Art Lovers Romance Series

by Becca Colton

  I spread my legs as much as the dress will allow and I feel him grin against my lips. Am I being easy? Sure. Do I care? No. It’s been a shitty day. I deserve to let off a little steam. And then his fingers slip under my panties, tracing a slow line up my wet slit, and I stop thinking altogether.

  The handsome stranger breaks the kiss, his breath hot against my ear. “I love how wet you are for me.” He traces a slow circle around my clit, forcing a moan from me. “I can’t wait to find out how you taste.” His finger slides down, dipping inside my hot pussy for just a second, and then his hand is gone from between my thighs. I gasp at the sudden absence, my eyes widening as he slides his finger, slick with my juices, between his lips. He closes his eyes and moans, sucking hard on his finger. I bite my lip, feeling my juices run down my thighs. I’ve had guys go down on me, but nobody has ever savored me the way this guy is. The expression on his face makes it look like he’s tasting the best thing he’s ever tasted. It’s a little embarrassing, and very, very fucking hot.

  He slowly, almost reluctantly, pulls his finger out of his mouth. He opens his eyes and looks at me, a slow smile spreading across his face. The lust in those eyes has me getting even wetter. “Your pussy is too sweet to satisfy a man with just one simple taste.”

  With a wicked grin that makes my clit throb, he slides down beneath the table. “What are you —” I begin to say, horrified and excited at the same time.

  And then his powerful hands grab my hips and pull me lower, closer to the edge of the seat. He pushes the hem of my dress up and I tremble at the warm breath that’s suddenly on my thighs. “Wait!” I gasp, trying to reach down to shove him away. “We can’t — What if —”

  I inhale sharply as he tugs my panties to the side and his tongue slides up my slit. “Oh fuck,” I moan, my fingers curling through his dark hair as he licks and nibbles at my swollen pussy lips.

  “So fucking wet,” he moans, his lips and tongue planting soft kisses all over my swollen mound. “I want to taste your cum, sweetness.”

  A high-pitched squeak escapes me as he pulls me tight against his mouth, my lower back resting against the seat. I release his hair from the death grip I had it in and grab the edges of the cushion I’m barely perched on, my nails digging gouges into the soft leather.

  I feel one of his hands slide between my legs, and then a finger pushes gently against my opening as he wraps his lips around my clit. “Oh god,” I moan, pushing against his mouth. His tongue draws slow circles across my clit as he slides a thick finger inside me, curling it up to stroke that special spot. I gasp for air, feeling like I’m going to pass out as his tongue starts moving faster, each touch sending sparks of pure joy up through my body that seem to explode behind my eyes. His finger rocks inside me, applying just the right amount of pressure to my g-spot, and he sucks hard on my clit. I bite my tongue to keep from screaming with pleasure, slamming my fist down repeatedly on the leather cushion, as my orgasm washes over me like a tsunami. The sex god between my thighs is moaning nonstop as he swallows my juices. I’m sure he’s doing his best but I still feel wetness run down my ass.

  He crawls out from under the table, his eyes glazed with lust, his beard glistening with the essence he just coaxed from my body. He unfastens his belt, undoes his pants, and pulls out the thickest cock I’ve ever seen in my life . . . and that includes watching porn online.

  “On your knees,” he commands, his voice heavy with lust.

  The idea of saying no doesn’t even cross my mind. I don’t even hesitate. I turn over on the wraparound seat, resting on my hands and knees. He tosses my dress over my hips and tears my panties away while making an animalistic growl.

  I’m panting with lust, dying to feel his cock in me. I hear the sound of tearing foil rip through the air, and a few seconds later I feel the head of his thick cock sliding up and down my wet slit, coating himself in my wetness.

  “Tell me what you want,” he says, his voice low, sending shivers of lust through me.

  “Fuck me,” I beg, rolling my hips against his cock. He presses forward, and I groan as he stretches me wider than I’ve ever been. At the sound, he stops, giving me time to adjust to his size. His big hands are on my hips, his fingers gripping me tight. I try to push back against him anxious to be filled, but I’m unable to move within his grasp. “More,” I rasp out in a breathy voice I don’t recognize as my own. “Give me more of that big cock.”

  He chuckles and pulls back. “Someone’s eager, aren’t they?”

  I growl low in my throat as he pulls back until just the thick mushroom head of his dick is between my pussy lips. “Fuck me,” I shout. “I need your cock.”

  One hand moves from my hip and then slaps down on my ass. Hard. I jump forward, and frustration overwhelms me as he pulls free.

  “You don’t demand, sweetness,” he says, his voice firm. “You beg.” His hand smacks down on my right ass cheek. “You ask.” And then my left. “But you do not demand.” His hand slaps down on the right side and then the left, so fast it almost feels like he delivered both at the same time.

  My ass is stinging, and I have to resist the urge to purr. Who knew I’d like being spanked?

  “Please,” I say, using the sweetest, most innocent tone I can with my body burning with out-of-control lust. “Please fuck me. Please give me that big cock.”

  His hand lands softly on the curve of my ass and I inhale sharply. It stings, but the sting is soon replaced by pleasure as he massages the sensitive flesh. “Good girl,” he says, his voice just above a whisper.

  The head of his cock presses against my pussy lips and I can’t help the shiver that racks my body. I’m desperate for his cock. I’m hornier than I’ve ever been in my life, and the man isn’t even naked.

  Slowly, he slides his thick rod in, my inner muscles clamping down on his rock-hard shaft. A low moan escapes me as he continues to fill me. I suck in a sharp breath, my eyes rolling back as I feel his cock touch places inside me that have never been touched before, and somewhere deep inside me I feel the familiar heat of an orgasm growing. “Fuuuck!” I groan as I finally feel his balls press against the back of my thighs. I could die right now because there’s no way I could ever feel better than I do at this moment.

  At least that’s what I think until he starts moving. He pulls back slow, almost his entire length retreating from me, and then he surges in like a hurricane, like a force of nature, slamming into me so hard that only his strong hands on my hips keep me from tumbling forward. He repeats the movement, slow at first but gradually getting faster. I sink my nails into the cushion, gasping for air as my lover pounds his big cock into me, over and over, his balls slapping against my ass. I want to turn around. I want to look into his eyes. I want to memorize every single thing about this man. But all I can do is hang on tight as he fucks me within an inch of my life.

  I knew it was coming. There was no way I could be fucked like this and not come. But my orgasm still surprises me with its speed and ferocity. One second, I could feel it building. The next, it’s here, exploding over me, drowning out my senses as I scream “Yes” over and over.

  My lover growls behind me. It’s loud, low, animalistic. His fingers tighten on my hips and I hear something like ‘Mine’ buried in the growl, and then he comes, his thick cock throbbing inside me, triggering another orgasm that strikes me senseless. For just a second, I wish he had skipped the condom. It’s a silly thought but I can’t help it. I want to feel him fill me, and then the edges of my vision go dark as a third orgasm takes my breath away. Holy fuck! Just the thought of him coming inside me was enough to make me come.

  I drop my head to the cool cushion beneath me as he holds me tight against him, his cock throbbing inside me, so hot I’m not surprised I’m sweating.

  I gasp for breath, my legs shaking so bad it takes a concentrated effort to keep them supporting my weight. My sex god finally pulls free and I have to bite my lip to not whine at the sudden feeling of emptiness. I look over my
shoulder. There’s a sheen of sweat on his face and he’s breathing heavy, but he still looks hot as hell. He’s still looking at me with that intense passion too, like he wants to take me home and —

  I blink. Take me home? I suddenly realize I’d say yes if he asks me to go home with him. And that can’t happen.

  He notices me looking and flashes that devilish grin. The one that would melt my panties if he hadn’t already torn them off.

  “I do believe I still owe you a drink,” he says. His eyes drop to my ass, still bare before him, and he licks his lips. “Perhaps we could —”

  “No,” I say sharply, louder than intended, as I stand up and pull the hem of my dress down.

  Perhaps we could take this to my place. Or something along those lines. I can almost see the thought in his eyes. And I want him to say those words, because I want to say yes. But I can’t. I’m going back home, leaving this town, and my dreams, behind. This is supposed to be a one-night stand. Something to release a little steam. It was not supposed to be the best fuck of my life. It was not supposed to make me want to get to know this man, to go home with him, find out what he enjoys, what his dreams are, what kind of woman he’s looking for to settle down with.

  “No,” I say again, without almost shouting it this time. “I need…” You, my traitorous mind screams. “I need to go.” I run my hand through my hair. “Ummm… thank you.”

  Thank you? What the hell? I can’t even look at him. I just slide by him and run out the door that leads back out into the club. I hear him say something but I can’t make it out. I don’t want to make it out. He’s just a one-night stand. That’s all. One night of incredible mind-blowing sex. That’s all. If I tell myself that enough, I might finally believe it.

  Chapter 3

  Harper

  Daggers. In my eyes. In my head. Everywhere. I groan, slowly pulling myself up to a sitting position in bed. My stomach rolls, threatening to rebel, but the joke’s on it. I came home last night and passed out on the bed. No dinner. No breakfast. Nothing to come up. I scramble off the bed and run to the bathroom, dry heaving anyway, my stomach showing me who the boss is.

  I want to kill whoever came up with the bright idea of going out and getting fucked up last night. I groan as I splash cold water on my face, remembering that person was me.

  Since I’m already in the bathroom, I decide to take care of morning business, using the bathroom and brushing my teeth to hopefully remove the dead animal out of my mouth. I stumble back into the bedroom, my legs burning like I ran a marathon or something, and there’s a soreness between my thighs that makes me wonder if I got carried away with my battery-operated boyfriend during the night while in a drunken stupor. I peel off the little black dress and drop it on the bed, shocked to find my matching black panties are gone. But I’m still wearing my bra. Weird.

  And then it all comes back. I gasp as the memories of my personal sex god slam into my brain. Sober me was bound and gagged last night but that bitch was taking notes, and now my brain and body are flooded with images and sensations. My inner muscles clench, and I moan as I remember how he spanked and teased me, driving me insane with lust. I remember every delicious sensation, and I remember I wanted more. So much more.

  I pull on a pair of sweats, yank off the bra, and slide a t-shirt on, and then make my way to the kitchen. I press the power button on my laptop as I approach the love of my life — Mr. Keurig. The sex god was awesome last night but my passion for Mr. Keurig knows no limits this morning. I inhale deeply as the aroma of the life-giving liquid fills the room. A little cream, a little sugar, a tentative sip of the hot liquid, and I start to feel somewhat human.

  I sit down at my desk between the living room and the kitchen and wait for my laptop to finish powering up. The thing is old, but it gets the job done. And the job right now is procrastination. I know I need to pack and call my parents to let them know I’ll be crawling home with my tail between my legs, but all of that can wait until later.

  After skimming the news and wasting a few minutes on Facebook while I finish my coffee I log into a photography forum I’m a member of and browse the various threads to see if anything catches my interest. One new thread in particular seems to be getting a lot of attention so I click into it.

  I immediately see why everyone is so worked up. XL Studios apparently posted an ad on the “jobs” thread just a few minutes ago. I click over to see for myself, a nervous knot forming in my stomach. XL Studios is awesome. They’re a very popular member on the forum, always providing helpful advice, never seeming to be worried about losing customers by sharing their techniques and locations. And the photos. Wow! I’d give anything to take photos like that.

  I read the ad, and then read it again just to make sure my eyes aren’t playing tricks on me. They’re looking for an assistant. No professional experience necessary. The ad specifies the person has to be local. I know from looking at their profile that I meet that requirement. And although I have made a few bucks here and there with my camera, I wouldn’t call my experience professional.

  Chewing on my bottom lip, I look at the link at the bottom of the ad. Right above it is a simple statement: All applicants must complete questionnaire.

  The ad mentions what the assistant position pays. It’s enough that I wouldn’t have to move back home. I probably wouldn’t get paid soon enough to keep from getting kicked out of this apartment, but I could live in my car for a few weeks until I earned enough to rent another place.

  With shaky fingers, I move the mouse and click the link. It takes me to the XL Studios website. The questionnaire has one question — What is photography to you?

  I blink. That’s it? How am I supposed to answer that? It could be anything. There’s obviously no right or wrong answer to something like that so it’s down to impressing them. Crap. What is photography to me? It’s a way to capture a moment in time, saving it for future generations. I groan. That’s so cliché. And it’s more what photography is than what it is to me.

  I think about how I was dreading calling my parents, how I’d feel like a failure if I had to go back home. But I wouldn’t have to do that if I got this job. I’d be earning money doing what I love, learning from one of the best photographers I’ve ever seen. The sky would be the limit. What’s photography to me? I answer with one word.

  Freedom.

  I hit ‘enter’ and go back to the thread in the forum talking about the ad. A few people mention the odd one-word questionnaire. Nobody shares the answer they gave. A few minutes later, someone says the ad and link are gone, the edited post now saying the position has been filled.

  I jump as a PING sounds from the speakers, letting me know I’ve received a personal message on the forum. My stomach clenches, and then I laugh. It’s a coincidence. It has to be. There’s no way XL Studios is messaging me to say I got an interview.

  Except they are. The message is simple, just giving an address, a date (tomorrow), and a time (8 a.m.).

  The rest of the day drags by, but the next morning finally arrives. My GPS leads me to a ritzy neighborhood and I double-check the address when I pull into the circular drive of a… a large house? A tiny mansion? It’s definitely something I’d never be able to afford.

  I pull my portfolio from the back seat of my car, smooth my knee-length pencil skirt, and go to the door. I ring the bell and wait, glancing back over my shoulder at my beat-up Toyota hatchback. It sticks out like a sore thumb. Maybe I should’ve used Uber. I see a shape approach through the frosted glass in the front door. It opens. I’m met by a stunned expression, and then a familiar sexy-as-hell grin appears on his face. Holy hell. It’s my sex god.

  Chapter 4

  Axel

  It’s her. The sexy goddess who stole my heart while her sweet pussy was milking my dick. Actually, that’s not exactly right. My heart was hers as soon as I saw her on the dance floor.

  I wasn’t even looking to hook up with anyone last night. I had finally decided I needed to hire an a
ssistant. I had simply become too busy to be able to handle everything myself. That’s not exactly a bad thing, but realizing I could no longer handle everything myself was a bitter pill to swallow. So I decided to help it go down with liberal amounts of alcohol. I rented out the whole VIP area, just wanting to be alone to stew over the fact that I was going to have to give up some independence, that I was going to have to rely on someone else.

  And then I looked through the tinted glass that separated the VIP area from the rest of the club and saw her.

  She can’t dance. That was obvious after just watching her for a few minutes, but it was also obvious that she didn’t care. She was simply there, enjoying the moment, with absolutely no thought about what others might think. In a world filled with people constantly worrying over their image and optics and how people perceive them, she was a breath of fresh air. A breath of fresh air wrapped in a gorgeous package I was dying to unwrap. The way that dress hugged her curves . . . mmm. Just thinking about how she looked last night has my cock rock-hard.

  Or maybe it’s the outfit she’s wearing now. Dressed in a black button-up top with the long sleeves pushed up to her elbows and a blush-colored pencil skirt, she’s a picture of professionalism, the complete opposite of the sultry look she had in the tight little black dress last night, but she’s still beautiful. And the clothes do little to hide her curvaceous figure. I flex my hands, my fingers tingling with the memory of holding her hips as I fucked her.

  She licks her lips and I hold back a groan as my cock throbs, uncomfortably confined by my slacks.

  “You’re XL Studios?”