by Tessa Teevan
By the appreciative glimmer in his eye, I could tell he meant it. Like he did want to ravish me and then keep me to show off whenever he pleased. It’d been a long time since anyone had called me beautiful, and I wondered if he knew that art was my weakness. In less than five seconds, Adrian had me. Hook, line, sinker.
We spent the night just as he’d said. Drinking, dancing, and he never let me out of his sight. It wasn’t lost on me how appealing he was. Our waitress was at his beck and call, and he’d been shaking his head at quite a few women who had started walking in his direction. It was compelling to know I was the one he wanted—the only one he wanted—if just for this one night. I brushed off all of my worries and allowed myself to enjoy my time spent with him, wanting to soak up every single second he’d let me.
Adrian was everything I wasn’t. Worldly. Sophisticated. Wealthy. A complete mystery to me. Everyone at Oasis knew him, and he knew everyone there. Yet he never made me feel alone. On the contrary, he held me close to his side the entire night, making it clear to me and everyone else that I was his for the night. He was attentive and caring, and out of all the women in the club, he only had eyes for me. That night, I knew I was probably one of many on a long list of admirers. And when I told him so, he laughed it off—which cemented it for me. I wasn’t the one and only, and that was okay. I didn’t need to be. New to the city, lonely and a little bit lost, I was perfectly fine with having a one-night stand with my very own version of a Greek god.
Even if I had wanted to play coy, there was no fooling him. As soon as I’d walked into that club, we had both known what was destined to happen that night. He didn’t ask if I wanted to leave with him. After hours of drinking and foreplay on the dance floor, he took my hand and led me to an awaiting town car. As Adrian’s fingers grazed my inner thighs, his promising whispers of everything he was going to do to me were intoxicating and thrilling. When his hand reached under my skirt and his fingers skimmed over the thin material of my panties, I lost myself in the sensation, not having been touched like this in so long. I wanted so much more, but he refused to give. His torturous teasing was nearly unbearable, and I was soon complete putty in his hands. He could’ve done anything to me that night and I wouldn’t have even dreamed of protesting.
It felt like hours before we were driving up a sprawling driveway that led to a mansion larger than I’d ever seen. As eager as I was to explore the vast estate, I was more eager for his touch. The moment we stepped into his home, calm, cool, collected Adrian was replaced with a ferocious savage who couldn’t take his hands off me. To this day, I’m unsure how my dress remained intact, but my panties were ripped to shreds. All I knew was that, one minute, I was losing myself in the backseat of his car, not even caring that the driver could hear my whimpers, and the next, I was completely nude and being tossed onto a king-sized bed. There was no preamble—no, we’d had enough foreplay at the club. I knew that Adrian wanted me. He knew I wanted him. There was no question.
I watched with dizzying fascination as he quickly undressed, unveiling a lean, muscular physique beneath his dress clothes. As much as I wanted to take my time inspecting every inch of him, the desire in my eyes elicited a low growl from his throat. Exploring would have to wait. He took his hard erection into his hand as he sheathed it with a condom then pounced, thrusting deep inside me as he leaned on one elbow, his dark eyes gazing down at me as I squirmed underneath him. His hips rocked back as he withdrew. Then he slammed back in as he began his relentless rhythm.
Adrian didn’t make love. He didn’t fuck. He consumed. He possessed. He devoured. He drove into me with a passionate, almost insatiable need—a hunger I’d never experienced before. His strokes were swift, deliberate, and I tried to match his pace to no avail as he filled me fully.
“Adrian!” I gasped as his arm slid underneath me to haul me up until our bare chests pressed together.
My nipples pebbled at the contact of heated skin on skin. He captured my lips with a ferocious kiss, just as hard and relentless as his thrusts. I braced myself, putting my hands on his shoulders, as he fisted my hair, tugging just enough for pain to tingle and mix with the pleasure he was giving me.
As the sensations of my imminent orgasm began to build, Adrian pulled out and flipped me over. My body was his to do with as he pleased, and as he positioned me on all fours and drove into me, my pleasure crested, bringing about the most intense orgasm I’d ever experienced. Wave after wave of pleasure consumed me. As his cock began to pulsate with his own release, his hands gripped my ass, his fingers digging into my skin. He held on tight through the crescendo and subsequent crash, not letting go even as he came down from his high.
“No fucking words,” he growled, the raw tone sending shivers all the way down to my toes, and I was nearly ready to go again. “I hadn’t planned on this, Gabriella, but I had to have you.”
And have me he did. I soon found out that that was only the introduction. After that, the cool, suave Adrian reappeared, wanting to take his time. His hands and mouth studied my body, not leaving a single inch untouched. We spent the night wrapped up in each other, and I wondered how I was going to return to normal the next day.
Only, the next morning, there was no walk of shame. After a round of delicious morning sex—the best I’d ever had—he wouldn’t allow me to leave the bed until he fed me. His wicked grin made me believe it was innuendo for his cock, a meal I’d never turn down, but he actually meant breakfast in bed before insisting we spend the day together. He wanted us to get to know each other, he claimed. This time, I was the one to laugh him off, but eventually, he wore me down, and spend the day together we did.
It was the first time I’d felt alive in years. The first time I’d smiled in far too long, and as the day went on, the more attached I was becoming to this man. And then, when we ended up at the art museum, I held back the tears that usually came with those visits.
It’d been a whirlwind of a day going to all the touristy sites around Philadelphia. I’d laughed at Adrian’s wonder at visiting The Liberty Bell as if he had been seeing it for the first time. That was when he’d informed me that he’d only lived and worked here for a year, and as his business often took him out of town, he hadn’t had much time to visit all the sites. Even though I’m a native Chicagoan, I’d been to the city numerous times with my parents, so I’d become his unofficial tour guide.
Since I still didn’t know the local places, I did the best I could. We strolled along the Schuylkill Banks Boardwalk and had lunch at the Independence Beer Gardens before spending time at the Penn Museum. The day was nearly over, and I was relieved that we’d avoided two of my most favorite places. But then, after he hailed a cab, he directed the driver to the Philadelphia Museum of Arts. My face must’ve gone white, as he looked over at me and frowned.
“Are you okay?” he asked, a mask of concern on his face.
The truth was that I always broke down whenever I entered the doors of that particular museum, and I didn’t want him to see me like that. Still, I wasn’t ready for the day to be over, so I swallowed hard and nodded, forcing a smile onto my face. He accepted my quiet answer, then leaned over and pressed a kiss to my temple as we rode in silence.
“Are you a fan of the arts, Gabriella?” he asked as we walked up the steps hand in hand. I’d hoped he couldn’t tell how clammy mine had become, but if he noticed, he didn’t say a word.
“Actually, I was an art history major,” I informed him before pulling my membership card out of my wallet.
He lifted an eyebrow. “Really? Art history? Why’d you choose that route?” he asked with piqued interest.
I shrugged, not really wanting to get into it, especially not on a first date. Or was this a second? Either way, I was nowhere near ready to talk about my past.
“Ever since I was a little girl, I’ve always loved art. When I got to college, it just made sense. I had fanciful dreams of combining work and pleasure. I wanted a career I was passionate about. Which is why I�
�m just a receptionist,” I joked.
His brow furrowed as he pulled me against him. “Don’t sell yourself short, Gabriella. You are so much more than that,” he whispered before leaning down and placing a soft kiss on my lips.
A flutter attacked my belly while there was a tiny pin prick in my heart from an unseen Cupid’s little arrow. Part of me fell for him then and there. It was naïve to think he could know that about me after twenty-four hours, but I wanted so badly to feel a connection with someone, with him.
As we walked through the halls, I couldn’t believe that the tears were kept at bay. The last time I was here, I’d barely made it through the first gallery before having to dig my tissues out of my purse. I attributed it to Adrian, to his warm hand wrapped around mine protectively, maybe even a bit possessively. Finally, if even for a day, I was no longer alone.
I’d been so lost in my thoughts that I hadn’t even realized we’d wandered right into the hall I’d been avoiding since my move to Philadelphia. My eyes rose and my breath caught as I gazed upon the work of art before me.
Adrian chuckled at my side. “I often feel the same way the first time I see a beautiful work of art. Although I must admit, I’m not much of an Impressionist fan. I prefer more realistic paintings,” he quipped.
“He was my mother’s favorite,” I whispered, unable to tear my eyes away from the wall in front of us. “His reproductions were all over the house I grew up in.”
He sucked in a deep breath beside me, catching my attention. When I looked up at him, he was studying me with avid curiosity.
“Really? Interesting,” he said, glancing from the painting back to me. “This was her favorite? Or was there another?”
I nodded, swallowing hard. It wasn’t until much later that I realized he’d referred to her in past tense. Was it because he was observant and followed my lead? Or had he already known?
“Do you still have them? The paintings, I mean,” he prompted. “I’d love to see them. I’ve always been fascinated at how easily such an exquisite work of art can be reproduced. Can one see the flaws with the naked human eye, or would it have to be studied carefully to know which is real and which is fake?”
“No. Well, maybe. I don’t know where they are,” I admitted before forcing myself to smile at him. “I think I’m all museumed out. What do you say we go in search of the city’s best cheesesteak?”
I knew that it was probably cliché, but I’d have done anything to get myself out of there without breaking down, or discussing my parents with him. It was too soon. I wasn’t ready. I wasn’t sure I’d ever be, and I was appreciative that he didn’t push the subject. He slipped his arm around my waist and said that I was his to command. It wasn’t the last time he asked about the painting, but as I’d told him, I had no idea where it was, and eventually, he dropped it.
When he dropped me off at my studio apartment that evening with merely a light kiss on the lips and a goodnight, I never expected to see him again. I spent the night staring at the ceiling wishing that I would, but knowing my time as Cinderella had ended and I had no glass slipper to send him in search of me. So when he showed up at The Daily Grind the next morning and for the rest of the week, he proved me otherwise. Each morning, we made small talk for an hour or so—he usually asked about me and then we went our separate ways for the day. Me to my receptionist job and him to whatever high-rise where he worked on his investments.
Over the course of that week, I learned little about him. He came from a wealthy family, yet he didn’t care to discuss them. Considering I had no family of my own, I understood and didn’t push the issue. He had majored in accounting and earned an MBA from Harvard. While investing was his day job, he mentioned dabbling in side projects from time to time, yet he didn’t elaborate. I wanted to know everything there was to know about him, but he wasn’t exactly an open book.
It was alluring, and even though I could’ve listened to him talk all day, he spent more of our time together asking about me, almost as if I were a research project and he wanted to know every single minute detail. His interest was flattering, but I wasn’t ready to talk about my parents. Tears welled in my eyes when I gave the simplest response: they’d been killed. The sympathy in his eyes helped soften my heart as he nodded and quickly switched topics. He respected my wishes and made me laugh every morning with endless questions about my hopes, dreams, and fears. Not once did he ask about my parents again, and for that, I was extremely grateful.
At the end of our sixty minutes, he’d walk me to the door and we’d say our goodbyes. Not once did he kiss me or invite me for another rendezvous at his place. By day seven, I was startled to realize I was becoming used to his presence, and I wanted so much more from him than just an hour in the morning. I also wanted to know why he kept showing up.
“Stalking me?” I teased on day number eight as he met me outside the building.
A devilish, almost villainous grin graced his lips as his eyes filled with amusement. “Oh, Gabriella, you’ve no idea,” he said. “I shouldn’t do this. I shouldn’t be here, but I can’t seem to help myself.”
His words caught me off guard as his hands gripped my hips and he pushed me backwards until the brick of the wall bit into the skin of my lower back. He leaned down until his lips were dangerously close to mine. My insides quivered, and my heart leaped into my throat. For an entire week, I’d been waiting for his hands to be on me again, and now that he was right there, I knew I’d die if he didn’t touch me. Kiss me. Take me home and ravish me like he had that first night.
“Adrian,” I whispered, surprised at the breathy, sultry tone of my voice. God, it’d only been a week and I was already dangerously addicted to him.
His eyes gleamed as if he could read my mind, and I wondered if this has been his plan all along. To give me a taste, a perfect sneak peek at what being his would be like, and then take it away, only to keep showing up to tease me. To dangle the proverbial carrot on the string that was too high for me to get a taste or even the slightest nibble. It would suffice only for a moment, but it would be just enough to keep me from going insane. He was a deranged Pavlov and I was his little dog, salivating and panting, wanting him, that torturous bell ringing over and over again, but instead of giving me what I wanted, he kept it too far out of reach.
I lifted my head towards his, trying to capture his mouth, but he pulled back. A whimper escaped me, and at that moment, I did feel like that dog. It was embarrassing, but I couldn’t help myself. I wanted him more than I’d ever wanted anyone, and I’d do anything he asked. If he wanted me to be his plaything, I’d have agreed in a heartbeat. I’d have become one of those girl and I didn’t even care.
“Ah, ah. Not yet, sweet Gabriella,” he admonished.
Like an errant child, I looked away, abashed.
His fingers came to my chin and tilted it up, forcing me to look at him. “Do you want me?” he asked, his voice smooth.
God, did I ever. Couldn’t he see the way I was practically panting for him? I nodded my affirmation.
He cocked his head to the side as he peered down at me. “Use your words.”
Swallowing hard, I took a deep breath and gazed up into darkened, green eyes that were boring into mine. “Yes, Adrian. I want you. So much.”
“Good girl.” He smiled wickedly, causing my cheeks to flush. “I apologize for keeping you waiting, but I had to be sure that our . . . compatibility went further than twenty-four hours. It’s just . . . I don’t do this, usually. The whole relationship thing. But with you? I’m finding I want to even though everything in me is screaming at me not to get involved. I don’t care.”
It seemed odd at the time, and I wanted to ask why he shied away from relationships. And why would he want one with me? Something told me to let it go and focus on the rest of what he’d said. I decided it was a sweet gesture that he’d taken the time to get to know me instead of just trying to hop back into my pants, especially if that was new for him. Cue another damn prick of C
upid’s arrow. I was his.
“I understand. I’m glad, Adrian,” I told him. “That you want this with me, I mean. Out of all the women you could have.”
His expression darkened as he looked down at me. “Once you are mine, you will never be one of many. I assure you,” he whispered, sending a jolt of electricity down my spine.
It warmed me to know he remembered and cared enough to soothe my previous unease. His? Did he, this gorgeous, enigmatic, seemingly larger-than-life man, actually want me as much as I did him? God, I hoped so.
“Umm, okay,” I squeaked out, sounding much younger than my age of twenty-two and wanting to kick myself for it.
However, a grin formed on his face as he pressed himself against me, his steely erection hardening against my stomach. Evidently, he liked me like this.
“I do want you, Gabriella. I want you for more than just one night. More than just an hour in the morning. I want all of your nights. All of your mornings. Every single hour of every single day. I want all of it, all of you,” he growled, low and deliberate, for only me to hear as he pressed harder into me as if he were emphasizing his admission. “And when I want something, I will stop at nothing until it’s mine.”
In hindsight, I should have noticed then his use of “it” as if I were a possession and not a woman, but I was too aroused, too enamored, and too drunk with lust to notice. Instead, my hands slid up his chest and locked around his neck, my eyes flashing with desire.
Biting my lip, I gave him my most seductive smile, praying it was worthy of someone like him. “Then what’s stopping you?”
The answer, we both found, was nothing. From that moment on, I was his and he never let me forget it. For the first time in my life, I felt wanted, desired, and as he promised to take care of me, I knew I was a goner. He swept me off my feet in just one night, and never set me back on the ground. Our romance was a passionate whirlwind as we were caught up in each other, both addicted and barely able to spend time apart.
