“Arkady?”
“I don’t know that name,” he said, the sound of smoke blowing through lips. “I am simply an admirer.”
I swallowed, shifting on the marble. I felt the stone, smoothing my hands over the form to discern it. Legs, an arm, a chest and torso behind me. Which meant ...
It was phallic—thehorn.
“Don’t let an audience stop you from such a lovely performance,” he said. “Continue.”
“What do you want from me?”
“The better question is”—he approached, his voice getting much clearer, like the smoky scent—“what do you wish for?”
I held the cock of the statue, warming the marble between my palms.
He leaned in, my mysterious admirer. His bottom lip brushed against my earlobe, then my jaw. His hand placed my hair gently over my shoulder. “You’re not allowed off until thefinale.”
The stone was smooth but thick. My hands squeezed around it, gathering what warmth I could muster to prepare. Though, it was the anticipation, the churning in my stomach, like the flutters you get before your cue behind the stage.
My hands steadied on Arkady’s chest as he lifted my leg and hip.
“A performance can be ruined by a stiff partner,” I joked, overcoming the heat that inevitably lit my face afire.
“It sounds like you need a new partner,” he replied, his hands holding me above the inanimate member.
The cold tip brushed against me, my hips moving forward to test how I felt between my legs, to see how relaxed I really was. I let it go in, just slightly. The cool material encouraged a tremor.
“That’s it.” Arkady’s hand gripped my thigh. “But I fear you’re being too modest.”
Then, he lowered me onto the cock, and my hand left his shoulders to cover my mouth.
He stilled, not moving a single muscle. I leaned my head against his chest, a shaky whimper escaping before I relaxed, a moment ofrecovery as my hands held on to his shirt. I could feel his bulge against my stomach, pulsing when I tilted my head up.
He brushed my cheek with his fingers. “How do you feel?” Though his voice sounded more like himself, as if he wanted to ask,Are you okay?
“I would feel better if it were you,” I breathed. My feet didn’t touch the ground from the lap of the statue. I had to spread my legs, thighs gripping the statue to lift myself up, then lower back down. “But I suppose I can pretend ... for you.”
I held on to Arkady’s shoulder, steadying my movements.
“Is that what you want, sir?” I palmed his pants, feeling the pulse. I leaned up. “Do you take more pleasure in the thought of me or the visual I’ve created just for you?”
I heard him swallow, and I lowered myself back down on the stone. I let him go, leaning back on the lap of the stone man. As I moved, I put my hands to better use. Teasingly, I used both hands to lift my skirt, exposing only my knees.
Arkady touched my leg.
“No,” I said, “wait.”
I lifted it higher as I moved, exposing my mid-thigh. As I lowered myself again, I released a small moan, a mewl like some feline in heat.
“I suppose it is quite an experience to watch two masterpieces at once,” he hummed.
Even if I couldn’t see him clearly, I knew his eyes would be positively fixated on me. “So you prefer to watch?”
“There is no greater pleasure than that of a woman’s, even if only seen and never disturbed.”
“Truly? No greater pleasure?” I teased. “Not one thing?”
One hand on my thigh, the other cupped the back of my neck, pulling me slightly forward. He pressed me down, slow and hard on the marble piece.
