Skye’s quiet, her ribs rising as she sucks in big gulps of air. I pull out of her and flop back onto the chair.
“Did someone open the door?” she breaks the silence to ask.
“Who cares. Let’s get out of here.”
Her face turns five shades of red, causing me to laugh.
“Stop laughing, Lawson. It’s embarrassing.”
“For him not you. You should never be embarrassed. Besides, you’re an artist, I’ll just tell him you needed inspiration.”
She shakes her head at me, the corners of her lips turned up.
Once we’ve adjusted our clothing and smoothed our hair, we make our way to the lobby. Skye sheepishly clings to me, but I don’t give a fuck if the whole world knows what we just did. In fact, I want the world to know about us.
We exit the hotel, my arm around her waist. Skye’s old banger is parked halfway blocking the door.
“Sorry, I hadn’t intended on staying long.”
“Come home with me, I don’t want you out of my arms just yet.” Or ever.
She looks at me and smiles. “I was hoping you’d say that.”
A smile spreads across my face. This day couldn’t turn out any better. I give her a squeeze.
“You know, you’re going to need a safer car if you’re working with me. I can’t have you driving around in this piece of shit, it’s not safe. The paintings might get damaged.”
“The paintings, huh?”
“Will you say no if I said it was for you and not the paintings?”
“Possibly.”
“Then borrow my Range Rover until you can buy a better one yourself.”
“You want me to borrow your car?”
“Not really, I want you to have my car but I’m willing to settle for you borrowing it.”
“Well, since it will make you happy, when do I get the keys?”
“As soon as we get to my place.”
We both laugh, and I still haven’t let go of her. Skye tries to pull away from me and toward her car but I hold on tight.
“Let’s go in my car, we’ll get something to eat on the way to my place.”
“My car’s here, I can’t leave it.”
“Don’t worry, I’ll have someone pick it up. And take it to the wreckers from here.”
“Fine. Let me grab my stuff out of it.”
Isn’t it much better when you trust me? I don’t think it would be a good idea to say that to her though.
Skye grabs an armful of stuff, passing most of it to me.
“Goodbye, piece of crap,” she says, patting the roof.
With an armful of sweaters topped with a pair of sneakers, I lead her to my car.
“It’s a Maserati day, is it?”
“Most days are.”
Her lips twist in thought. “I’m never going to stop fighting for the ninety-nine percent.”
“I don’t expect you to,” I say, grinning. Her smile beams back at me.
We dump her stuff in my car and get in. I rev the engine a few times, just for fun, and we tear out of the parking lot.
“I’m starving. For some reason I didn’t manage to eat much yesterday or today,” Skye says.
I look over at her and smile. “I know just the place.”
We talk freely as we drive and it reconfirms everything I feel about her. She’s not after me for my money. She’s not interested in keeping me happy for fear of losing her free ride. All she wants is me.
And all I want is her.
“What are you doing?” she asks as I pull into the Chicken Chums parking lot.
“You’re hungry, right?”
Skye bursts into a throaty laugh, “You’re so awesome.”
I lean over to kiss her cheek, but she turns her head and our lips connect. Skye’s priceless, and she’s mine. There’s no way I’m ever letting go.
Epilogue
(Skye)
One year later
I’m standing in my new studio, the one I bought all by myself! And even better, I now have three artists working with me to help create my products. Lawson likes to call them my disciples.
Since accepting Lawson’s offer to create paintings for his hotel lobbies, my earnings have gone through the roof. I not only have a whole range in the hotels, but they’ve also converted them into prints, which hang in the hotel bedrooms.
I also sell the prints to the public in a range of quality and price points, so something is affordable to most everyone.
They’ve been snapped up, and hang in college dorms rooms and living room walls across the country.
You can even get them on things like mugs, shower curtains and calendars.
Most lucrative of all, I do limited-edition hand-finished and signed canvas prints of each painting, which I sell for a high four figures a pop.
And the best thing of all? Every single one of my works challenges the concept of the division of wealth in the world. And thousands and thousands have sold.
My message, so core to my being, is getting out. I might not change the world, but I’m trying.
Soon after the day my mother left the voicemail, Lawson flew my parents out to California for a reunion. He even put them up in his newest hotel, so they’d see my paintings every time they went in and out of the hotel.
They loved it, though I’m not sure that was the reason he put them there. I think he was trying to reinforce to them how wrong they’d been not to support me.
Meanwhile, they told everyone who entered the lobby that their daughter was the artist, whether the people were looking at my paintings or not.
Lawson really did run that article on me. My parents provided him with enough stories of me to fill a novel, let alone three pages in a glossy magazine.
As a result, people from all over the world now commission me for private works. Which I do for a mega-large fee, provided I have the time.
It didn’t take much for me to convince Lawson I was glad I lost the Kelso commission.
Kelso was so freaked by Lawson’s anger and threats that he practically begged to settle a few months later. Which Lawson used to his advantage, and got far more out of Kelso than the amount he was originally willing to settle for. Sucker.
“This building is amazing, sweetie,” my dad says as we enter the main area.
“I love it. It’s all my design, with tons of light from the two-story windows,” I say. I freaking love my studio.
“It feels very industrial.”
“It’s an artist studio, Dad. It’s supposed to feel like a warehouse.”
“If you say so, you’re the expert.”
I totally am the expert.
Oh, did I mention my daddy’s here to walk me down the aisle?
The studio has a magnificent industrial church-like atmosphere, and I couldn’t think of a better place to get married. We’ve cleared out all the stuff, which was no easy feat, and crammed it all into my office and back rooms for the day.
Folding chairs in neat rows are packed with people, with an aisle down the middle.
Lawson insisted on overflowing the room with flowers. He said for beauty, but really I suspect he’s trying to cover the smell of paints and paint cleaners.
My dad and I are standing just around the corner, out of sight from the guests and waiting for the music to start.
I peek around the corner and spot Lawson waiting for me at the makeshift altar.
My breath hitches at the sight. Even though we’ve now been living together for ten months, it feels like this is the first time I’m seeing his utterly gorgeous face.
He’s wearing a custom-made Italian-cut dark-gray tux with a black bow tie. I made him wear it.
Lawson protested, saying I might stand him up because I didn’t want to marry a prick. I told him to fuck off, and that I wouldn’t marry a man wearing a T-shirt, no matter how much I loved him. Besides, I’ve gotten used to the idea of spending the rest of my life with a rich prick.
Right now, my heart pounds at the k
nowledge we’re about to be married. But I’m not the least bit nervous, only excited. I want to run down the aisle into his arms right now.
There are so many things I want to do with him right now, but we’re going to have to get rid of all these guests first.
And this silk and lace wedding gown I’m wearing — although Lawson may want me to keep on what’s underneath. I can’t wait to see his face when he sees me look all innocent and virginal in my white lace lingerie.
I’m super excited to give Lawson my wedding present to him. I designed him a new tattoo. He’s finally getting that self portrait of my tits he always teases me about. I can’t wait to see his face.
The music starts: the very unoriginal Wedding March that my father requested. Apparently he’s dreamed about this day since I was a baby. That’s fine, my dreams have all come true, I don’t mind making someone else’s come true too.
“Ready, Skye?” Dad asks, offering me his arm.
“It’s about time.”
I take his arm and we walk down the aisle. My mother stands in the front row, dabbing her eyes with tissues.
Ava and Gordon stand beside her, clasping hands. They announced their engagement last month. I love them and feel I owe them both so much. Transferring Ava the proceeds of my tenth and twenty-fifth paintings was the proudest day of my life. Not only was it enough money to cover all my back rent, it cleared her mortgage. There was even a little left over for her wedding money savings pot.
Julie stands beside Lawson, acting as his best man. She’s still friends with Freya, although she’s lost a lot of respect for her now that she’s moved in with Kelso. Freya will freak when she finds out Kelso isn’t as rich as he lets on, but I can’t feel too sorry for her.
My friend from college, Amy, walks a few feet ahead of me, acting as my maid of honor.
Her and Julie are wearing coordinating dresses in a shade of cerulean blue that I mixed myself. It took me weeks to find the exact shade I wanted, and I’ve gotta say, it looks pretty fucking amazing with all the sunlight flooding in the windows.
Lawson’s eyes are fixed on me the whole way down the aisle, traveling up and down my body, occasionally locking with my eyes.
When we arrive at the altar I notice Lawson swallow hard. The fact truly almost makes me cry. I know it’s because he never thought he’d find someone. At least not someone who loved him for him.
I turn to face him, placing my hands in his.
“I love you,” he mouths.
“I love you too.”
About the Author
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Going Down
By Simone Sowood and Lulu Pratt
Some people have a bucket list, I have a f*cket list
When a brochure arrives at my mansion, the woman on the cover goes straight to the top.
Luscious curves and a sweet smile ---- she’s exactly my type.
But she’s only interested in selling me stuff.
That’s fine, I’m no stranger to the chase and I always capture my prey.
After one touch, my list goes out the window.
She’s all I can think about.
Until I find out the whole thing’s a set up.
*** A steamy STANDALONE contemporary romance with a smoking hot hero. No cliffhanger, no cheating, and a guaranteed happily-ever-after.***
One
ANDREW
“Fucking hell,” I groan as blinding rays of sunlight creep through the curtains I failed to close last night.
The pain across my forehead immediately intensifies, forcing me out of bed to yank the damned things closed. Since I’m already up, I decide to make use of the bathroom before returning to my spot in the middle of the king-sized bed.
Brushing my teeth, I realize with a frustrated scowl that I didn’t even drink enough last night to account for this headache. So what the hell is it? I’m truly lost until I catch a whiff of a nauseous scent on my undershirt.
That damn bartender from last night comes to mind. She’d practically drowned herself in the cheap fragrance. I’d fucked her against the hood of my car after last call and I guess the smell seeped into my own clothing.
Pulling off my shirt and boxers, I’m on a mission to eradicate the smell as well as my headache. The first step is a steaming hot shower.
As the spray of water scorches my skin, I mentally catalog the events of the last few weeks. Everything is going according to plan. Last night I’d been able to check the redheaded bartender off my list.
I have a bucket list of types of women I want to fuck. There’s a list of more than two-hundred boxes that I want to check off before I turn thirty. So far I’ve ticked seventy boxes. Not bad considering I still have two years before my thirtieth birthday.
Fucking a woman in all fifty states had settled a large chunk of the items on the list. I’d traveled from state to state working on my paintings last winter as well as enjoying the local flavor every single night.
Since returning home six months ago, progress down the list slowed substantially but I wasn’t at a standstill by any means. I just need to think of new tactics to go after what I want.
With the hotheaded bartender checked off, it’s time to focus my attention on the rest. There’s an entire section for career woman I haven’t explored yet and I think it’s about time that I do.
A hot weather girl, naughty nurse or bossy lawyer should be a good start.
It can’t be that hard to rack up a few more, especially since summertime is here and women are practically out in spades looking for their next fling. At least that’s all they’ll be getting from me.
I don’t do long term. Under any circumstances. It’s never happening. Not once have I met a pussy special enough to make me commit to a lifetime of routine and boring sex in the missionary position. A shudder runs through me just thinking about it.
Misty down at Channel Five news has been screaming for my affections at the last few events we’ve attended. But little does miss sunny days know, she’s about to get my undivided attention.
She’s blonde with tits the size of Texas and a Colgate smile. What’s not to like? I decide to give her a call later as I step out of the shower and onto the heated tile flooring.
With a towel wrapped around my waist, I slick my fingers through the short tufts of hair, deciding to sort it out later because a cup of coffee is calling my name. The shower had helped with the smell but I’m hoping a serious dose of caffeine will eliminate the headache.
In my kitchen, I head to the single-serve coffee machine my housekeeper, Gladys, installed for the days she isn’t here. Being Sunday, she has the day off and I’m left to fend for myself. As much as anyone would have to do with a fully stocked fridge overflowing with their favorite meals.
Gladys always outdoes herself.
Hovering near the counter, I drink the strong Colombian coffee like it’s water. My eyes barely take in the old but polished features of my kitchen because it’s the same thing I’ve looked at for years. After inheriting the place at the age of twenty-one, it’s been my bachelor pad ever since. Only minimal updates have been made over the years to preserve the historic structure.
Halfway done with my second mug of coffee, I open the fridge to inspect the contents and Gladys didn’t disappoint.
“Hell yeah,” I say, pulling out the Tupperware full of her famous baked ziti.
Never mind the fact that it’s nine in the morning, Gladys’ baked ziti is perfect for any time of day.
With it heating in the microwave, I make my way to the front hall to inspect the pile of mail I’ve neglected all week. It’s stacked neatly so I grab it and begin flipping through envelopes.<
br />
Bills. Event invites. Credit card offers. Coupons for services that I will never need.
The usual bullshit.
A brightly colored leaflet catches my eye. Well, not so much the leaflet but the woman on it.
She’s fucking hot. Even though it’s just a headshot, the photo sends weird signals throughout my body.
The woman is a brunette with eyes darker than my morning coffee. She has the face of an angel. Everything about it is feminine and soft, from her slightly rounded cheeks to her small nose and her full pink lips.
Her neck is fucking perfection. The pallor of its complexion is begging me to mark it with my mouth and show the world that she’s been marked off my list.
Flawless, straight white teeth are bared by her warm smile and I can just imagine the feel of those full lips wrapped snuggly around my shaft as I pump deep into her throat. In an instant my mind transports me to a scene with her kneeling before me, her knees digging into the cold hardwood floor as she takes me into her hot, wet mouth.
Holy hell.
Never in my life have I been so damn turned on by the idea of someone. And I can’t even see the rest of her! An urgency I can’t explain comes over me and I know I need to see the rest of her.
I need her. If the tent rising at the front of my towel is any indication, this sexy brunette is going to be next tick on my bucket list. The need growing inside of me is carnal and I intend to satisfy my hunger.
Scanning the leaflet, it’s for a wealth management firm situated in the center of Greenwich that I’ve never heard of before.
Tossing the rest of the mail on the table, I turn and head back to the kitchen still staring at the leaflet. Mentally, I’m updating my checklist all the while. This woman is divine and I’ve got to sample her for myself.
Despite its rocky start, today is turning out to be good after all.
The day I can add “fucked a woman on a leaflet” to my running total will be a good day indeed.
Two
Billionaire's Secret: The Complete Series Page 79