by Lauren Dane
At the hollow of her hip, he inspected the firefly in full color inked there. She yelped into a fit of giggles when he nipped it.
She was ticklish as he rained kisses over the inside of her thighs.
The laughter stopped as he spread her open and looked his fill.
Yes. Utterly beautiful.
She arched her back on a gasp when he took his first lick. And let himself drown in her. In giving her pleasure and taking his own.
In his hands, she was fire. Lush and sensual. But at the same time there was an edge to her. A vibrant—and in places, dark—energy.
There, between satiny thighs she was slick and totally open to him. There she was more addictive than he’d imagined she could be.
Bone-deep craving seemed to slice through his senses, shredding his control.
The muscles of her thighs trembled as her breath caught. Close. He knew she was close and though he wanted to feast on her for a lot longer, he had to satisfy himself with knowing he’d have another chance, hopefully more than one, to get back to where he was exactly at that moment.
Making Cora Silvera come so hard she pounded the bed at her sides as she brokenly whispered his name.
He had to rest his cheek against her belly, gasping for air the same way she was doing. Not because he was physically tired, though he liked to think his oral skills took some energy. She seemed to yank his emotions free with the way she not only touched his skin, but reached inside him with her reactions. With nothing more than being who she was.
He’d been through a lot of traumatic crap in his life. A lot of highs too. He was generally easygoing with it all by that point. But the way he felt with her, around her, was just shy of overwhelming.
So seductively good he just didn’t have the energy—or the will—to make up reasons to resist.
Cora was an adventure he wanted to experience.
Her smirk when he lifted his head enough to look up her body sent an arc of lust straight to his cock, so he jumped up to dig through his pants to grab a condom before returning to her.
She grabbed the packet from between his teeth before he could bite down and tear it open. “That’s bad for your teeth,” she told him, ripping it by hand and giving it back.
He could flat-out guarantee that he’d never had a lover tell him to be careful of ruining his teeth. Perversely, that only made him harder. So hard that he had to zone out a bit as he got the condom rolled on his dick or else come all over his hand and end this—at least for twenty minutes—before it got started.
Still on her knees from when she’d grabbed the condom, she waited for him, lips slightly parted, pupils large. Her hair was tousled all around her face in a way that screamed, I just had an orgasm.
“On your belly,” he told her.
She rolled over and gave him a look. Inviting more as she thrust herself back toward him.
He swore under his breath as he took in the antique chandelier taking up the entirety of her back. An old-school design. Strong and feminine. Sexy as hell.
“I love this ink,” he said, leaning down to kiss her between her shoulder blades. Settling between her thighs, he pushed one leg up, keeping it bent at the knee.
The sight of his cock disappearing into her body as he slowly entered her short-circuited his brain. His hand at her hip, fingers digging into the muscle there slightly to set the pace he wanted.
Slow. Because he wanted to draw it out.
But that was difficult when she was so snug and hot around him. Still soft and slick from her orgasm, her inner walls stretched, and then tightened around him.
Deep. Even deeper once he’d tipped her hips just a bit. Knew he’d gotten it right when her moan got raspy at the end.
He fucked her with hard, deep digs. Concentrated on how it felt, on how her skin tasted, on the wall holding back his climax.
“Harder,” she said over her shoulder. “More. Please.”
Beau bent himself over her. “I want your hand on your pussy. On your clit.”
He knew she liked it by the way her inner muscles seemed to flutter around his cock. And the surprised moan as she slid her hand between her body and the mattress.
Knew she’d begun when she got even hotter and wetter. Even through the latex it was enough to bring the orgasm he’d been holding back roaring toward him as he stayed where he was, his body caging hers, thrusting deep and hard.
She whimpered into the blankets as she started to explode around him and that was it. He continued to fuck her as it sucked him in and held him under. He came so hard his thigh muscles burned and jumped.
* * *
“SWEET BABY JESUS eating jerky,” she mumbled, rolling over so she could watch him get out of bed to dispose of the condom. She just had some of the hottest sex of her life with a dude who looked like sex on legs.
“Wait. Did you just say sweet baby Jesus eating jerky?” he asked, a wary expression on his face.
“I did. I was just thinking about how you’re just so damned gorgeous and hot and it occurred to me what a delight that was.”
He snorted as he joined her in getting dressed, and then pulled her into a hug, taking a long, leisurely trip around her mouth and throat before letting her go at last.
Leaving her needing to lean against the wall a moment because she was weak in the knees.
“Glad to be of service,” he said. “I like the way you objectify me.”
“That’s a big relief because I gotta tell you, looking at you gets me all warm and tingly. And then you add the cooking and the sense of humor and the way you fuck and it’s just downright impossible not to objectify you.”
Smiling, he walked two steps back to where she leaned against the wall and caged her in with his body. Yum.
“I’m not the irresistible one here,” he murmured before bending his knees to kiss her slow. “I have dreams about your taste,” he said, stepping away from her.
How did one even process a man like Beau saying such things? It made her light-headed in the best way. Made her feel like a gorgeous queen and damn it was really fucking wonderful.
The start of something really fucking wonderful. She hoped, even as she knew it could be a quick thing, she had a very strong feeling it wouldn’t be. There was something compelling about not only Beau, but the energy they had as Beau and Cora.
She shouldn’t think on it overmuch at that point though. Let it be magic. Magic was lovely.
CHAPTER EIGHT
GALLERY SILVERA SAT on a corner, next to a wine bar and across from a café. It was the perfect sort of place to wander after enjoying a glass of wine or a cup of tea. There were several other galleries within a four-block radius, all having a different perspective and emphasis. It created a lovely, artsy atmosphere.
Cora’s town house was close enough that she usually walked during the warmest months. But more, she herself was part of the neighborhood she worked in. When she chose what went on the walls in the gallery, what could be seen through the big windows facing the street, Cora expanded her gallery outside. Connected with those other places, and through Seattle Center, they were part of something vibrant, pulsing with music and art and dance.
It’d been in the current location in the shadow of the Space Needle for thirty years. Most of them had been as a moderate success. Her father had originally bought it as a gift for his wife—and as Cora believed, a way to give Walda roots. To give her a sense of place to build a life and a family. Which she’d done, but in her own way because no one told her mother how to live.
Like any kid who grew up in a family that ran a business, she and her siblings had spent a lot of afternoons and weekends at the gallery. It had brought color and creativity into her life at a very early age. She’d learned her multiplication tables while tucked into a back corner. A young painter who now had an established, successful career had helpe
d her with a book report. Their dining table had always been surrounded by artists, art lovers and all manner of exciting, interesting folk.
The gallery and the people who came through it were what she always thought of as another room of her childhood home.
She would get dressed and in makeup in her office once all the last touches were in place. For the time being she was in jeans and a long-sleeved shirt and wore sneakers as she rearranged some of the bouquets and floral baskets while making sure all the descriptions and associated materials with each piece were free of errors.
The caterers and bar staff had arrived and were beginning to get set up when she finished up all she could do for the event.
Maybe knocked on the door of Cora’s office not thirty seconds after she’d gotten her clothes and accessories for the night laid out. “I brought you a coffee,” Maybe told her, kissing her cheek as she handed the travel mug over.
Her friend was not only a fantastic hairdresser and barber, she also did makeup for her friends on special occasions. Maybe had shown up with her case, ready to work.
“You’re my favorite,” Cora said as she got into the chair.
“Naturally. You can tell me about the pumpkin patch and the sex you had afterward while I’m doing your hair.”
“How the hell do you know we had sex?” Cora looked at herself in the mirror, carefully making sure she hadn’t missed a love bite or something embarrassing.
“You have the glow. Your hair is looking fantastic. It’s got sex volume. And you didn’t deny it immediately. Also, you seemed pretty hot for one another and so it was a natural assumption.”
Maybe began to do her magic on Cora’s hair while she sipped her coffee and sighed happily.
“He was cute at the pumpkin patch. He pulled the wagon without complaint. Then he made me three different kinds of tacos while I decorated. Then we had terrific sex. Like stick your finger in a light socket electric sex. And in the afterglow what do you think we did?”
“Ate more tacos?”
Cora sighed. “I hadn’t even thought of that. Hell, eating more tacos totally would have been a wise choice. But no, after he fucked me silly, he helped me with some of my pumpkins. We even carved some before I had to leave to get here. Oh, and he’s coming tonight.”
Cora kept her eyes closed as Maybe worked. Pinning, curling and spraying her hair before moving on to makeup. At some point, Rachel arrived and Cora recounted the same story, catching her up.
“He’ll be more comfortable because he knows everyone already except for Beto and Finley.” It was less pressure that way. If, for whatever reason, he hit his limit on Cora time, or their chemistry cooled or soured, there’d be other people around to make it easier to avoid one another.
“Finley is curious about him. She’s done some internet sleuthing so be ready for all her questions about his, um, more colorful days,” Rachel said of Cora’s sister.
“She runs a tattoo shop. She’s around colorful people all day long. Hell, she is one.”
“Don’t get defensive. She loves you and you’re the baby,” Rachel reminded her.
She didn’t want that feeling lodged in her gut just then. Resentment and maybe a little bitterness. She adored Finley, who’d always been there for her. But if she was so concerned, why not help with their mom?
“I’m sure it’ll be fine. He’s charming. And it’s not like I’m harvesting his organs for dinner or anything. We’re just having fun,” Cora said.
“Hold your breath I’m getting ready to set your hair with spray,” Maybe told Cora.
They helped her get into the dress without smearing makeup, mussing hair or getting deodorant on anything. A bonus was the way the high neck and illusion panel on the front accentuated her boobs without having them in danger of falling out of anything.
It was a grown-up, sexy dress and she couldn’t deny she chose it with Beau in mind.
“Dayum, baby. You lookin’ good,” Maybe said as she circled Cora slowly.
The three friends laughed as they headed out to the main gallery floor where the candles were lit, the wine had been decanted and music played in the background.
It smelled like cinnamon and oranges so she knew her brother was around somewhere, a mug of Market Spice tea in his hand. She followed her nose and found him setting that cup of tea down so he could open the doors for their parents as they approached the gallery.
Before she could head to them, Finley stepped into her path. Her sister wore an amazing jumpsuit that would have looked awful on most other people. Her forearms and chest were mainly bare, all her ink on display. Her dark brown hair was pulled away from her face into a loose knot at the base of her neck.
Finley was unique. She had an edge, but she put makeup on it, winged its eyeliner and used her tattoos like jewelry. Her sister was a badass. Gorgeous. Fierce and deeply thoughtful. Her artistic nature was the closest to control freak of the sisters.
She loved hard, including her family. They weren’t perfect. The Silveras could be total assholes to one another. But their connection was bone deep. Their commitment and loyalty to the family was something Cora never doubted.
“So. Where’s the dude?” Finley looked around before settling back on Cora. “Oh, and you look particularly dishy tonight.”
“I clean up okay,” Cora told her. “Digging that jumpsuit. We need to go shopping soon. As for Beau, I told him not to show up until after eight. I think he’s going to check in with Gregori and Wren since they’ll be here tonight too.”
When Cora took a look around the space, she noticed immediately that her mother had begun to move things around, and at first, Cora stood, furiously stock-still. Walda had nothing to do with the gallery events by that point and hadn’t for several years. She knew nothing about what hung on the walls. But that didn’t stop her from coming in and fucking shit up because why not? Her mom always wanted her way.
Clearly, it was obvious to her friends because Rachel sighed, getting Cora’s attention back. “You’re going to pop a vein,” Rachel said, pushing her toward Walda. “This is your gallery. Your event. You’d never let anyone else do this. I’m not saying you should punch her in the face,” she snorted. “Just be in charge. You got this.”
Finley sighed before linking her arm through Cora’s. “She’s right. If you don’t stop Mom now, she’ll only get worse. You know how she is.”
Maybe cocked her head, saying nothing but lending her support with a smile.
“You stay here,” Cora told her sister. For a long time Finley had worked really hard to get their mother’s attention and affection. She’d been the bridge between the older two kids and Cora and Beto. Their oldest sister’s lieutenant when their mom was focused elsewhere. Cora had watched over and over as their mother took things for granted or her attention wandered. She did say thank you from time to time, but that need for approval had never been filled completely.
The energy between Finley and their mother was often tense because their mom either just didn’t get it, or overreacted to something, launching a passive-aggressive period that blew up into an argument.
And then Cora would have to fix it.
She took a gulp of coffee before handing it off to Maybe, straightened her spine and headed over.
“Hey, you two,” she said as she approached her parents.
Her father kissed her cheek. “Ta bom?” he asked in Portuguese. Are you okay? Are you well? Is everything all right?
The words, his tone, always centered Cora. It was his way of checking in. Something he’d done their whole life.
She smiled in response to his question and began to undo all the stuff her mother had done when Walda was paying attention to something else.
Until she noticed Cora and turned, pointing an accusing finger her youngest daughter’s way. “What are you doing? I just did that.”
�
��I’m putting it back the way I had it. Better flow, if anyone is wearing long sleeves they won’t drag through the candles and start a fire. The breeze from the doors opening and closing will also be far enough away that they won’t constantly blow out.”
“You don’t need candles.” Walda turned back to undo what Cora had done.
She very nearly gave in and just let her mom have that moment. It wasn’t that big a deal in the larger scheme of things. But she remembered it wasn’t just about a candle right at that moment, but about how she wanted her future to look. She needed to stand up for herself.
“I like them there. So I don’t need them, I want them.” Cora attempted to sound matter-of-fact as she got between Walda and the candles, putting them back to rights.
Her mother narrowed her eyes at her, not very used to being told no. Cora just smiled and gave her mother a hug, leading her, along with her father, toward where the others still waited, pretending they hadn’t watched the whole thing.
“You look nice tonight,” Cora told her. “I didn’t know you were coming. It’s a happy surprise.”
And it would give a bit more attention to the artists whose work was being sold, which was a very positive thing.
Walda meant well. Usually. Cora just had to remember that while she continued to work on ways to find her own place in the next phase of her life.
Even so, Cora’s heart still beat fast in the wake of pushing back against her mother’s interference. It was ridiculous for her to be so anxious about it. She wasn’t weak in other areas of her life.
For a long time, people thought they could tell Walda no and she’d hear it. But her mother wasn’t there for hearing things she didn’t like.
Cora could steer her mother, which is what she did to manage her. To keep her out of trouble. But now, she had to tell her mother no, not as an employee, but as a daughter. A younger woman. And one, Cora saw in Walda’s gaze, who was a potential rival.
Cora now had to step away from her role as Walda-keeper and, as she’d been reminded by several people in the last week alone, into the gallery full-time. She knew more about this gallery from an artistic perspective than anyone other than her father. The time had come. She felt it to her toes.