by Rowena
Truthfully, I have plenty of money.
Starving artist, my ass—I've been selling my work for years and my usual clients have deep pockets and their referrals are gold.
Things took off when one satisfied extra-wealthy client led to curious copycat others a few years ago, and the requests haven't stopped coming.
It's funny the way some of the super-wealthy feel the need to keep up with each other, one way or another.
It's like they all need a piece of the artist known as Dagor now.
I've had enough lucrative projects to set aside a hell of a nest egg and set me up for life, so I definitely don't need the goddess's money.
Not that I'm dismissive of anyone who comes asking—I'm just careful about how much I take on at a time; I've learned to budget my energy wisely.
I take breaks, but when opportunity comes knocking at the right time and at the right price, I answer.
The client I'm working for now has extra deep pockets, plus I was intrigued by the project so it was a no-brainer.
"Babe, did you not hear me? I can't promise anything until this project's done," I say, pointing at my pile of raw materials.
Truth be told, I'm a bit behind already.
I can still pull it off in time, but only with zero distractions.
That's the whole point of getting a studio in the middle of goddamned nowhere that can't be traced back to me easily.
Wait a minute, how did she…?
"So you'll do it, then?" she asks as if I hadn't already said no in five different ways. No matter how much she pouts those pretty lips and bats those pretty eyes, I can't take it on.
I let out a deep breath.
"Sure, angel—if your mom doesn't mind a belated gift."
She suddenly squares her shoulders, her chest lifting and making my eyes go straight to her perky tits for a moment.
Man, I'd love to rip that perfectly ironed blouse off her and see how much composure she can pull off then with her titties out, reddened lips finally smeared by my hungry mouth while I'm grabbing her by her hair a bit.
When I glance back at her face, I see that her jaw has tightened.
Oh, boy, here it comes—the spoiled princess I-get-everything-I-want mode.
I almost have to bite my lip to keep from laughing.
Her head is held high and proud when she says in a smoother, lower voice, "I saw the way you looked at me earlier. Perhaps I can convince you to change your mind?"
Now we're talking.
But then she says, "For example, I'll have lunch with you if you'd like."
That does it.
I collapse into unstoppable laughter, hard and long, again almost falling off my work stool.
I'm practically doubled over at this woman thinking a mere lunch can make me put a huge billionaire client aside for her, despite her sweet ass.
We're talking about a powerful, influential man who could ruin my reputation in the blink of an eye, reducing the likelihood other wealthy clients continue to take a chance on me.
Yeah, I can already retire early, but I actually like the shit I do.
"Hon, it would take a lot more than eating pasta with you to get me to shelve what I'm doing and take you on. A LOT."
Her manner softens a bit though she still looks resolute.
"Like what?" she asks.
Is she kidding me right now?
I let my eyes slowly run over her—from her stunning heated face to her tits, then straight down the rest of her curves to her Louboutins.
When I look back up at her face, she doesn't look as confident as she did at first; she looks almost scared.
But didn't she just pretty much offer herself up to me?
It enrages me that she'd be so easy, but my cock hasn't stopped swelling since I laid eyes on her, and if the goddess wants to give it up to me, I'll gladly take it.
At least then maybe I can get her out of my head and get back to work because let's face it—she'll just be an even worse distraction if I don't take the opportunity.
At least that's what I'm telling myself.
Or is that my cock speaking?
I give her a slow smile and her eyes dart away from my face shyly.
"How about you leave your panties here?" I say softly, deceptively tentative and almost sweet, if I say so myself.
Her eyes widen a bit and I have to fight to keep a straight face.
What the hell else was she expecting?
And hell, that's the least of my request—wait till she hears the rest.
She seems to relax in relief, and I look forward to dropping the bombshell.
"Is that it?" she says shakily.
Her eyes look hopeful and I can tell she's trying her best not to look scandalized.
What the heck is really going on with this one? Is she a confident, sexually liberated woman or not?
I don't answer her; I just watch as she very delicately starts pulling her panties down from underneath her designer skirt, avoiding my eyes again.
She must love her mom a whole goddamned lot to be doing this right now for a perfect stranger.
She's out here alone, isolated, and getting my dick hard just by existing, but she is determined to get me to take on her project.
Once she has freed the lacy red fabric, she stands tall again, extending her arm toward me, the tantalizing undergarment hanging off her perfectly manicured finger.
I take it from her and bring it to my nose, holding it there and sniffing her in.
That was a goddamned grave mistake.
Her delicate feminine scent makes my cock throb so hard, I almost expect it to bust through my pants raging at her.
The goddess might be neat and tidy on the outside, but she left a spot, and knowing she got wet for me starts scrambling my brain.
"There. So you agree," she says, still trying to look like she's in charge, like she's got it all together and is unfazed, business as usual.
But she is failing.
I tuck the panties in my pocket.
"Oh, no, no, no, sweetheart—that's not it at all," I say darkly, my voice almost a growl. "Goddess, what I'd like to do more than anything right now is taste you. So how about you spread your legs a bit for me? I'll just hike up your skirt."
Her eyes actually bulge this time.
"Excuse me?" she says in the most outraged voice I've ever heard directed at me.
"You heard me, beautiful. Just a lick or two. I need to kiss those pussy lips of yours."
I close the distance between us then get on my knees before her, placing my rough hands on her smooth thighs.
Her mouth hangs open as she stares down at me in shock, but I just start pushing her skirt up until her sweet, glistening folds are before me.
Holy shit, this was a bad idea—I don't know if I can control myself.
She is still staring at me with worry when I dive for her pussy, taking the delicate lips of her cunt in my hungry mouth.
She lets out a whimper that electrifies everything in me, dazzling sensations coursing through my body before zapping my dick and making it throb almost painfully, engorged with need.
I have to fight not to pull her down to the ground and let it take over, shoving myself in the source of the sweet nectar on my tongue—the goddess can't handle all of me just yet, I can tell.
Her soaked pussy is definitely ready, but I mean otherwise.
She finally gives me what I want, opening her legs more and positioning herself for optimal licking.
My tongue finds all her delightful nooks and crannies, darting over her most sensitive parts, flickering over her clit, sliding up her soaked slit.
She is holding onto my shoulders as I eat her, moaning uncontrollably.
The feminine sounds are doing a number on me, and soon, I can't take it anymore and pull my dick out.
When she notices, she tries to pull away but my hands grab her ass cheeks and keep her pussy and my lips connected. She's not going any-goddamn-where.
&nb
sp; "We can't!" she says breathily, still trying to pull away.
I withdraw my mouth from her sweet cunt to say, "Don't you worry, darlin'—I have no plans to sink him inside you today."
And, as if to reassure her, I leave one hand on her ass cheek while the other finds my thick, jutting cock and starts moving over it.
Once she sees what I'm up to, she relaxes again, and I suck and lick her more desperately, flicking my tongue over her juicy lips while my hand tries to calm my demanding cock down before I turn myself into a filthy liar.
I slide the hand on her butt cheek to her inner thigh, moving upward until I'm close enough to ease a finger in her soaked hole.
She tenses, and no matter how gently I make my way in, the girl is extremely tight, making me wonder when was the last time she got laid.
Jealousy surges through me at the thought; I can't imagine anyone with their hands on my goddess, and it makes me want to claim her hard immediately and ruin her for other men.
I start eating her more voraciously, and as I slide my finger gently in and out of her tight, wet hole, I start to wonder if she's ever had sex at all, but that can't possibly be—she has the signs of a kept girl all over her; no way would some sugar daddy not have allowed himself access to the spoils.
Soon, I feel her on the edge, her breaths coming faster, lighter, more desperate, her hands going from my shoulders to the back of my head as she starts fucking my face.
Her increased pleasure and nearness to climax is too much for me, and we both explode, spurts of cum shooting from my cock with some running down my hand like a damned volcano, the goddess's pussy pulsating against my index finger, her juices running down my beard.
I look forward to smelling her for the rest of the day.
We stay quiet, catching our breaths as we hold on to each other, her hands still on my head, my hands making their way back to her round butt cheeks as I lean against her, trying not to think about having to clean up the mess—the sort that has never sullied my sacred studio—once she leaves.
I wish I could have emptied my cock inside of her, shooting spurt after spurt of pearly fluid, but the time for that will come soon enough, so to speak.
After a final deep exhale, she says breathily, "So that's a yes? I can count on you to take on my project?"
"Yes, goddess," I say without thinking twice.
Who am I kidding? She can count on me for any goddamned thing.
"Good," she says.
She pulls away from my unwilling arms and maneuvers her skirt down.
Then she reaches into her designer purse and pulls out an envelope.
"Here's more info—about a specific orisha—and a few details about my mother and some photographs of her. You will find my contact info on the back of the package. We can discuss payment terms whenever you like and more about the project at a more convenient hour."
She rests the package down on the nearest surface then takes off while I'm still kneeling, wondering again how the hell she found me, and how the hell she expects me to ever let her go.
I glance at the package, the cum on the floor, my materials for my current project laid out, and the mess on my working table.
What the hell did I just get myself into?
In more ways than one, I'm fucked.
STELLA
I try to keep my cool as I force my legs to keep moving away from the hunk who made me come for the first time from a man's touch.
My knees are shaking as I bumble toward my gray Aston Martin, and I feel like they'll give out any second now.
I'm in absolute shock—I can't believe what I just did!
I mean, I can, but I'm still shocked I let things get so far.
None of my pageant training prepared me for a moment such as that; my composure is ruined.
But at least he isn't seeing it.
It's not just the naughty things that have me shaken—it's the potential consequences.
What if someone found out? What if someone had walked in while we were going at it?
My life could have been ruined!
If my fiancé finds out what happened, who knows what he'll do.
He's extremely rich and powerful, and part of the reason he's marrying me is so that he can have virginal me.
I'm still technically a virgin, although no one's ever licked me before, but even though it's an arranged marriage, I still cheated and I feel terrible.
Still, I'm glad before I marry that old, withered guy I had one experience with a handsome virile man who sets me on fire.
I'll move on with my commitment, but at least I'll have that sweet memory.
Oh, who am I kidding?
I'll never get Derek out of my head now.
I take a deep breath, hoping to walk steadier the last few yards to the car my fiancé gave me.
Derek Carter.
That it was my first crush sitting in that studio—a guy I haven't seen or heard from in over seven years—is another reason my knees can't stop shaking.
No matter how many clues I gathered to track the artist known as Dagor down, I never expected him to turn out to be the boy I was in love with since I was nine years old.
The minute I saw him, I knew I was doomed.
I recognized his back tattoo as he sat there shirtless, sculpted and inked, bent over his work, and I suddenly realized my crush on him hadn't really gone anywhere.
My heart started pounding loudly, echoing in my ears, and all sorts of other body parts started pulsing. I felt alive, heated, and in great danger.
I almost felt like I was a kid again, reduced to a primal response, frozen until I steeled myself to complete what I went there to do.
Before I turned his music off and he turned around, part of me was still in denial that it was him, figuring it had to be a coincidence or something—that maybe he and his team got the same tattoo together, and one of them had become the sought-after artist instead, but when he turned to me and those familiar green eyes met mine, it's a wonder I didn't collapse then.
He had no idea the power he had over me from that moment on—he could have gotten me to do a lot more than I did.
I crushed on Derek as a tween and straight through my early teens, easy to maintain since he was my brother's best friend and around all the time by then.
I haven't seen him since they stopped hanging out.
He and my brother joined the military while I was in junior high, and at some point, I guess they just grew apart.
Probably since my brother dropped out of military training but Derek stayed.
When it became clear they were no longer friends, I was crushed Derek wouldn't be stopping by anymore, and as the years passed, I thought I'd never see him again.
And then there he was, seven years later—the man behind the Dagor sculptures, and looking even more devastatingly handsome than before.
The fire in Derek's eyes as he seethed in anger then burned with obvious desire made me wet immediately.
My brain almost stopped working—it's a wonder I was able to keep my physical composure and not let on how much louder my heartbeats had gotten in my ears, how much my pussy tingled with interest, how desperately I wanted him to finally say he felt the same way about me as I felt about him so many years ago.
I knew our age difference was a big problem back then, but we're both adults now and I wanted him to welcome me properly.
The way he looked at me at first, I thought he remembered me, but it was soon obvious he didn't.
The shy girl with the frequently frizzy hair, black-framed glasses and heart eyes? Yeah, I guess I look nothing like that girl anymore.
He has no clue who I am and that's probably a good thing—I was so pathetically in love with him back then.
At least now I can get more real responses from him; he won't do that condescending sort of exaggerated niceness to a friend's younger sister.
He'll interact with me on a genuine level and see me for who I really am, and I'm not that insecure yo
ung girl anymore—although my heart aches for him now more than ever.
Thankfully, it's a bit of a drive from Derek's secluded studio—I'll have time to compose myself again before meeting up with my best friend, Celeste, at a shopping center later.
I definitely have to stop home first and clean up.
And put on a new pair of panties.
I try not to think about what use Derek has for the ones I left behind.
I take another deep breath as I settle in behind the wheel then start the car, getting my bearings and sorting out the navigation.
It's a good thing Derek got distracted so quickly—he didn't get to press me about how I found him.
I could tell he was about to grill me about it at first, but other matters quickly became more pressing.
I smile to myself at my tiny dirty joke.
The first thing I do when I get to the shopping center is head to the jewelry story I left my engagement ring in to be cleaned.
Harold would be so mad if he knew where I'd left his precious gift.
I don't know how much it's worth exactly, but I'm sure he wouldn't have recommended I drop it off at any old jewelry store to be polished.
Maybe subconsciously I was hoping someone would lose it or run off with it.
Not that that would actually change anything—I'd still be engaged to Harold, and he'd probably just replace it with firm instructions for taking care of it.
In the end, I'd end up paying for it, one way or another.
I slip the sparkling ring on my finger, hating its presence even more despite its obnoxious beauty.
I check the time.
Celeste will be here any minute now, so I seek out a bench near our designated meeting place to wait.
I'm trying to stop my mind from replaying parts of my encounter with Derek when I suddenly hear a buzz—a text has arrived on my burner phone.
It can only be from Derek since I obtained the phone for just this purpose and he's the only one with the number.
Just testing, goddess, the text says, the wording all I need to confirm identity.
Yes, please send your rate, I type back.
It's the only piece of information missing for the transaction to be official, and I need to send half the deposit now, the other half due upon completion.
