by Nika Rhone
She stiffened against him. “Yeah, sorry. I’ve been trying to work on that.”
“Hey.” He shifted so he could see her face. “That wasn’t a complaint. I like that you can be outrageous and unpredictable. It’s a part of who you are. Don’t try to change.”
She didn’t look convinced, so he flipped her onto her back and perched over her on all fours. “I mean it. Don’t change who you are. Not for me. Not for anybody.”
“Easy to say now,” she replied, looking up at him with a hint of vulnerability. “But just wait. I’ll say something stupid and embarrass you in public, and you’ll change your tune.”
He grinned. “Querida, I have four siblings whose sole purpose in life is to embarrass me wherever and whenever they can. I think I can take it.” From the sudden glint in Lillian’s eye, Rafe had the terrible feeling she’d taken his words as a challenge. Time to distract her before that scary brain of hers came up with something to test his resolve.
“Do you know what I always wondered whenever I saw you standing in the lobby, waiting for the elevator, wearing those sexy little skirts and come-fuck-me heels?”
“No, what?”
“Whether or not your eyebrow was the only spot on this luscious body that was pierced or not.” He could tell he surprised her by the way her eyes widened.
“You did?”
Rafe nodded.
“Oh.” Her tongue darted out to moisten her lips. “Well, um, I used to. In my bellybutton. But it kept getting caught on things, so I let it close up.”
The news that one of his fantasies had in fact been a reality sent a surge of heat to his cock, bringing it from semi- to full-attention within a few strong heartbeats. Lillian’s eyes widened even further before a sly smile curled her lips. “You like that, huh?”
Rafe looked down at his bobbing erection. The answer was pretty obvious.
“Hmm.” The smile deepened as her hands came over her belly to touch the small scar at the top of her dainty little innie that marked the former site of her piercing. “Too bad.”
“What’s too bad?”
“That I never got around to doing the other piercing I was thinking about.”
Other piercing?
“What piercing?” The words came out like a growl.
Lillian’s hands slid up her torso in a slow, erotic dance of fingers that his eyes couldn’t help but follow. “Oh, you know.” Her fingers danced higher. “I considered, maybe…” Her fingertips grazed her nipples. “…getting these pierced.” She gave them a pinch that made Rafe’s cock jerk.
“Holy fuck. Lillian.” Realizing he was panting, Rafe tried to find his usual control, but it disappeared about the same time she started to fondle herself.
“I chickened out at the time because I was worried it would hurt too much, but I’ve heard it can be quite the erotic sensation, to have someone tug on them during sex.” She tweaked her nipples again. “What do you think? Would you like that?”
Unable to look away from the hard, flushed peaks, Rafe couldn’t get the image her words had conjured out of his head. What did he think? That he was so far over his head with this woman that he might never come up for air again.
He swallowed hard. “Sweetheart, you’re killing me, you know that, right?” The smile she gave him said she did, and it sparked the devil in him when he answered her question. “What I think is that what you do to your body is your own choice. If you want to do it to make it feel good, then do it. But if all you’re looking for is erotic sensations, querida mia, I can take care of that for you anytime you like. All you have to do is ask.”
“Are you sure?” She tugged the turgid points, and he almost came right then and there. “You wouldn’t get off on seeing little gold hoops hanging right here, knowing that nobody else got to see them but you?”
With a snarled curse, Rafe swept her hands away and replaced them with his own, covering the generous globes with possessive greed. “You’re perfect just the way you are.” But he’d be lying if he said the idea didn’t turn his brain to slush. Fuck. He’d never be able to get that image out of his head now. Which had been the little witch’s intent, judging by the satisfied curl of her kiss-swollen lips.
Determined to prove his point, and to make her pay, Rafe covered one plump nipple with his mouth, laving his tongue over it until it was good and wet before blowing on it, raising goosebumps on Lillian’s skin as she shuddered under the attention. He did the same to the other breast, earning him a tiny moan.
Good, but he could do better.
Going back to the first breast, he closed his lips around the peak and suckled, gently at first, then adding more strength to it as Lillian’s body responded with small pants of breath, her legs moving restlessly, her hands grasping at his shoulders. With a soft pop, he released that nipple and went to pay homage to its twin. As he drew hard on the peak, Lillian gasped out a whimper.
Still not good enough.
With exquisite care, Rafe closed his mouth once more on the nipple and used his teeth to apply slowly increasing pressure, waiting until her entire body went rigid, knowing he’d reached the teetering line between pleasure and pain. Gently, he gave the nipple a tug, the exact way she’d described, and was rewarded by a long moan that was torn from somewhere deep inside her.
That was what he wanted.
Pleased, Rafe eased back on the pressure, laving the nipple with tender care before moving to the other. This time Lillian knew what was coming, and the threshold to pain was pushed a little more before she tapped out and he finished her off with that gentle pull of his teeth. From the sound she made, Rafe was pretty sure she’d just had a mini-orgasm, or at least she’d come real close.
Fuck, he was so close he was two seconds from humping against her leg to finish getting off. Three strokes, tops, and he’d be done. But he’d started all of this with a purpose, and he wasn’t sure he achieved it yet. With gritted teeth, Rafe ignored his throbbing cock and pressed his forehead to Lillian’s breastbone for a few long breaths before being able to look at her and not pounce. Her eyes were glazed and at half-mast as she smiled up at him.
Oh yeah, she’d come, all right.
“That was”—she drew in a shuddery breath—“so good.”
“Do you think getting them pierced could feel any better than that?”
“I can’t imagine anything being better than that.” Her words slurred a little like she was drunk. Or exhausted.
Feeling guilty because she had to get up for work in a few hours, Rafe lay back down beside her and tugged her close, pulling the sheet up over them. He’d count his blue balls as well-deserved punishment for starting something he shouldn’t have. He bit back a groan when her hand accidentally brushed his erection as she settled.
Or maybe not by accident.
After the third touch, he put his hand down to cover hers and stop its wayward teasing. He felt her smile against his neck. “Go to sleep, sweetheart.”
“Isn’t that monster going to make it tough for you to sleep?”
Extremely. “I’ll manage.”
“But I could—”
“Go to sleep.”
This time there was no argument, and a few seconds later her body went boneless against his. Thank God. He wasn’t sure how much longer he could have clung to his good intentions.
He closed his eyes with a sigh as he sought his own rest. It had been one damn day, and already he was wrapped so tightly in this woman’s life he wasn’t sure how he was going to ever get out. He ignored the traitorous little voice that asked why he would ever want to.
****
“Well, someone’s in a good mood today.”
Grinning at the comment, Lillian handed Bernice the takeout cup with the logo of the coffee shop around the corner on it. “It’s a beautiful morning. Why wouldn’t I be?”
The receptionist blinked. “Because you hate the morning?”
Most days she did. But for some reason, this morning she was bright-eyed and
full of energy despite a severe lack of sleep thanks to one insatiable sex god who had left her a whimpering pile of goo three times over the course of the night.
Oh wait. That was why she was in a good mood.
“I’m turning over a new leaf.” She left a disbelieving Bernice behind as she took her own coffee up to her office. She had twenty minutes before the gallery opened its doors, and she planned to use them communing with the caffeine gods and wallowing in the afterglow that seemed to be lingering far longer than it should have. Even the climb up the stairway of death couldn’t make a dent in it.
Holy bananas, Batman, did that man know his way around an orgasm. There were parts on her body that were still tingling. And others, she realized as she sat gingerly at her desk, that were still a little tender, in a good, never-tried-that-but-want-to-do-it-again kind of way. She pressed a hand to her breasts. It didn’t matter that she’d worn her softest, silkiest bra. Her nipples were still so sensitive every movement sent a whisper of remembered pleasure through her entire body.
Who knew playing on the edge of her darkest fantasies could be so arousing? Or so addictive? Because the only thing she could seem to think about this morning was when she was going to strip Rafe naked and do wicked, nasty things to his glorious body. He’d made her beg last night. Tonight, she intended to return the favor.
Once the gallery opened, she had a lot less time to daydream about her sexy neighbor, but he was never far from her thoughts. Which was a dangerous thing, because what she should have been thinking about were the unfinished canvases waiting in her studio. Not how many condoms they had left and if they needed to stop and buy more on the way home.
Foot traffic was good for a weekday. More than a few people came in to ask about the painting in the window, which was both exhilarating and frustrating at the same time. The positive feedback fed her starving ego, but she hated always having to phrase her responses in such careful terms. “The artist will appreciate your praise” instead of “thank you very much, I’m glad you like my work” wore thin after a while.
Soon, she promised herself. She’d get her showing, and then she’d be able to prove to everyone she really was an artist.
Especially her father.
He’d managed to corner her during the party last night despite her best efforts to avoid it. Always the tactician, her father waited until Rafe had gone off to get them something to drink, then pounced with his latest rendition of “when are you going to stop wasting your life and come work at the real job that’s waiting for you?” Lillian knew he wasn’t trying to be mean, but it hurt all the same. Even if the thought of a 9-5 existence didn’t make her break out in hives, she’d never be able to work for her father. She’d always feel like she was trying to live up to some standard she could never meet.
Refusing to let the reminder of her father’s disappointment tarnish the wonderful day, Lillian pasted on her best smile for the customer who had just come in. He was tall, thin, late twenties, with a mop of shaggy blond hair a few weeks overdue for a haircut. Then again, given the scruff on his face and the skinny jeans, it might have been the look he was going for, somewhere between hipster and starving artist.
Starving hipster, maybe? Was that even a thing?
She hung back, waiting. Experience had taught her nothing spooked a customer more than being pounced on like a stray wildebeest the second they walked through the door. The man gave Bernice a searching look before quickly looking away again. Lillian bit her lip to contain her smile. Men often had that reaction to the flirty receptionist and her bold color palette. Today she wore a violent magenta silk blouse with matching lipstick, which shone like a beacon against her bleached teeth.
Shoving his hands into his back pockets, he slouched past her desk while carefully not looking her way again. Lillian felt a little bubble of anticipation when she realized he was walking toward Lady Dreaming. After letting him study it for a few moments, she made her way over, professional demeanor in place along with the smile. “Good afternoon.”
He barely looked up long enough to give her a chin tip in acknowledgement.
Dweeb.
Undeterred, Lillian soldiered on. “I see Dreaming has caught your eye.”
“Yeah, I wanted to see if it looked the same under true lighting as it did through the window.”
“And does it?” She knew it did.
“Yeah.” He straightened from his examination. “It’s just as washed out and flat as I thought.”
“I’m…sorry?” She had to have heard him wrong. Washed out? Flat?
“The colors are so muted, it’s like they’re an afterthought. And the lines…” He snorted. “They look like a five-year-old finger-painted them.”
Lillian blinked. Was this guy serious? Was he even looking at the right painting?
But Shaggy wasn’t done with his barbed critique yet. He cocked his head as though viewing it from a different angle might change something. “It looks like someone started with a vague idea of what they wanted to paint and didn’t know how to follow through. There’s no depth, no emotion.” He squinted at it for a second. “It’s pretty enough, I suppose. Kind of like cotton candy. Sweet and fluffy, with no real substance. I guess there’s a market for that kind of thing.”
For the first time in Lillian’s life, words failed her. Sure, she’d had people dislike paintings and sculptures she’d shown them over the years. It had always been easy to accept and move on. People had wildly varying opinions when it came to art, because it was such a subjective medium. That was part of the business. But this? This hurt. It was like each damning word was a whip that bit deep and fast into her skin.
No depth…no emotion…a five-year-old painted it…cotton candy…
The words beat at her, but somehow Lillian kept her smile in place. “Wow. That’s quite a different take than most of the people who’ve stopped in to see it.” It wasn’t smart to call his opinion into question, since he was a customer and the customer was always right. Even when they were an idiot. She just couldn’t help but point out he was the odd man out. Really, really odd.
With a shrug of his thin shoulders, Shaggy replied, “That’s the difference between the trained and untrained eye.”
“Oh? Are you an artist, then?” That would explain a lot. Competition could be fierce and sometimes spiteful within the artistic community.
“Me? No.” She could tell by the sly curve of his thin lips that he wasn’t finished. “I don’t make the art. I just review it.”
The sound Lillian heard reverberating in her ears was the death knell for the future of her career in art. Smiling became too hard, so she settled for a wry grimace. “Wow. That’s great. For whom?”
“Art Regard.”
She didn’t recognize the name, but that didn’t matter. What did matter was putting away her wounded ego and salvaging the reputation of the gallery by making sure Shaggy left with a more positive opinion of the collection as a whole, rather than with the unpleasant taste of cotton candy in his mouth.
Ouch.
“Well, I’m sorry you didn’t find this artist’s work to your liking, but I think you’ll be very impressed with some of the other pieces we have on display. I’d love to show them to you.” She stepped back with a sweep of her arm, expecting him to follow, but stopped when he shook his head.
“No, I think I’ve seen all I need to write my piece.”
Lillian’s stomach clenched. “Oh, but, one painting isn’t a fair representation of the entire collection.”
“It is when it’s the one you put in the window.”
The knot in her stomach bunched like a fist when he gave one last dismissive look at the painting that, up until two minutes ago, had been her pride and joy. With another shake of his head, he didn’t bother with a goodbye, just turned and slouched his way out of the gallery. There was a brief influx of street noise, cut off when the heavy door closed behind him.
Unable to move, Lillian stood frozen in place, looking a
t the painting as though she’d never seen it before. What the hell had just happened?
“So, did he like it?” Bernice asked from behind her. Lillian hadn’t even heard her approach. “What am I saying? Of course, he did. Everyone likes it.”
“No, actually. He didn’t.” To her own ears, her words sounded a little hollow, but Bernice didn’t seem to notice anything amiss, so it must have been her imagination. The same imagination that had her believing she had any talent at all.
“He didn’t?” Bernice scrunched her face up in disbelief.
“He thought it was flat and lacking emotion.”
“Huh.” Moving to where she could see the painting better, Bernice studied it, arms across her chest. “Maybe, a little. But I still think it’s nice.” She shrugged and headed back to her desk.
Nice. That was almost as damning as calling a man sweet.
The time remaining till closing seemed to drag like a lead weight tied to Lillian’s waist as she forced herself to give whatever customers came in her very best. Any praise they had for Lady Dreaming was a mere sop to her bruised ego. Rather than bask in it, she was quick to walk them past the painting and redirect their attention to other pieces. Pieces done by real artists. Who didn’t paint like a five-year-old. Or pull down the standards of the entire gallery.
Most days—even the days she had to deal with Roman—Lillian loved her job. Today, she couldn’t lock the door and get out of there fast enough.
As she was setting the alarm, Bernice let out a tiny squeal from where she was waiting at the door. “Omigod, he’s back!”
Lillian sucked in a breath. “He is?”
“I’m going out to talk to him!”
If she could have, Lillian would have stayed inside the gallery until Shaggy went away. Instead, she yanked up her big girl panties and exited. If she took a few extra seconds making sure the monolithic front door was properly secured and gave it one or two more tugs than normal, well, that had nothing to do with delaying the inevitable. She was being responsible.
That was her story and she was sticking to it.