up Thanksgiving being only a week away and that I usually cook and have a big feast with the guys, he shot it down flat. Instead, he said he feels like he needs to get out of Boston. I can’t blame him. Losing a parent, even one you don’t like, must be hard. I reluctantly agree. This, at least momentarily, makes him happy. He gets right to work making all the arrangements and tells me that he will take care of everything, that all I need to do is pack a bag. I think it’s the first time he’s touched a computer in two weeks; a step towards normalcy.

  He’s so engrossed in planning our vacation from well, our vacation, that he lets me slip away. I get to the office and attack the mounds of messages on my desk. Phone call after phone call, updating clients. I even get one from the Boys and Girls Club that I have to turn away. I can’t take on any more work when I’m not in the office to do the actual work. It’s so horrible. I hate neglecting my responsibilities. I’m not this person.