by Lauren Wood
He circled each breast with his lips before kissing down my torso, spreading a wildfire of need wherever he went. No matter how hard I tried to stay still, I couldn’t stop myself from writhing against the cushions. I was so desperate for more and more and more.
Of course then he gave me just that, and I realized it didn’t help matters any when it came to me staying still. His head dropped between my thighs, and just one long sweep of his tongue across my folds made me feel like I was going to melt into nothingness.
He sucked me in and licked and lapped me up until I really felt like nothing more than a puddle—used-up paint, like what was splattered along my skirt from earlier. He kept going and going until I hit a wall and then burst straight through—exploding against his mouth until everything was blurry and dark, and I was too dizzy to stand or move. He got what he asked for, at least. I was finally limp and incapable of moving, even if I wanted to.
But then I glanced up and saw one very important piece to this puzzle that I had missed before. Everything happened so fast, I had neglected to fully take in the sight of his cock—long, thick, and throbbing. I licked my lips as I reached out for it, smoothing the skin back and forth as he shuddered in my hand.
I tried to murmur something about needing him inside of me, but I was too excited to tell if it ever really came out. Whether it did or not, he knowingly climbed on top of me and hooked his arms under my legs—yanking me into the position he wanted me in.
With one thrust, he filled me up in an exquisite, stretching thrill. I was overcome with a new rush of pleasure, and he wasted no time in pounding into me with a steady rhythm. He moved in and out, hitting me harder each time. All I could do was dig my nails into his skin and lose myself in the sensation.
“Oh god, Dawson,” I whimpered as he thrusted faster, harder.
The scent of him mixed with his groans and grunts sent me over the edge. I was seeing stars again as my body buckled underneath him from the force of a second orgasm ripping through me. The timing was perfect as I felt him burst inside of me before burying his face in my hair.
We were both quiet and still, him still slowly moving inside of me while we tried to catch our breath. The studio fell dark as the sun went the rest of the way down. All I could do was trail my fingers through the back of his hair as he rested against me…and try not to freak out over everything that had just happened.
13
Dawson
Isabella and I drifted off to sleep on the lounge chair and didn’t open our eyes until the bright sun was bursting through the studio again. By the time I woke up, she was already standing by the window—putting her clothes back on. She looked awkward and alarmed when she caught me staring at her.
“Oh, hello,” she chirped. “I, uh, tried to make coffee. But you didn’t appear to have any?” She looked beautiful standing in the sun. Her red hair caught fire in the light as she buttoned up her shirt.
“Oh, yeah,” I smirked, sitting up and scratching my eyes. “I normally go around the corner for coffee every morning.”
“Well, I can’t start the day without coffee. So, I guess I’ll be going then,” she shrugged nonchalantly.
“We can take a walk and get coffee together,” I suggested. “I know a great spot nearby for breakfast.”
She laughed. “No offense but I’ve seen what kind of spots you frequent, and I think I’ll have to pass.”
My heart sank with the realization that whatever inspired her to sleep with me the afternoon before had since passed. I climbed out of bed and slid into my pants and a t-shirt before walking over to her and forcing her to stop long enough to face me.
“So, what now?” I asked.
“What do you mean? I’m leaving, of course. Like I said.”
“No, I mean after this,” I replied. “When am I going to see you again?”
She laughed again, only this time it stung even more than before. “You might not. I don’t know. We’ve been running into each other left and right. Who knows when that will happen again. I guess we’ll just have to wait and see.”
I hung my head with a tight smile. The difference in her was night and day, and I didn’t appreciate the sudden change.
“So that’s it then?” I turned to ask.
She slid back into her skirt, despite the stain, then quickly put on her heels. When she looked up from her feet, she was confronted with the painting I did of her—staring her straight in the face. She stood up and walked over to it, studying it with an unreadable expression. For a moment, I could have sworn I saw some of yesterday’s tenderness return—as if she was remembering just how good it all felt. But she quickly rolled it off.
“You better hide that,” she said, pointing to the painting. “You wouldn’t want to have to explain it to Richard if he ever noticed it. And most men do tend to look when they catch sight of a naked woman in the corner of their eye, even if she is only in a painting.”
“I assure you, Richard doesn’t come here. Ever. He’s never seen the place. I don’t expect that to change any time soon. Even if he did, I say let him see it. Has he seen you naked yet?”
“That’s none of your business,” she scoffed.
“He hasn’t,” I smirked.
“What do you mean your own brother doesn’t visit where you live?” she asked in an irritated huff. “And what’s the deal with you and your family’s money anyway? Apparently anyone who knows you also knows that you’ve shunned their fortune, or something like that. Why? You obviously need the money.”
“Richard and I aren’t that close,” I mumbled, pulling out a cigarette and lighting it near the open balcony door.
“You smoke?” Her face wrinkled in disgust.
“Only on special occasions.”
“What’s the occasion?”
“I had sex with a beautiful woman and even painted a souvenir,” I told her, growing more frustrated by the second.
“You didn’t answer my other questions…about your family’s money.”
I took a hit off the cigarette and walked over to her nude portrait, picking the large canvas up to turn it around so it was facing the wall—out of sight. Maybe that would make her happy enough to lay off the questions about my family.
“I like knowing that everything I see around me—this apartment, these supplies, the food in the pantry, the clothes on my back…I paid for every bit of it myself. And I made that money doing something I love.”
“But you could take a little of their money and…”
“For someone who can’t start their day without coffee, you’re awfully chatty,” I barked.
Her eyes darkened over me before she snatched up her purse and stormed towards the door. Just before walking out, she stopped and looked towards the painting one more time—even though all either of us could see of it now was the blank back of the canvas and the stretcher bars.
With that last glance, she swung the door open, walked out, and slammed it shut behind her. I looked at my cigarette, which didn’t seem to taste as good as I remembered from the last one I had. I chucked it out onto the balcony and went back to the painting, flipping it around all over again.
I paced back and forth in front of it with one arm folded across my chest and the other hand wrapped around my chin. I stared at the damn thing until I couldn’t stand it anymore, and quickly grabbed my coat to head out to the pub.
But even the bar and a few beers didn’t offer any relief. Because a half hour after I arrived, none other than Isabella herself appeared on the television. Out of an act of masochism, I asked the bartender to turn it up so I could hear what the gossip reporter was saying about her.
Millionaire heiress and high society “It” girl Isabella Landson appears to have it all…except for love. But popular dating app Heartstring suggests that they can fix that problem for her. They are coining her their first ever bachelorette and will be following her dating life for the next month. It all culminates in a big event at which Isabella will hopefully announce that she has fallen
in love with one of the eligible bachelors selected for her. The bachelors in the running are every bit as glamorous and envied as Ms. Landson herself—each of them boasting their own impressive fortune and successful career, not to mention their incredibly good looks that are enough to make any woman swoon. The pool of potential suitors for the wealthy socialite princess, who is prone to a life of partying and jet-setting, are enough to make any woman on earth envy Isabella…even more than we all did before this intriguing campaign began.
“Psh,” I moaned and grunted, chugging more of my beer.
The bartender threw his rag over his shoulder, looking from the TV back to me. “Didn’t I see you with her before? That Isabella chick?”
“No one is with Isabella Landson,” I groaned, feeling a little drunk after throwing back so many too fast. I pointed a finger in the air. “You hear me? No one. Not really.”
“Yeah, alright Daws,” he scowled. “I think it’s about time for you to go home and sleep it off.”
That would have been the smart thing to do, but I didn’t. I stayed at the bar and kept drinking, then drank some more when I got home. It all resulted in one hell of a hangover the next morning. Which would have been more tolerable if I didn’t have to go by the gallery to pick up my check. At least I would be able to catch up on rent and get my landlord off of my back for a little while.
But the morning got even worse when I walked in and saw none other than my brother standing there, talking to one of the workers.
“Ah, Dawson,” he smiled wide. “Funny running into you again. What’s this? Twice in one week? We haven’t spent this much time together since we were kids,” he laughed.
“And whose fault is that?” I grumbled under my breath.
“What was that?” he asked, cupping his ear.
But I was distracted by the workers who were busy taking down one of my paintings and exchanging some information with Richard.
“I thought that painting sold to someone else,” I puzzled, scratching my head.
“I had the gallery contact them and negotiate me buying it off of them for a slightly higher price,” he explained.
“I didn’t realize you liked my work so much,” I scoffed, knowing that was definitely not the case.
“Oh, no. It’s for Isabella. You know her, right? The woman I was with when I saw you at the opening.”
I raised my brows in surprise, but bit back any reply. What I wanted to say was—Oh, I know her alright. I know her a lot better now after last night, and I have a painting back at my place that you might find very interesting…
But I truly was baffled that Richard would go to such great lengths to impress and win over any woman. Maybe he just liked the challenge and the competition. He had always been the one being pursued, never the one in pursuit.
“I’ve never seen you care so much about one woman before,” I commented. “Buying her a painting and everything? What are your intentions with Izzy anyway?”
“You call her Izzy?” he teased, looking a little annoyed and jealous. “Just how close are you two?”
“We’re not really,” I lied. But apparently we really weren’t, judging by Izzy’s behavior the morning before.
“Ah. Well. My intentions with her are to give her what she wants. A picture-perfect husband to add to her image. More millions to add to her bank. I wouldn’t expect you to understand a woman like that, but it’s all fairly transactionary.”
I nodded my head, twisting my lips as I looked down at the floor. “And what makes you so sure that’s what she wants? What if she wants the real thing?”
“Real what?” his brow furrowed.
“Love.”
Richard burst into laughter. “No woman like that does. Which is perfect. I have no interest in it either. But it’s proven that married men are more successful. Clients trust them more.”
He turned to the gallery worker casually, as if we had just been discussing something as serious as stopping by the store for milk on the way home. “You can have this delivered directly to my place? I’d like to present it to her in person.”
Then he looked back at me. “Thanks for making something that caught her eye, Daws. She seemed to be really taken with it at the show.”
And finally, he looked back to the painting just before it was packed up by the workers. “Though I can’t really understand why. Ah, you know I don’t know much about this art crap.”
Or women. Or love. Or anything else, I thought. Richard patted my shoulder and strutted out of the gallery.
14
Isabella
The only benefit to having a film crew follow me around on dates was that it made things slightly more entertaining as I endured the dullness of Michael Waters. He was a well known accountant who only handled the biggest clients. I always imagined accountants and their work to be mind-numbingly boring. And Michael was proving that theory to be correct.
I tried to suppress a yawn over our subpar, overpriced Italian dinner, while he rambled on about spreadsheets and “how fascinating they really were once you understood them.” I shifted my elbows as they rested on the table and accidentally bumped into one of the camera stands to my left. The guy behind it scrambled to catch it in time, which at least made me laugh a little.
Finally, the waiter returned Michael’s card and the check for him to sign, which meant I was almost free.
“So…” He smiled up at me. “What next? I know of a great place we can go for drinks and dancing.”
I yawned again. “I would love to, but I’m suddenly so tired. I think I have to call it a night. Maybe next time.”
He looked disappointed as he helped me back into my coat and walked me out to my car, waiting for me out front. I had learned to keep a car on call for a speedy getaway for situations just like this.
It couldn’t have been easy on guys like Michael. When the date was an obvious fail, they had hundreds of thousands of people on the internet watching it go down—mocking the poor guys over their bowls of popcorn and glasses of wine. On the other hand, it was great for me because it felt like I had crowds of people commiserating with me. Though I made a point to never look at the comments on the online episodes. Jada assured me people were very encouraging and sympathetic with me.
When I got back home, I kicked off my heels and stared at the calendar on the wall. I had a very busy schedule with dates lined up back to back. Every night it was dinner and drinks with some new guy they had picked out for me, in addition to all of my other social obligations.
I was trying to keep my head up and throw myself into it all full force. At least it kept me busy, a welcomed distraction from any lingering thoughts about Dawson.
I liked to think of our little encounter as a bit of fun that served the purpose of getting it out of my system. I figured going ahead and sleeping with him would take away some of that alluring mystery and make it easier for me to put him out of my head. And being so busy meant I didn’t have time to figure out if my plan had worked or not. I was blissfully unaware and going non-stop from one thing to another.
The next morning, I had just gotten off a call with Jada, who was revealing the final selection of bachelors to me. She was hopeful one of the ten men would be “the one,” and Richard Hayes made it to the final cut. I had gotten used to just smiling and nodding to everything she said. If I didn’t have a choice in the matter, it was better to just go along with it all and hope for the best.
I had plenty of money, after all. It was impossible to make a wrong choice because I could jet off to anywhere in the world when I got bored with the guy and needed a break, which really wasn’t so different from how my own parents’ marriage functioned. And they were happy enough, as far as I could tell.
But no sooner than Jada and I hung up, the phone rang again. I winced at the sight of Dawson's name scrolling across the screen. Yet I couldn’t stop myself from picking up.
“What is it?” I answered with a heavy sigh, making no mistake of my disinterest
. That’s what it was right? Yes. A complete lack of interest. I was sure of it now.
“Don’t sound so excited to hear from me,” he quipped. “I was just calling to check on you. Last night’s date was a real doozy.”
“You’re watching the webisodes of this whole charade!?” I shrieked.
“That’s what they’re for, right? For regular old people like me to watch them?”
“I didn’t think you were a regular old person,” I shot back. “I thought shows like that were the same as money to you. Aren’t you too cool for all of that?”
“I want to see you again,” he insisted. “How about tonight? Dinner on my rooftop. It beats any of these expensive rip-off restaurants these jerks are parading you around at. I promise. Best spot in town.”
“I have other plans tonight,” I told him.
“Another date?”
“Dinner with friends, actually.” I sank back onto my couch, grabbing a bottle of nail polish to touch up my toes. It felt a little like being in high school all over again, bickering on the phone with a pushy guy begging to take me out.
“Hmm. Friends. I see,” he said slowly. “Tomorrow night then.”
“Goodbye, Dawson,” I sang in a careless tone before hanging up.
I hated the smile that crept across my face, knowing he was still thinking of me. It only made me that much more eager to get ready and race out the door—before I had time to admit to myself that I was still thinking of him too.
I did just that—putting on a Gucci dress with matching shoes and bag. Not that I ever slumped on my appearance, but I felt the pressure to be more perfect than ever now that Heartstring was regretfully turning me into an even bigger celebrity than I was before. At least before the campaign launched, I was only well-known among rich people and maybe the occasional follower of the Lifestyles section in the paper. Now, everyone seemed to know my name and face.
That was made even more obvious by the sounds of phone cameras that clicked as I walked into Shrub—some trendy new gourmet vegan joint in an up and coming part of town. The girls had all switched to plant-based diets for their figures, and insisted we give the place a try. For some place so concerned about not eating animals, it sure didn’t stop them from breaking the bank on luxurious leather banquettes and fur rugs.