by Alisha Rai
He rubbed his thumb against his forefinger, his eyes heating. “I told you. I need you to inform me when you’ve had enough.”
In that case, she’d had enough, and they could move right on to the entertainment portion of the evening. Apparently, being called brilliant was a turn-on for her.
Or Micah was the turn-on.
She opened her mouth to tell him they should call it quits, but he spoke. “I think we should do one more pose,” he said quietly.
Damn it. One more pose could mean anything from two minutes to twenty minutes. “Okay.”
His hand grasped her knee, and he pressed her leg up until it was bent along the back of couch, while lowering her other leg until her foot was flat on the floor. He opened her so smoothly, it took her a second to realize the lewd, vulnerable pose she was in.
The second she did, excitement raced through her. They hadn’t played teasing sexy games yet, but it looked like they were about to start.
He pulled the space heater closer, so the hot air wafted over her spread legs.
“Good,” he murmured. “Yes, this is how I want you. Hold very still.”
He sat back on his heels on the floor and started to sketch, slower this time. She stared at the ceiling, her heart thudding, aware that his gaze was no longer distant or professional, but filled with hot, prurient lust.
“Micah. I’m cold.” She wasn’t. Between the space heater and her desire, she was burning up, but she hoped he would take it as the invitation she meant it to be. She flexed her feet and brought her leg up higher, hopeful she would be able to tempt him into forgetting his work.
The charcoal stopped moving. His lips covered her nipple. She moaned, and her back arched. He sucked as much of her into his mouth as he was able to, then switched his attention to her other nipple, massaging the one he had just left.
“Oh God, Micah.”
She craned her neck to watch her nipple emerge from his mouth. His white teeth scraped the brown flesh as he pulled away, elongating the tip. He hadn’t been careful about wiping off the charcoal on his hands this time, and his dark fingerprints smudged her skin.
“Fuck,” she gasped.
He sat back on his heels and stared at her breasts. No, professionalism had gone straight out the window. So why the hell wasn’t he mounting her?
“Fuck me.”
He shook his head and started a new sketch, focusing intently on her breasts. “I have to get this. Wait.”
“I can’t. Goddamn it, take care of me.”
“Take care of yourself. Let me see it.”
She didn’t even hesitate. She’d spent every day since their first night together in a state of vague arousal, unable to get this man and his talented fingers and cock and tongue out of her mind.
Giving herself an orgasm was always a welcome exercise, and if she was able to tempt him into mounting her in the process? All the better.
She coasted her hand down her body, over the plane of her stomach, until her fingers tangled in the hair between her legs.
“Spread your legs more. I cannot see.”
He’d given her so many directions over the past few nights, she was conditioned to obey him now. Turn your head. Hold still. Spread your legs.
Anything he wanted. She knew he would reward her with pleasure. She slid her leg over the back of the couch so she was opened as far as she could go.
She dipped two fingers into her wetness, and moaned to the accompaniment of charcoal on paper.
This was so fucking hot.
Rana rubbed her clit in the circular pattern she liked and let her breath fall from her lips in increasing pants. His face was red, sweat forming at his temple. Still, he knelt in front of the couch, barely a foot away from her, and watched. Sketching in that quick, expert way he had.
Argh. This guy. “Fuck me, Micah.”
“I’m not done yet.”
“You said I should tell you when I’m done. I’m done.”
He finally met her eyes, though his fingers didn’t stop moving. “You’re far from done, Rana.” His voice was soft, matter-of-fact. “Look at you. You’re hurting, you need to come so badly.”
She rubbed her clit harder. “Then help me.”
He considered that, but then his eyes were drawn to her moving hand. “I can tell you what I imagined doing that first time I saw you watching me.”
She licked her lips, her nipples tightening more. “That sounds promising.”
He ripped off the paper and started a new sketch, his eyes obsessively locked on her hand between her legs. Was he actually drawing her masturbating?
She should be sickened by this. It was perverted, for sure.
But then, she’d always been a damn pervert. Guilt flashed through her, guilt for not being a good, normal girl, but she shoved it aside.
Not now. This fling was to indulge her secret, selfish soul. No room for guilt here.
“I was going to come to your bedroom. Break down your door if I had to. I was so angry to catch someone intruding on my privacy. I fantasized about yelling at you.” Before she could wince or apologize again, he continued. “I didn’t stay angry for long. I saw you the next day, walking to your car. And my fantasy changed.”
Her lips were dry, and she stopped stroking herself, more eager to hear what he had to say.
He shook his head. “If you don’t keep fingering yourself, I won’t tell you.”
That was untenable. She whimpered as she resumed the circular stroke, bringing her other hand up to clutch her breast and squeeze it, hard.
“Yes, yes,” he hissed. She froze when his hand covered hers, but it was only to adjust it so her nipple poked out between her fingers. “Keep fingering yourself, but don’t move this.”
“But I need...”
He pressed her fingers together until they formed a clamp around her nipple, and she squeaked from the pressure. “There. That way we both get what we need.”
“Keep talking.”
“I marched over and broke down your door. You sobbed, telling me you were sorry. And then I...”
He fell silent, his pencil stopping for a second.
“Then you what?”
“I made you show me how sorry you were.”
The words carried a hint of self-recrimination she hated. If she wasn’t allowed to feel it, neither should he. “I like that.” She made her strokes more explicit, to demonstrate how much she liked it. “How did I show you?”
He let out a gusty exhale. “You bent over the bed. I pulled your pants down around your ankles. And then I…spanked you.”
Jesus. Her ass clenched, as if she could feel his hand on her right now. “Micah?”
“Yes?” His voice was low, his head bent over the pad like he was ashamed to look at her.
“Did you finger me in between spanks?”
His head lifted. “Yes.” The word was hissed out.
Rana ran her tongue over her lower lip, loving his undivided attention on her mouth. “Show me how. Your fingers are so much larger than mine.”
He hesitated for a bare second. Then he dropped the pad to the side and slid his hand over her pussy, crooking his fingers so his palm could rub against her clit as he filled her. She grasped his forearm as he started fucking her, his muscles rippling.
She could barely talk. “What else did you do to me?”
“After you came, I made you get down on your knees and apologize to me.” His voice was hoarse, strained.
“How did I apologize?” She knew very well how, but she wanted him to say it.
“With your pretty pink lips wrapped around my cock.”
She imagined that, imagined having his cock inside her mouth, and she couldn’t stop the freight train of lust that bore down on her. She came, loudly, her hand clutching his wrist.
She came back to her senses as soon as she heard the rip of paper. “You have got to be kidding me.”
“You’re beautiful like this.”
She’d be offended he wa
sn’t as undone as she was, but he couldn’t hide the effort he was exerting to control his lust. His hand shook, sweat dripped from his brow, and his muscles were locked. It wasn’t easy for him to focus on his work.
Lucky for him, it didn’t have to be easy.
She sat up, conscious of the wetness on her thighs and the heavy weight of her breasts. “I said we were done today.”
“We should...”
“No. We should definitely play. Work time is over.” She slid off the couch and onto her knees, facing him. He was mute as she took the pad and charcoal away from him and tossed it to land on the pile of other sketches he had made. She grabbed his rag and swiped at his hands before throwing that aside as well.
A sign of how far gone she was—her lust was outpacing her desire to poke at the drawings he had done of her. He hadn’t let her see them yet. Her curiosity was killing her.
“Stand up,” she said softly. “And let me apologize for spying on you.”
“I told you...”
“Stop being boring, Micah, and let me suck your cock.”
His Adam’s apple bobbed, but he finally stood and unbuttoned and unzipped his pants. He pushed his jeans and underwear down low enough for his cock to emerge, and she almost sighed over the beauty of it. She wanted to grab him and drag him toward her. She wanted to be greedy and forceful. But that was his role to play.
“Make me suck it,” she whispered.
He closed his eyes. A trickle of sweat worked its way down his temple. “You’re killing me.”
“Do it. Show me how you did it to me in your dreams.”
He stepped closer, until the tip of his penis brushed against her mouth. His hand was shaking when he wrapped it around his cock and traced her lips with the fat tip.
“Cotton candy,” he murmured.
“What?” His cock jumped at the puff of her breath on it.
“Your lipsticks. I like how you’re always wearing a different shade. I imagine the color ringing my cock.”
She splurged on mega-last lipstick, but she’d invest in some less kiss-proof varieties, if that floated his boat. She slipped back into his fantasy and made her voice slightly higher pitched to account for manufactured fear. “Micah. Please. I’m so sorry. Let me make it up to you.”
His shudder was full body this time. “Fuck me,” he whispered, and ran his fingers through her hair. When he palmed her skull, some of the strands pulling painfully, she had to clench her thighs together to stop herself from pushing him down and climbing on top of him. “Show me how sorry you are.”
She kept her lips resolutely closed until his thumbs dug into her cheeks, forcing her to open. When his cock forged in, she whimpered, only half acting. He felt huge in her mouth, the thick shaft dragging over her tongue. He worked in an inch or two and then stopped, his fingers gentling in her hair.
“Take more,” he growled. He wrapped one hand around his shaft and stroked the part she hadn’t managed to fit in her mouth. “You were so bad, weren’t you? Watching me like you did.”
Her body trembled. What was it he’d said when they met? They brought out something wrong in each other? She had been bad. She’d been bad to watch him, bad to pose for him, bad to fuck him.
God, but it still felt so good.
* * *
Micah bit off a curse when she carefully nodded and thrust a little harder, his cock glancing against the back of her throat. If he’d had a hint of rational thought and muscle control left right now, he would grab his pencil and paper and sketch her from this vantage point. Her eyes were wide and dark as she stared up at him, playing the worried supplicant to the hilt. Her mouth was passive around him, as if she were merely allowing him to use her at his will—a fantasy he hadn’t even been aware he fostered until this moment.
They were only a few days into this amazing arrangement of theirs, and he was learning all sorts of things he’d been ignorant of needing before. Her lilting laugh. Her chattering. Her sharp wit and intelligence. The way she pulled words out of him he found difficult to say to everyone else.
The way he felt when she was around him. Lighter. Calmer. Better.
Hotter.
He tightened his grip on her hair and used his thumbs to press against her face, shuddering as the smooth inner skin of her cheeks met his cock. “Suck. Hard.”
She tightened her lips around him and sucked immediately. He pressed forward, fucking her shallowly, then harder when she seemed eager to take it. He picked up speed, his hips swinging, hammering his cock into her warm, wet, willing mouth.
He allowed all his most barbaric fantasies to surface: her, attached to a chain in his studio, watching him while he painted, servicing him when he needed it. Her, dragging him away from his work because she was too aroused to wait a minute longer.
Her, here. For as long as he could keep her.
He shoved the dangerous thought away. She gagged, and he jerked back to reality. He pulled back instantly, letting her breathe. Tears had trickled from her eyes, making her eyeliner run.
Alarm pierced through his lust. “Are you okay?” As soon as he said the words, he knew she was. Her hand was working fast between her thighs, her cheeks high with color. “This is turning you on,” he growled, his lust kicking up another notch.
She panted, her eyes on his cock. She looked wrecked, her pink lips wet, her makeup smudged. The debauched party girl, after the party.
He ran his hand over his dick, making it slick and shiny from the combination of his pre-come and her saliva. “I want to watch you fuck yourself,” he rasped, giving himself over to his filthy fantasy entirely. “And after you do, you’re going to drink me down, is that clear?”
She watched his fist stroking his cock. “And then you’ll believe how sorry I am?”
Her words were pleading, but her tone was a demand. His erection pulsed. “Yes.”
Her fingers picked up speed, in time with his own jerks on his cock. Her body flushed a charming red, her breasts shivering as her orgasm rushed over her. Her eyes closed, a series of breathy moans falling from her lips. “Oh, oh, oh.”
He waited for her to look at him before he directed his cock inside of her slack mouth. She gasped but quickly got on board, sucking him while he set the motion, fucking her face harder than he had dared the first time.
When he felt the orgasm spilling over him, he tugged at her hair, trying to do the gentlemanly thing, despite his earlier demand. “Rana. I’m coming.”
She only tightened her lips around him and sucked harder. Unable to resist the invitation, he came in giant shudders, spilling down her warm, willing throat.
He staggered when he was done, his cock leaving the seal of her mouth with a pop. Unable to stand, he collapsed backwards, landing on his ass, and stared at her.
What kind of spell had she cast on him? He’d never had trouble maintaining professionalism in a model’s presence, his thoughts no more prurient than a doctor’s would be upon seeing a naked patient.
Rana wasn’t like any other model, though.
She made a show of wiping off her mouth. His cock stirred as she licked her thumb deliberately and smiled a confident, seductive smile. “Well. I would say this session was highly productive, wouldn’t you?”
He glanced at the pile of sketches. He’d never worked so slowly before, but he spent a good chunk of their sessions talking to her. What had started out as a way to get her to relax had become a nearly vital part of his day. He wanted to hear about the TV shows she liked or the fights she had with her sisters. He wanted to know her, inside and out.
At this rate, she would be his model for a hell of a long time. Funny how he didn’t mind that.
He cleared his throat, fearful that the rasp in his voice would give away his feelings. Feelings he was nowhere close to understanding. “Highly productive.”
Chapter 15
“Rana?”
“Huh?” Rana looked up from the pad she was doodling on to find both of her sisters watching her. S
he blinked at them, remembering where she was. “Oh. Sorry. Daydreaming.”
“As usual,” Devi teased with a fond smile.
She internalized the dig that wasn’t meant to be a dig. She couldn’t help being a space cadet today. If either of her sisters had spent the last week naked in front of Micah Hale in one capacity or another, they would be daydreaming too.
Rana cleared her throat. “What were we talking about?”
“The decor,” Devi said.
“Can you call the people who made the couches for us, Rana?” Leena inquired. “We can order two more.”
Rana took a deep breath. “Actually, I thought maybe we could revisit my idea from earlier in the week. To change things up in the color scheme.”
Leena was already shaking her head. “We know what works. People like the way this restaurant looks. We’ll keep it the same.”
Show your work. “Just…hang on a second.” Rana leaned over and pulled out a book of paint samples from her giant bag, flipping to the page she had tagged. “Look at it again.”
Leena accepted the book Rana passed her. They were sitting at an empty table in the restaurant, which was currently closed to the public, since it was between the lunch and dinner shifts. Officially it was Rana’s day off, but this was the only time and day all three of them had been able to get together to talk and make decisions.
Leena was frowning down at the paint swatches. Devi scooted her chair closer, so she could see. “That blue is pretty, Rana,” Devi said, “but I think Leena’s…”
“It’s a smaller place.” Rana had always felt vaguely awful over her tendency to chatter, but she used it now, eager for her voice to be heard. “Red and gold will be overpowering. Plus, we’re targeting a more upscale market. We need to go less kitsch.” Rana pointed to the light blue she had picked out. “On the walls, this is soft. Calming. It won’t overpower the small space.”
Leena pursed her lips and flipped to the reds. She found a red similar to the color currently on their walls and tagged it. “Okay. Let’s get samples of both these colors and take them over tomorrow. See how they look.”
