Another Brush of Love (The Carnal Exhibitions Book 3)

by LW Barefoot

  He lets me take control. His clothes don’t stand a chance against my needy grasp. I inch him away from the table and stand up. He doesn’t back away but gives me space between his hard body and the table at my back.

  I motion for Evan to turn and he does, as I work his pants and boxers off. He hits the edge of the table and allows it. I place both palms on his massive chest and push slightly. He lays back with my silent request and keeps himself propped up on his elbows watching me with a guarded expression.

  He’s at my mercy and my command. I kiss his knees moving up, gifting the same attention he granted mine. I cup his balls in my palm and massage the sensitive skin. My tongue licks them as I pull them in my mouth. I’m rewarded with a groan and his head dropping back in elation.

  I discover his body with abandon. He’s done the same with mine since the first time we were together. He’s no longer the only brave participant.

  I use his cock and his confidence. I lick and crave. I dive in empty and come back with a mouthful of Evan’s cock. He urges me on with the sounds that escape him and ring in my ears.

  The ridges of his manhood rub against my tastebuds. His grip is tight, tangling through my hair and against my scalp. I hold his heated gaze as I swirl my tongue over him and fuck him with my mouth. He pushes my head down to urge me on.

  My thighs are slick with his proud smirk and possesses the truth that I no longer need his encouragement.

  I climb up over the man of my dreams and claim this certain part of what makes us tick. His cock is wet in my grasp as I rub the bead of his arousal around the tip and bring that finger to my lips and lick it off.

  Evan throws his head back again and moans. The tight muscles in his chest and neck make me want to sink my teeth in as I lower myself on his impressive length. I hiss and adjust as I shift on him. I move like he taught me and become my own entity as I conquer our lust.

  His hooded eyes beckon and obey. They surrender completely. I fall into them and no longer fear what I could find there. Not even when his fist closes around my windpipe as I take him deeper. He squeezes my neck and uses his grip to slam me back down on him.

  My hand grasps a burning candle as I ride Evan and take every damn ounce of pleasure that’s offered as I rub my clit against his hardness. His eyes widen and I become something I’ve never known as I lean my head back and pour the pooled wax over my breasts.

  Evan’s fingers move from my neck and pinch my clit as soon as the wax trails down over my nipples. I bite back cries of ecstasy. I swallow the pain that’s eclipsed with blinding pleasure. When his fingers flick the cooling wax from my nipples, I finally give it my all. I spasm and tumble. I fall completely, bouncing up and down and fuck Evan as he has so thoroughly fucked and saved me.

  His strong arms catch me as I collide with his chest. He keeps our bodies together and raises up off the table, wrapping his arms around me.

  The candle I toyed with fell when I climaxed and the flame flickered out. The leftover wax trickles on the surface of the table. It cools along with my burning climax.

  I look to Evan watching me and flush with embarrassment.

  “You let me take over,” I whisper in astonishment.

  “You loved it and so did I,” he reassures me.

  He leans up and captures my lips while shifting his hips to remind me that I might have spiraled through euphoria and back but he’s still rock hard.

  “Then show me what you had in mind,” I push him.

  “I intend to,” he promises with the sexiest grin I’ve ever seen.

  I go from straddling him to flat on my back in a swift turnabout. Hard fingers take the rest of the dried wax off my skin.

  Evan is rough when he grabs my breasts and thrusts deep. Reaching for another lit candle roots him in to the hilt. Every single place he burned me previously, he skips over and avoids altogether. I’m no longer a mass of scars and past regrets. Evan’s attention has the ability to make me forget about what has been holding me back.

  Hot wax licks across my nipples and it causes me to grip involuntarily and spasm on Evan’s cock. His answering groan vibrates through the haze and has me squeezing harder.

  “I’m trying to take my time, gorgeous. But if you keep that up I’m going to lose it,” he hisses as I clamp down on him and lift my tits up for him to torment.

  His hips take over as he sets the candle back down. Pushing my legs up to my chest as he roots himself deeper. The force of his rapid thrusts echo through the space as he fucks me.

  A steady hum starts within me and pulses. It brings me closer. I groan when he stands up all the way and resumes his pace and kicks it up a notch.

  “Evan,” I cry out as I start to unravel.

  Never letting up on his demanding thrusts, he lifts the candle back up and drips hot beads of wax directly over my pulsing clit. I scream and lock down on him. He moans and delivers another scorching drop over my entrance.

  I see stars and constellations and unending waves of light explode. They sparkle and take off over every surface.

  For a moment, I think we’ve set the house on fire. It’s only the all consuming passion that never truly releases us. Momentary madness spirals as we shatter as one.

  Evan finds his absolution and forces me to tumble again with him. Unintelligible words and sounds escape me as the wax cools and Evan holds himself still inside me. I’m limp as we calm and come to.

  “Let me hold you forever, Harper,” he asks but he never really had a choice.

  Evan

  My cell phone has been going off but I’ve been too exhausted to get up and answer it. It takes Harper shifting next to me to crawl out of bed and find out who’s interrupting my sleep.

  The phone is not the only thing stirring to life in the home. The wood floors echo and creak all the way up here. I take my phone off the nightstand and slip on a pair of athletic shorts before walking out to the hall. The house sounds like it’s waking up, instead of winding down for the night.

  By the time I get to the stairs, Martin’s opening the front door from the repetitive knocks. Tom comes in the foyer in a rumpled suit and deeper lines etched across his face.

  “Evan, sorry to wake you,” Tom says.

  “What’s happened?”

  Nothing good can come out of Tom driving all the way out here in the middle of the night.

  Martin ushers us in one of the parlors. Tom starts talking before we have a chance to sit.

  “I’m sorry for having to tell you that your mother was found dead by her housekeeper a couple of hours ago.”

  I don’t know what to say. She’s been drinking herself to an early grave since I was a kid. There are only so many times you can try to get a person help before you give up. Before the addict forces you to lose all hope. There is no shock in this loss. I realize I’ve been mourning her since I was a child who needed their mother and alcohol took up all her attention.

  “You could have called instead of making the trip out here in the middle of the night,” I say because Tom knows why I wouldn’t need to hear this news face to face. He’s been studying my family since our abrupt introduction in Chicago.

  “Ryan’s meeting with Anthony Carrera as we speak. I understand he was here just hours ago and told you about his sister?”

  “Yeah, he told us.”

  “Have you spoken to your father?” he asks.

  “The last time we spoke was in the boardroom when I signed over my life. That was the same night he went after Harper on Fat Tuesday. I didn’t see him when he brought that damned painting out here.”

  “No one has seen or heard from him in the last couple of days.”

  I hate the way that sounds. Joe is nothing if not completely visible in New Orleans. He’s the king of society and everyone knows it.

  “Evan, we have agents scrambling over this. I think the Sculptor had something to do with your father’s disappearance and Gisele Carrera’s murder. Maybe even your mother’s death.”

  “Why
would he care about anyone other than Harper? Why start going after people I’m connected to?”

  Martin enters the room with a tray of coffee.

  I’m not shocked in the least about my mother’s passing. She was in a car accident a few years ago and was lucky enough to walk away from it. Instead of sobering up, her disease spiraled even more. My father fueled and enabled her addiction.

  My thoughts spin around Tom’s suspicion that the Sculptor had something to do with this and it doesn’t make sense.

  Tom plops down on one of the couches as I pace.

  “The Sculptor’s case is different from what the public believes. We’ve intentionally kept details out of the press because he’s still a free man. Harper’s the only victim he sought out, the only woman we believe he actually stalked.”

  I take huge gulps of black coffee, ignoring the burn across my tongue and down my throat. I need the caffeine to heat my veins. I’m wide awake, but I need something to distract from the beginnings of anger gurgling up with Tom’s admissions. Tom believes the Sculptor had something to do with my mother’s death all because he’s trying to get to Harper.

  “Every one of his victims either lived with their parents, roommates or in some type of dorm or sorority house. For a normal stalker, this would be enough to find another victim, too much risk for exposure or witnesses. But they also had healing bruises and marks before they were found dead with the Roman numerals. He had some kind of relationship with each one of the deceased victims. They all resembled each other.”

  I don’t like where he’s going with this, but I nod for him to continue.

  “The details of how his victims were treated are nothing more than rumors we wanted the press to believe. If he was ever caught and it went to trial, there wouldn’t be a juror out there who would allow someone to go free if we painted him as we have before his arrest.”

  “So you lied?” I ask.

  “In the beginning, because his actions didn’t make sense. There was enough evidence to convict him of sexual assault in the other cases but Harper’s the only one who was…”

  Tom can’t get the words out and I don’t want to know what they are. I shouldn’t have downed the damn coffee because now my heart pounds relentlessly. I’m fuming and it doesn’t take a genius to figure out that Harper was different from the rest of the Sculptor’s victims. She tried to end her life, she fought against him, and here he is going after people connected to me.

  Tom and I both stop speaking, even breathing when Harper enters the room. Her innocence shines with no trace of makeup. Her snorting dog right at her feet.

  “Good morning, Harper.”

  “Good morning, Tom.”

  She turns her gorgeous eyes to me and frowns.

  “I’m so sorry about your mom, Evan,” she murmurs as tears spill over down her dewy cheeks.

  “I’ll leave you two. We’ll talk later?” Tom asks me.

  I pull Harper into my arms and can’t hold back my own tears.

  “The sun hasn’t even come up. You’re more than welcome to stay and get some rest. At the very least, stay for breakfast.”

  “Thanks. That might not be a bad idea. Evan, I’m sorry for your loss.”

  “Thank you.”

  Harper and I hold each another as Tom walks out of the parlor, closing the door behind him. I take a deep breath before pulling away from her. She doesn’t allow it.

  If she heard that bit about my mom, then she heard the rest of what Tom had to say. I want to interrogate her. I want to climb on top of this house and scream against the cruelness of it all.

  “Evan… I never had a relationship with him. I never met him outside of the time he held me. I didn’t allow or welcome”…

  She starts shaking. She doesn’t have to justify any of this and she damn sure shouldn’t be afraid if she needs to confide in me. I kiss the top of her head and hold her tighter.

  “And to think he had something to do with your mother.”

  “Shhh, everything is going to be okay.”

  Instead of answering me, she starts shaking her head back and forth as if denying me. A minute later, she stops and pulls away from me. My hand in hers.

  The bottom floor stays quiet. Martin informs us that he turned down a bed for Tom and he’ll set up breakfast later this morning.

  This is the first time Harper leads me back upstairs.

  We drift back to sleep with the sun still out of sight, prepared to fight our individual nightmares.

  Evan

  Mae is on her way back to the plantation today. Martin called her about the news of my mother’s death but somehow she already knew.

  This is the first time I’ve reached out to my father since he attacked Harper. Between my assistant and I, we haven’t been able to find him and no one at Hawthorne Holdings has heard from him in days.

  Grayson comes in my office and rests his hip on my desk.

  “I’ve been thinking about what Anthony said the other night,” he admits.

  “What about it?”

  “If someone lead Anthony to Gisele’s body in Joe’s bed, do you think he would allow Joe to get away with it?”

  “No. I don’t,” I admit.

  “And what are the odds that Joe drank enough that he passed out? His need for control would never allow that,” Grayson wonders out loud.

  I nod in answer and turn it over in my mind. Our father’s need for power and control is an obsessive part of what makes Joe Hawthorne tick.

  “Do you want me to contact Anthony?” he offers.

  “And say what exactly?”

  “I don’t know. He knows how I feel about our father, but he doesn’t know how you feel. He doesn’t know what happened between Joe and Harper. You could use that. Let him think his legitimate son cares for him. Let him think you give a damn about what happens to the old man and find out if Anthony had anything to do with your mother’s death.”

  “She did that to herself. She’s been drinking to her grave since I was a kid.”

  “You don’t really believe she happened to die the same night as Gisele?”

  “I don’t know what to think,” I mutter.

  “Call Anthony and ask him about Joe. See what his reaction is,” Grayson persists.

  I take Grayson’s advice as he sits in on the call.

  Anthony’s shocked about the news of my mother. His reaction tells me he had nothing to do with it. He even offers his condolences. And just when I start to feel bad for the guy, he asks about his lovely Harper. I hang up to his harsh bark of laughter.

  “You didn’t ask him about Joe,” Grayson stops the trail my anger starts to wind down. “You and I both know he has him and plans something.”

  “Whatever it is, Anthony’s going to have to wait. I have a funeral to plan,” I murmur.

  The days slip away in a messed up blur of mixed emotions and regret. We fail to find out the whereabouts of my father, even though, we know Anthony has him. I don’t really give a fuck. He can keep him for all I care.

  I mourn in my own way and thank God for the people around me.

  Harper

  Three days have passed since Tom’s arrival with news of Mrs. Hawthorne’s death. The funeral service is in New Orleans tomorrow.

  Evan didn’t want to leave tonight, so he’s getting up early in the morning and traveling back with Mae and Brad to the service. I offered to go and be by his side, but Tom interrupted and thought it best for me to stay out of the city for a while longer.

  Evan has been so shut off since the news came of his mother’s passing and Gisele’s untimely death. He hasn’t displayed his vulnerability in the least these last few days.

  I’ve worried about the way Evan handles his grief, but he reassured me that he’s had a lifetime of his mother hurting herself.

  Tonight Evan wore the suit jacket he had on the other night when I tucked my pink thong in the breast pocket. I couldn’t wipe the grin off my face all through dinner. When we stayed after desse
rt, he pulled my panties from his pocket and wiped his mouth saying it was time for his dessert. We made love with such intensity that we got more than our appetites sated.

  We fall asleep tangled up in sheets. My head resting on Evan’s chest and his fingers tugging through my hair, finally giving way to exhaustion.

  My dreams whisper with long overdue wishes. I move under palm trees and rush away from them. My footsteps are unsteady as I run across dense sand on a beach. I race away from the incoming tide, gaining speed when the ground is solid and my steps become more fluid. I’m welcomed by ancient oak trees and swaying Spanish moss. The scent of honeysuckle whispers its warm greeting.

  Evan waits for me in the driveway. This time, he’s not upstairs staring down at me from up high, he runs to meet me. It’s not night at all, but early morning with bright shining light peeking through thick branches rising above the plantation.

  He swings me up in his arms. As our bodies collide, I feel true happiness. It bursts through my senses and encompasses me with blessed relief.

  Nothing creeps out of the shadows to get to us, or at least I don’t acknowledge their presence.

  Images of us kissing in open abandon makes this the best dream ever. He carries me in the house and never lets me go. His hands work up my dress and his fingers push into my hot entrance.

  I close my eyes when his thumb circles around my clit. My eyes close in bliss, in the space between sleep and reality, they open to the here and now.

  I’m naked and Evan’s hands aren’t between my legs, they’re mine. The room is dark and the windows are open on the balcony. The sheets kicked completely off as if I was burning up. I stop moving, trying to collect my thoughts, embarrassed and unsure if I should finish what I started.

  I feel Evan watching me before I look over at him. He’s propped up with his head resting against his hand, watching me writhe in my sleep.