His Muse: A Dark Alpha Bad Boy Romance

by Isabella Starling

  "Part your legs."

  My next order takes her by surprise, and she hesitates for a moment. Long enough to make me kneel in front of her, my hands resting on either side of her legs on the bench.

  "Did I fucking stutter, Cara?"

  She shakes her head frantically, and slowly, her legs part. I keep looking into her eyes even though it's insanely fucking hard with her pussy calling out to me so desperately. She keeps pushing her legs apart, farther and farther, and I can't help but feel proud of her. She doesn't stop until she's opened up to me completely, her little cunt only inches away from my hungry lips.

  "Good girl," I praise her, and her legs shake slightly. "Now stand them on your toes, on the very tips. And tense your muscles, every muscle in your legs."

  "Why?" she asks, an instinct that earns her a stern look from me.

  She blushes and finally does as she's told, her feet tiny and naked on the ground, her muscles straining as she fights to keep control of her body.

  "Pull your panties off," I tell her, and her feet fall back down. "Cara. Feet on your toes. Panties off. Fucking now."

  She's starting to shake, her whole body trembling with the impact of my words. I want to tell her I've seen her naked before, and I'm going to again plenty of times, but I don't. We're gonna have to deal with this bratty side of hers, because it's making me want to crack my belt across her ass. Not that it's a bad thing.

  With shaky fingers, Cara reaches to her hips. My eyes follow her hands as she hooks her thumbs in her thong and starts pulling it down. Her feet shake on their toes and she tenses, slipping the panties off her feet.

  "Good girl," I tell her again, and my fingers wrap around her dainty little ankles.

  She gasps and I grin at her, loving the effect I'm having on her body. She can try to deny it, but sooner or later Cara will realize she was made for me.

  "Now show me your pussy," I order her. "Spread yourself wide open for me, Cara. I want to see every fucking part of you."

  She hesitates again, but her own body gets the better of her and she lifts up her sweet white dress, showing me the shaved triangle between her legs. I exhale, my breath ragged, as she reaches between her thighs and shows me her pretty pink pussy. She opens herself up for me, showing me every fold, every fucking throbbing, soaked part of that sweet cunt. I'm worried I'm gonna cum in my pants, for fuck's sake.

  "Such a beautiful little pussy," I say roughly. "Hands behind your back now, hold your wrists. Be a good girl, Cara."

  She doesn't say a word, but she pants heavily as she crosses her arms behind her back. I torture her for a while longer, leaving hot, panting breaths along the skin of her inner thighs.

  "Please," she finally begs, blushing as soon as she realizes the word has slipped out. "Mason, I-"

  "What did I tell you to call me?" I ask her, my grip on her ankles tightening.

  "Sir," she manages to get out. "Sir, please. Get it over with."

  "Get it over with?" I chuckle and tickle her legs, my fingers sliding along her thighs and making her squirm. "Oh, baby, you're gonna be begging me not to stop by the time I'm finished with you."

  With that, I lean closer, letting my beard prickle the sensitive skin of her inner thighs. She moans, sweet and soft and sensual, as I lick and bite at her creamy skin. Fucking shit, she tastes delicious. If I'm not careful, she's going to realize how fucking crazy I am about her and get the upper hand.

  I kiss my way between her legs, and Cara tenses all her muscles, her ass almost lifting off the bench. She's moaning, sexy little sounds that make me swell in my pajamas. I bite the lips of her pussy and she thrusts her hips into my face. My hands leave her ankles and I wrap them around her waist instead. She makes a move to wrap her legs around my neck, but I stop her, giving her a stern look.

  "Legs on your toes, muscles tense," I remind her, and she nods so fervently it makes her hair tumble forward. "Good girl."

  I know for a fact she's never been licked here. I'm the first man tasting her, having her in my mouth, and I intend on being the last one, too. I burrow between her legs and she lets out a long moan, her hands desperately shaking behind her back. I bite her sweet clit, throbbing and slippery wet from her juices running down her thighs.

  "Sir," she whispers. "Sir, I want to cum again, please."

  I chuckle between her legs and get back to work. I almost get lost in her, the sweetness of her pussy and the way her folds part to let my tongue in. I work her until she's gasping, whether it's my name or the one I told her to address me with, I don't even know. I don't even stop her when she reaches for me, her hands wrapping in my hair desperately, trying to get off on my mouth. So damn desperate.

  I wait until she's so close she's almost bursting. And even though it kills me, I give her sweet clit one last lick before moving away. Her eyes are glazed over as she looks at me.

  "No, fucking please," she begs. "Please, more. Please, let me cum."

  "No," I tell her simply. "My fucking turn."

  Her eyes widen as I pull my cock out of my trousers and she starts moaning. For a second I'm sure my plan has backfired and she's gonna cum from the sight of my cock alone. Every time she tries to touch that sinful little pussy, I smack her hands away.

  "You knew you weren't supposed to be here, Cara," I tell her roughly. "So tonight, you don't get to cum. But I do. I deserve it, don't you think?"

  I start working my cock, slow, long strokes. She just whimpers and her eyes glaze over even more as she stares at me. I'm getting close, really fucking close. I was worried about her reaction, worried she'd get scared when she saw the size of my cock. She has no experience, after all. She doesn't even know I could split her in half.

  Suddenly, Cara drops to her knees and crawls closer to me. I wrap my fingers in her hair and hold her at an arm's length, and she makes desperate little noises in the back of her throat, trying to get closer to me.

  "What a filthy little girl," I tell her softly, feeling a drop of precum glide down my tip and her hungry eyes following it. "You want a taste, don't you, Cara?"

  "Please," she mewls. "Just one. Just one drop."

  "I don't think so." I grin wickedly at her, and a grunt leaves my lips as I feel myself at the brim. Cara scoots closer, parting her lips and opening her mouth so wide. She's too far away to get a taste, but goddamn, is she trying.

  "Jesus, Cara," I growl, and she blinks, long lashes fluttering against flushed cheeks, her pink tongue out and ready for my cum.

  I don't want to, but I fucking spurt cum all over my hand, all over my fucking fist and she cries and fidgets when it runs down my thigh and seeps into the ground.

  She rips herself out of my hold when I'm not careful, and her little tongue sneaks up my thigh, licking up a trail of cum. She moans and moans and I feel myself dripping again as another, fucking painful orgasm, takes over my body.

  Cara cleans my leg and pants for more, but as soon as my cock is drained, I put it back in my pants and grab her firmly in my arms. She's so far gone she tries to grind on my lap, still so fucking desperate to cum for me. I carry her out of the garden, her body needily convulsing in my arms.

  I don't stop until we're in my bedroom. I don't give a shit if anyone sees us. Finally, I place her in my bed, and she starts grinding against the sheets.

  "Little slut," I tell her, but my voice is gentle. I dig around in a chest of drawers at the foot of my bed until I find my favorite silk rope. Cara's eyes widen as I pull it out, but she doesn't question me when I tie her wrists to the bedpost. It's only when she realizes why I'm doing this that she mewls in protest.

  "Now, now, Cara," I coo. "Can't have you getting yourself off, now. Then your punishment would've been in vain, right?"

  "Fuck you," she says desperately, and I laugh at her, helpless and stunning in my bed.

  "I have some work to do," I tell her simply. "I'll be back in the morning."

  "You can't just leave me here!" she's incredulous, angry as fuck and beautiful as hell.
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  "Watch me." I grin and leave the room, her helpless, subdued little cries following me down the hallway.

  I take my sweet time working with some clients overseas that night. I don't head back to my bedroom until 10:00 a.m. has come and passed. Finally, because I'm a damn impatient bastard, I leave my study and walk in on Cara with her eyes sleeping like a doll.

  "Morning, sweetheart," I say gently, and she stirs sleepily at the sound of my voice.

  I walk over to her, pleased to see she hasn't struggled against her restraints. I let her down, smoothing down the skin on her wrists as she curls up on the bed.

  "Sleep well?"

  "Not enough," she mutters. "Need more."

  "Sorry, Cara," I laugh. "We're going into town today. No more time to sleep."

  As soon as the words leave my lips, she gets up and looks at me, wiping her sleepy eyes.

  "Are we really?" she asks me, the excitement plain in her voice. "I want to go so badly. Do you promise we're going? To Venice?"

  I nod, her excitement pleasing me. In a second, she's forgotten all about her traumatic night, and she squeals as she jumps up from the bed, telling me all about how excited she is.

  It’s going to be a fun day. Cara doesn’t seem to remember I have an agenda though, and I have some plans for her when we get to town. She’ll find out what they are soon enough.

  Ten

  Cara

  I can't believe I finally get to leave the house. I've been cooped up here, and my excitement at finally exploring Venice is making me grin the whole way into town.

  Filippe drives us to the city, with Mason and me sitting in the back. He keeps smiling at my childlike excitement, but I can't stop myself. I never lied about my obsession with art history, and I've always wanted to travel and explore the world, Italy especially. I just know this is going to be amazing.

  I'm also trying to distract myself from thinking about Mason and what happened during the night too much. It was insane, the things he made me feel scaring me as much as they turn me on. I don't really know what to think of the whole thing. Does he like me, or is he merely using me, showing me he has to be in control every single second I'm there? I guess I'll find out eventually, but for now, it's easier to occupy my mind with the beautiful scenery surrounding us.

  We drive up to the port, where Filippe explains the last leg of the journey will be spent on the boat. I grin excitedly as he helps me walk to a boat Mason apparently owns. The man in question is grinning at me as I sit down, barely able to contain my excitement.

  "This is amazing," I tell him honestly. "Thank you so much for bringing me here, I really love it."

  He gives me a thoughtful smile, and it makes me wonder whether this was all a test. Maybe he just wanted to see if I really was interested in art, like I'd claimed. Well, he won't be disappointed.

  "First stop - the island of Murano," Mason tells me with a wink, and I lean forward in my seat as the boat takes off.

  The sea is foamy and beautiful, the spray of the salty water pleasant against my cheeks as we make our way to the island. I don't know a whole lot about Murano, so Mason fills me in over the sound of the crashing waves as we make our way to the island.

  I find out Murano is famous for its glass, a unique colored kind that is used in jewelry and decorations for the home. Mason promises he'll take me to a workshop to see just how it is made.

  As soon as we arrive on the island, I realize he is well-known around these parts. Several people shake his hand and exclaim in Italian, obviously happy to see him. I follow sheepishly behind and find myself oddly proud when he introduces me as his protégée.

  I haven't really paid much attention to the fact that Mason is an artist, though the portrait he has of me has been on my mind constantly. But here on the island, it becomes abundantly clear how involved he is in the art world.

  He leads me into a small stone house, and as soon as we enter, the heat consumes me. There's a fire burning in a huge oven, and a shirtless, incredibly handsome man is standing in front of it. Another excited handshake, a clap on the back for Mason. A curious look for me. Mason tells the man something in Italian, and they both laugh. I want to know what he said.

  We stand back as the man demonstrates how Murano glass is made, my eyes widening in surprise as he shapes the moldable, hot shape into a beautiful vase. He's a master of his craft, but the scars and burns on his body speak of a time when he wasn't. I find myself respecting this man immensely.

  Mason leans over to me and says, "Murano glass is expensive as hell. That vase could be sold for as much as twenty thousand dollars."

  My eyes glaze over and I keep watching as the man - Cristiano, I think his name is - continues to shape the beautiful vase. Once he's happy with it, he sinks it into a bucket of ice cold water. A little while later, Mason and I admire the vase, finished and flawless.

  "For the ragazza," the man says in broken English, pointing at me. "If you like."

  "The vase?" My eyes widen. I wasn't expecting this, and I know I should turn it down as it's too generous a gift. "But why? You've only just met me."

  "Bella," he tells me with a wink. "Mason's pet."

  I blush deeply as Mason's arm wraps proprietorially around my waist. I nod, accepting my role and accepting the vase. I would be lying if I claimed his words didn't flatter me.

  Another boat ride and we arrive in the center of Venice, my vase wrapped up and left with Filippe. Mason shows me around the beautiful city and the sights I've only seen in pictures and TV come alive in front of my eyes. The pigeons in St. Mark's Square make me squeal as they descend upon me. I feast my eyes on the beautiful canals, the bridges, the gondolas. I lose myself in our surroundings, Mason's voice a pleasant distraction as he explains the history of the city.

  We end up in a quaint restaurant in one of the side alleys, and once again, Mason proves he knows everyone. I ask him to order for me, and when I'm presented with a huge plate of fettuccine with truffles, I lick my lips expectantly.

  It's delicious. The day is perfect. So perfect I wish it would never end.

  While we eat, I ask Mason about his art, his paintings. He seems hesitant to answer me, but finally, he opens up a little.

  "Like I said, it's merely a hobby," he tells me softly. "I can't live off it and I love my job, but painting is... it fills a hole in my life."

  I wonder why the hole is there, but I don't inquire about it, remembering my place.

  "Do people know you paint?" I ask him, and he gives me a devious grin.

  "They do, baby."

  His term of endearment makes me blush, and I wipe my lips with a napkin to hide the redness in my cheeks. I don't think it goes unnoticed, as Mason smiles at me knowingly.

  "In fact, I'm going to have an exhibition at the house soon," he tells me.

  "While I'm still here?" I ask, the excitement plain in my voice.

  "I think so. Would you like to be there?" he wants to know, his eyes curious.

  "Oh, yes." I clap my hands, excited. "I would love to - if you'd like me to, of course."

  "Maybe."

  We finish our meal chatting about this and that. I try to convince Mason to let me have a Bellini, a mix of champagne and peach juice, but he merely laughs. The drinking age in Italy is eighteen, but he won't budge. In some ways, the man is so traditional it hurts.

  Once we're done eating, Mason tells me we only have one sight left - the Ponte dei Sospiri. He refuses to explain what it means until we've arrived at our destination.

  I realize he's somehow managed to close it off for everyone else, as it's only the two of us now. The bridge is small and quaint, but beautiful. It spans over a small canal, the white limestone worn under my fingertips.

  "Tell me what the name means," I beg Mason for the last time, and he finally complies.

  "Ponte dei Sospiri means Bridge of Sighs," he says, and I give him a curious look. "The view from this bridge is the last thing many people saw. Convicts were lead through it into
prison."

  "That's awful," I breathe, the gruesome history of the bridge taking away from its beauty.

  "It's only awful if you make it out to be," Mason tells me, moving to stand behind me.

  My hands are braced on the small windowsill of the enclosed bridge, and they shake as he puts his palms on my ass.

  "I like to make my own memories," Mason says, sending shivers down my spine. "And I think it's about time a different kind of sigh happened here."

  The sun starts to go down, a beautiful sight from our spot, as Mason leans down and trails a line of kisses down my back.

  "Sir..." I've begun switching from calling him by his name and his role so fast, I don't even know when the transition happens. "What if someone sees?"

  "No one's here," he promises me. "Relax, Cara."

  His hand snakes its way down my back, and I arch my whole body against his touch. He cups my ass in both hands, squeezing hard and making me moan out loud. How he manages to get these reactions out of me is beyond me, but I can't fucking help myself. I want to feel him go lower, reach between my legs and feel how soaked my panties are.

  He turns me around then, making me lean back against the wall of the bridge. His mouth descends on mine and I stop breathing.

  His lips are strong, insistent. They won't let me budge, they won't let me be passive in the game we're playing. I kiss him back softly, not knowing how to do it. The only kiss I've had was with Mason, and I was angry, upset and needy at the time. This is different. This is real.

  He won't let me take it easy, and he kisses me harder, demanding more and more from me. I open my mouth wider and he slips his tongue between my lips, making me moan into his mouth so loudly I blush, knowing anyone could hear. The bridge is so small I can hear the chatter of people, and yet I can't bring myself to stop. I need more of this, more of Mason.

  With a sudden movement, he reaches between my legs.