by Staci Hart
“…when that piece in particular is exciting on its own. Would you agree?” The older man said.
I turned my attention back to him and cleared my throat. “Absolutely. Just talk to my agent about whichever pieces you’re interested in, and we’ll set up a meeting.”
“That would be wonderful. We can do lunch next week.” He stuck out his hand, and I shook it. “Thank you, Mr. Collins.”
“Of course. If you’ll excuse me.”
I walked across the room, past the large photos of Cory that hung throughout the space. She stood in front of my favorite piece in the collection. The shadows were deep, her body in high contrast to the sky behind her as she stood on the ledge of Logan Tower, looking out over the city. The angle was such that I caught her hair in the light as it flew behind her, as did the tear streak on her cheek. The hurt, the pain on her face as clear as her resolve. She was a warrior.
Six months had passed since we’d been together, the best six months of my entire life, hands down. No contest. I’d have her forever, if she’d have me. One day, I’d ask her. I’d put a rock the size of Brooklyn on her finger and give her my name. Until then, I was happy to have her in my bed every night, to see her face every morning. To run with her. To love her.
I slipped a hand across the small of her back, circling my thumb against her hot skin as I leaned into her ear.
“My gallery was made for you to be in it, Cory.”
She turned her head to smile up at me with flushed cheeks and took a sip of champagne. I watched her lips as the bubbling gold slipped past them.
Erin grinned, her blue eyes bright as she looked around. “This is amazing, Van.”
Jill smiled too. “I just can’t believe Cory agreed to let you do an entire gallery show on her.”
“Me neither,” I said with a laugh.
Cory smiled. “It’s important to you, and they’re beautiful. I’d actually forgotten you’d taken the bulk of the collection until I saw them on your desk that day.”
My heart clenched at the memory. I’d come out of my darkroom to find her letter, her confession sitting on top of photographs of her, scattered all over the surface like an homage. I’d developed the photos to try to work through what happened, thinking I could get her out of my system. But there was no shaking Cory once you had a taste.
Morgan and Chase joined us, holding hands. She pressed her cheek to Cory’s for a kiss. “Sorry we’re late.” She did the same for me, and I kissed hers back. “This is fantastic, you guys. Really, Van. You’ve outdone yourself."
Chase held up a hand, and I clasped it as he pulled me into his chest and we clapped each other on the back. “Hey, man. Congratulations.”
“Thanks for coming.”
“Any sharks buying?”
I laughed. “We’ll see.”
Another buyer approached with pink cheeks and glassy eyes. “Is this Cory?” He glanced at Cory, but asked me, and I stood up a little straighter as I wondered if he was blind or just stupid.
“Yes, this is Cory James.”
He stuck out a hand, and she took it. He gave it a clumsy pump. “Nice to meet you, Cory. Great show, Collins. ‘Hardcore,’ great name for a show about parkour.” A laugh burst out of him. “Oh my God. I get it. ‘Hardcore?’ Cory? Smart, Collins! Funny guy.” He shook his head, and we all shared a look as he congratulated himself. “These photos of you, so great. I especially love those double exposures with the city overlays. Have you ever thought about modeling?”
She shot a sideways look at me and chuckled. “No. Thanks, though. I’m a Van Collins exclusive.”
It was my turn to laugh. Photographing her had become my favorite pastime. I’d captured her in my favorite moments — drinking coffee in the morning in nothing but my sweater. Looking up at me with love in her eyes. Curves swathed in white bedding with early morning light behind her. And running, of course, the center of who she was. The time when she was in her element. Free.
She’d chosen the ones for me to add to the gallery collection. You couldn’t see her face in most of them, but it didn’t matter. She was so present in each one that they had their own gravity. They couldn’t help but make you feel, not only what she was feeling in the moment, but what I felt for her, what was in my heart. It was in every shadow, every curve, the visible signature of our love.
She leaned into me, and even that simple movement was enough to turn me on and make my heart explode, all at the same time.
The buyer nodded. “Well, if you ever change your mind about modeling, let me know.” He held up his glass. “Great show, Collins. Nice to meet you, Cory.”
“Pleasure,” she answered as he winked and turned to leave.
I looked down at her. “I wanted to show you something, Cory. Excuse us, everybody.”
They all nodded and smiled as I grabbed Cory’s hand and pulled her through the throng of people, to the back of the gallery and into my studio, the din fading behind us as I closed the door.
I flipped on the safelight, and the red lights lit the room.
“You had something to show me, Mr. Collins?”
I nodded and stepped closer, taking her champagne and draining it before I set it on the counter. “I did. Something that couldn’t wait.” I dragged a finger down her neckline and hooked it inside, pulling gently until her breast was exposed. I held it in my palm, warm and soft, squeezing gently, thumbing her nipple that peaked under my touch.
“Mmm,” she answered. “I want to see. Show me, Van.”
My cock stirred in my pants at the sound of my name. “Oh, I will.” I cupped her cheek, eyes on her lips, full and red, wishing I could kiss her. But there’d be no way she could go back to the party. I’d have to be discreet. But that didn’t mean I had to be careful. Not with Cory.
I trailed my knuckles up the inside of her thigh, all the way up to her pussy, warm and wet. I ran the pad of my finger up her slit through her g-string, stroking her through the thin fabric, and she sighed, that sweetest sound. My free hand roamed up her thigh, hitched up her dress as she reached for my pants, unzipping them and slipping her hands in just as I grabbed her bare ass. She closed her hand around my cock, hard and straining against the fabric of my underwear, pumping once, twice to the rhythm of my finger on her clit.
I wouldn’t wait any longer for her. Not after watching her in that dress all night.
I hooked my fingers in the strap of her thong and tugged until they hit the ground. She stepped out of them as she dropped my pants, and as soon as I was free, I grabbed her around the waist and picked her up. She wrapped her legs around me, hooked her ankles, wound her arms around my neck as I lifted her up by her waist until my crown rested against her pussy, slick and warm on my skin.
Our eyes met as I dropped her onto my cock.
Her lashes fluttered, lips parted as she sighed again. “Van…” she whispered. My cock throbbed inside of her, and I hummed. I needed to taste her. I found her neck and licked, bared a shoulder and sucked. She held on tight as I shifted to hook my arm under her knee, and she smiled at me while I slipped my arm under the other. My hands rested on her ribs, thumbs shifting against the curve of her breast, and I rocked her, lifting her easily before sliding her back down onto me again. Then again. And again.
Her breath was already shallow, fingers in my hair, spurring me on as she panted. She was so hot, so warm around me, and every little sound, every moan sent me closer. Her hips swung around every time I brought her down, her brows tightening, and I knew she was about to come. I lived for that moment every day.
I brought her down harder, pacing myself with her to the soft pat of our skin as I thrust my hips, giving myself to her as she took a deep breath and held it, mouth stretched open as she came, gasping once the release washed over her. I followed her, heart pounding, pulling her close to bury my face in her neck.
She was mine. I was hers.
“I love you,” she whispered.
They were the words I’d never tire of hea
ring. “Forever.”
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
AS ALWAYS, THE FIRST person to thank is Jeff Brillhart, husband extraordinaire. Thanks for putting up with my inconvenient need to keep myself (and in effect, you) constantly busy. Thank you for being so incredibly supportive, as well as being an incredible badass.
Brooke Cumberland - Thank you, thank you, thank you. You are an amazing, shiny, absolutely lovely woman, and I love you times one million. Your support through my journey into a new genre has meant more to me than I could ever really put into words. I’m grateful for you every day, pookie.
Lori Riggs #lifetwin - You’ve now had my back through the completion of a(nother) book. Don’t ever leave me. Evarrrrrr.
Jen Miller - Thank you for being there for all the crazy, armed with memes. #iunderstandyourfrustration
Rachel Grey - You are a glorious, spectacular ladybeast and a wonder to behold. Thanks for always giving it to me straight, and for taking time (of which you have very little) to read my scribbles.
Zoe - #paybacks
Tanya - #feelings
Melissa - #crybaby
Terry Maggert - Many thanks for your Guy-eyeballs (guy-balls: sounds right, looks wrong.).
To my amazing betas - Your feedback helped shaped Van and Cory’s story, and without you, well, it would be a mess. Thanks for your eyes, hugs, and spankings.
To my readers - THANK YOU! I hope you found a few hours of enjoyment reading Hardcore. Catch you on the flip!
Hearts and Arrows
Deer in Headlights (Hearts and Arrows 1)
Snake in the Grass (Hearts and Arrows 2)
What the Heart Wants (Hearts and Arrows 2.5 Novella)
Doe Eyes (Hearts and Arrows 3)
Fool’s Gold (Hearts and Arrows 3.5 Novella)
Hearts and Arrows Box Set
Hardcore (Erotic Suspense Serials)
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Volume 2
Volume 3
Bad Habits
With a Twist - Summer 2015
Chaser - Fall 2015
Last Call - Winter 2016
Nailed - Erotic Shorts
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FREE short story on Amazon
NAILED: Erotic morsels
Everyone wants to get nailed.
Sometimes the first thing you feel for someone is lust. Maybe it's for a stranger. It might be someone you've only just noticed, or someone whom you've known, but aren't allowed to want. Maybe you just don't know if they're affected by you, if the sound of their voice or the way they touch your hand makes them as crazy as it makes you.
Or, perhaps they want you just as badly as you want them. Sometimes, it's all you can do to stop yourself from acting on it.
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ABOUT THE AUTHOR
STACI has been a lot of things up to this point in her life: a graphic designer, an entrepreneur, a seamstress, a clothing and handbag designer, a waitress. Can’t forget that. She’s also been a mom to three little girls who are sure to grow up to break a number of hearts. She’s been a wife, even though she’s certainly not the cleanest, or the best cook. She’s also super, duper fun at a party, especially if she’s been drinking whiskey, and her favorite word starts with f, ends with k.
From roots in Houston, to a seven year stint in Southern California, Staci and her family ended up settling somewhere in between and equally north, in Denver. They are new enough that snow is still magical. When she’s not writing, she’s gaming, cleaning, or designing graphics.
Follow Staci Hart:
Website: Stacihartnovels.com
Facebook: Facebook.com/stacihartnovels
Twitter: Twitter.com/imaquirkybird
Pinterest: pinterest.com/imaquirkybird
