The studio, while much more polished and contemporary than his first one in New York, is just what I’d expect. I can see him in the choices of furniture and the layout and design of the overall space—a man who has enjoyed much success, but still has a casual and comfortable sense of style.
“This is great, Damon,” I say.
“A far cry from what I had in New York, isn’t it?”
“For sure, but it suits you. I can see how you’ve been able to create such good art here.”
“It does suit me. And with the exception of it being in the middle of a major metropolis, it’s very similar to the space I have there now.”
“Tell me more,” I say, and sit with my legs folded under me on the couch.
Without needing to ask, Damon pours me a glass of wine along with his own and brings it to me. His eyes light up as he describes his current New York studio and then he’s telling me about his dreams and his new hopes for his art again like we were back in college. He gets up and peels back a corner on each new painting to show me the colors he’s working with. I’m spellbound, and my silence triggers him.
“What’s wrong?” he says, and comes to kneel in front of me. “Are you okay?”
“I’m great,” I tell him. “Damon, I don’t think I’ve ever seen you with this much fire in your belly. Not even when we were together back in New York. It’s pretty damn amazing.”
“That’s not the only thing that’s amazing around here,” he whispers. He puts his hand on my neck and pulls me toward him. He doesn’t have to pull hard, because frankly I’ve wanted to kiss him since we finished dessert downstairs.
He swallows my moan with his kiss, and I tear at my own shirt as I lean into him. This time, I want nothing between us—no clothes, no doubts, no fears about the past or future. We balance the desire to keep our mouths on each other’s bodies with the need to get our clothes off. We come together, eating at each other’s lips, nipping necks, licking and sucking whatever bare patches of flesh we can latch onto, then pull apart only long enough to shed an item of clothing.
When we’re finally naked, Damon carries me the short distance to his bed, our lips once again locked hard. I can’t press closely enough to him. I want to eat him alive after so much time apart, and I cling to his neck to pull him down on top of me when he lays me on the bed.
“Baby, wait,” he says, and firmly unlocks my arms from around his neck. I whimper at the loss of contact. “I’m going to love you so hard, so good honey… but I just want to look at you for one moment, I want to drink you in. I nod in agreement, even as my body is screaming for his hands, and my breasts and nipples are weeping for his mouth.
I’m panting as I look up at him, and part my legs for him, which he can’t resist. Finally, as if he heard my thoughts of a moment ago, he climbs over me and covers one breast with his mouth, sucking hard on the nipple while he cups the other breast and flicks over the nipple there with a thumb. I groan loudly and grab his hair to hold him to my breast.
I buck my hips up, trying to impale myself on his cock, but he’ll only let me feel it against my thigh, to either side of my opening.
“God, Damon, please!”
He grins wickedly, but his eyes are glazed with need as great as mine. His arms are taut as he holds himself above me, his cock straining at my entrance. After another instant of stillness, with both of us about to burst with heat, he thrust his cock into me hard.
We both cry out and I grip his upper arms as he pulls out to the tip, and slams into me again. Over and over he does it, building friction and picking up rhythm.
“Never…knew…you…wanted it…this… way!”
“Yes, Damon. Hard. Fast. Now—”
His hips become a piston then, and mine meet him in perfect, frantic rhythm.
Then my orgasm bursts from me like a volcano, spilling my hot liquid over his shaft. I open my mouth on a silent groan, and one last hard thrust tears it from my throat.
“Mandy!” His own groan echoes it as his seed rushes into me.
16
Damon
In my slumber,I suddenly feel chilly.
When I open my eyes, I see that I’ve left the window cracked from the night before, and the air has cooled the room considerably. And much to my dismay, Amanda is no longer beside me in bed. But I decide to take that disappointment at face value. She might have had another call this morning. Or maybe she’s shy again all of a sudden. And if she is offended for some reason, at least I’m confident that I didn’t do anything to cause it this time.
Other than Amanda’s absence and my desperate and immediate need for coffee, I’m incredulously happy. Just a short time ago, the biggest gallery show of my career had been cancelled, and I returned home to find that my holiday renters included my ex-girlfriend and her family.
Now, I have even bigger galleries in New York, London and Paris vying for my next show, I have three spectacular paintings in the works, and I’ve had the best sex of my life with said ex-girlfriend. I’ve always heard that make-up sex is the best. We hadn’t had any cause to find out, since we’d never had any truly serious arguments until five years ago.
I can definitely testify to that now, though. It was incredible, how Amanda was so…demanding and physical. And I fucking loved it. Not that I’ve had a thousand lovers in my life, but this is the first time I’ve woken up with teeth marks and bruises. Though unintentional, and certainly not in the most desirable way, I definitely tapped into something when I bit her lower lip the other day.
