His voice is strangled but I’m not in a position to judge. My vocal cords can’t really remember how speech works, especially not when a silken log is rhythmically slamming into my body at full speed.
My mouth finds his, swallowing any further rebuttal, my tongue thrusting into his mouth the way his cock thrusts into my cunt, taking what I want, too overwhelmed to care if he likes it.
Then I can’t even do that. Half my muscles go limp, and the other half constrict, the drag of his cock on my walls driving me higher than his tongue, higher than his fingers.
His thumb finds my clit, circling it, teasing it, his care an enticing counterpoint to the savagery of his thrust, and I’m convulsing, muscles gripping like I’m milking him and perhaps I am because a second later he grunts, slamming into me and holding there while his cock twitches deep inside me.
I’m barely aware as he gives another, milder thrust, his laugh dispersing across my chest.
“Best I ever had,” I whisper as he eases from me, curling me across his lap as he reclines farther in the chair, my head against his chest, hearing the steady thump-thump-thump of his heart.
“Yeah, I am.”
He’s still an arrogant dick but I can’t be bothered to protest as my sleepy eyes close, his thumb wiping away my tears to deposit them on his tongue, one by one.
“How many paintings do you have?”
“Enough that you’ll get sick of me. Guaranteed.”
“Mission accomplished already,” I joke, the punchline squandered as I nestle closer.
“You should know, I was gentle because it was your first real time,” he mutters into my neck before licking along my collarbone, the movement greedy with undertones of savage.“But if you come back for more, I’m going to test your limits. I’m going to twist you inside out until we find out exactly how much you can take.”
And the shiver of trepidation makes my afterglow all the sweeter.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
ZANE
When the skydarkens into evening, I walk Avon back to the house. She takes a shower and much as I would love to join her, I figure my one orgasm per painting promise should be adhered to at least on the first day.
There are meals in the fridge, ready to heat, but when I offer, she shakes her head. “Mum will be on her way home if she’s not there already. She’ll be wondering where I am.”
I doubt it’s the sole reason but don’t argue. It was a triumph to get her here, my senses still reeling. If she’s going to trust me enough to come back again, I should probably act like someone who can be trusted.
“At least take the Maserati, home,” I say when she says she’ll call an Uber, but she shakes her head. “Why not?”
“Because it must be worth a hundred k or more?” She arches her eyebrow, giving me a shy smile. “And one look at my impoverished face and a cop will pull me over.”
“You’d be doing us a favour. Dad isn’t home often to drive it and I can’t. The poor thing’s wasting away in the garage, completely unloved.”
But she’s obviously nervous and I don’t want to press her. When she brings out her phone, I take it from her, tapping my credit card number into the app. “Let me pay for your ride, then. Especially since I owe you a new bike lock.”
We’re awkward in a way we weren’t in the studio, and I wonder if that’s just real life inserting itself where it’s not wanted. Then she leans in to give me a kiss and my senses fire, grabbing her around the waist to pull her close against me. Even when our lips part, I lean my forehead against her for long seconds.
“You could always move in here,” I offer, not really joking. “There’s plenty of room.”
She gives a soft snort. “Forty three of them, so I’ve heard.”
“Oh, yeah?” I arch my eyebrow. “If you want, we can christen each one.”
Once she’s gone, I move back to the studio, staring around the room, replaying each new memory. I cover the painting, trying not to see the scars as my heart clutches. My limbs are shaking by the time I lock the door behind me.
Inside, I pull out my phone and stare at the clone app.
I want to see what Avon’s doing, see if she’s texting her friend or searching for ways to kill the annoying son of a billionaire without getting caught.
But it’s a betrayal.
