More

by Lea Griffith

  She was pretty mellow, the orgasm, the wine, and stress of the last few days combining to make her sleepy. Resting her head on the arm of the couch, she raised her feet and tucked them under her.

  Jeremiah’s office was right beside Tobias’s¸ and the adjoining door remained cracked. She could hear them conferencing, knew they were arguing about something related to a deal with Dante Shaw, but she couldn’t make out anything specific.

  Honestly, she was too tired to try. Her body hummed but her mind was slowly shutting down.

  How long she rested she didn’t know, but a scrape of awareness across her skin had her senses flaring outward to determine the source of her sudden discomfort.

  “Don’t be alarmed.” The man’s voice was rough, as if he didn’t use it much, and held an accent Ruthie couldn’t place.

  She listened hard, heard the low-timbered murmur of Tobias’s voice from Jeremiah’s office, and relaxed a bit.

  Ruthie sat up and put her feet on the floor. “Why would I be alarmed?” she asked the unknown man.

  “You’re blind, yes? You cannot see me and did not know I was here.”

  Anger sifted through her at his erroneous assumption that she would be frightened because of her lack of sight.

  “I do not mean to offend. Indeed, it’s my hope that as Dante finishes his business with Edwards and Copeland, we could possibly chat?”

  “Perhaps introductions should be made? Why don’t I just go grab Tobias and we can chat afterward,” she suggested as she got to her feet.

  He was there then, fast and so quiet it was startling. “Please, Miss Copeland, I mean no offense, and it would be delightful to speak to the woman who painted Dante’s Call to Me.”

  He was close, and Ruthie wasn’t sure whether he was trying to intimidate or soothe her. As her breath caught in her throat, she decided he excelled at the former and sucked at the latter. But what harm could there be? Tobias was just in the other room. All she’d need to do was shout for him.

  She sat down and the air stirred as he moved away. The sound of fabric over leather told her he’d taken a seat again. Ruthie raised her hand in a questioning gesture and said, “Speak.”

  The man laughed, the sound taking her concern and smashing it to pieces. He laughed like there was a buried joy in his soul. No one with that kind of joy could possibly be intent on harm.

  “My name is Sol,” he told her, a challenge in his tone.

  “I’m Ruthie,” she responded with a nod, meeting his challenge and wondering what game he thought to play here. “So, Sol, you’re here with Dante?”

  A snicker followed by a sigh. “You could say that. Dante is acting as a messenger of sorts.”

  “Sounds delightful, though I’m not sure I would have ever considered Dante a messenger,” Ruthie mused.

  “In this case, he is—and a very valuable one at that,” he retorted. “Do you still paint?”

  She nodded. “I do, indeed.”

  “Do you take commissions?” he inquired lightly, though underneath the surface of his tone was a sudden predatory layer.

  Ruthie shivered. “Rarely.”

  “I have a face in my mind, Miss Copeland. I would love to see that face given life.”

  “Please call me Ruthie,” she requested before she began again. “As you’ve pointed out, Sol, I’m blind,” she reminded him. “And the face is in your mind. Unless you have an amazing ability for description, there is an inherent flaw in your request.”

  “You are blind, and yet I’ve seen the painting you did of Edwards and it is an uncanny likeness.”

  Shock rolled through her, followed closely by a chill. “How did you see that portrait?”

  She heard him shrug. “It does not matter, does it? You painted a man you’ve never seen before and it is remarkable.”

  “How did you see the portrait?” she demanded again.

  “It is hanging in your bedroom,” he answered finally.

  Ruthie stood, outrage pouring through her in a heated supernova. “I know where the painting is. How did you see it?”

  “Please sit down. I would hate for our conversation to be cut short.”

  “Answer my question, Sol.” There was no give. It was creepy in the extreme that he’d been in her house, seen her things. Just who the hell was this man, and why the hell hadn’t she called out for Tobias yet?

  “I researched you. Dante told me you had an incredible talent and I have a need that must be met. I’ve tried other artists and have been…disappointed. I had to make sure Dante wasn’t simply exaggerating a fanciful truth. You have talent, Ruthie, but to paint someone you’ve never seen? It defies my imagination.” Sol sighed, and it carried a weight that had Ruthie rubbing her chest. “You could be the answer to my prayers.”

  “You broke into my house?”

  “No!” he answered quickly. “I called in a favor and it was answered. You threw a party a year ago, to celebrate a friend’s birthday. An acquaintance of mine was there and he photographed the portrait. I’ve never been in your house,” he assured her.

  Ruthie sat once again, still wondering why she hadn’t called out for Tobias. She remembered the party he spoke of—it had been for her dear friend Vince. “You waited a year to contact me?” Dear God in heaven, she should be furious that anyone had violated the sanctity of her home by sneaking pictures, but Sol’s voice rang with weariness…and pain.

  “I wasn’t sure I would need you, but I can’t find her and I need a picture so I can—”

  “Who the hell are you?” Tobias’s voice cut Sol off.

  Ruthie stood. “This is Sol. Sol, meet Tobias. Sol has a need for a portrait artist and—”

  “No.” Tobias’s tone brooked no arguments.

  Ruthie’s mouth dropped open. “You haven’t even heard why he needs it,” she protested.

  “Non si poteva aspettare?” Dante muttered. Ruthie recognized the Italian but was blown away. She’d had no idea Dante was fluent in the language.

  “Apparently, he couldn’t wait,” Tobias answered Dante’s question. “I saw you earlier today—Who the fuck are you?” he demanded.

  “He’s with me,” Dante said. “Let’s go.”

  Ruthie could only assume he’d spoken the second phrase to Sol. She was getting more pissed off by the second. “I was talking to Sol.”

  “And now you aren’t,” Tobias bit out as he circled his arm around her waist and began leading her to the door.

  She dug her heels in and pulled away from him.

  “Now’s not the time for this, Ruthie. Let’s go,” Tobias said in her ear.

  “He needs someone to paint a picture,” she protested.

  Jeremiah cleared his throat, drawing Ruthie’s attention. “You should go home, little sister, get some rest.”

  She took a deep, cleansing breath, all fatigue wiped away in her anger. “Maybe you should go home, big brother, and stop damn telling me what to do.”

  “We’ll visit another time, piccolo pittore, and maybe I can give you the picture in my head,” Sol murmured apologetically.

  Tobias grunted and once again folded her against his side. She was so giving him a piece of her mind once they were in the car. “Dante? Give Sol my number. Sol? I’ve just purchased a studio not far from here. You’ll stop by and we’ll get started, yeah?”

  Sol didn’t say a word, and suddenly the room was completely silent. Everyone had vacated except for Tobias.

  “What the fuck do you think you’re doing?” Oh, his voice was horrible. It fed the flames of her anger once again.

  “The question that should be asked is what the fuck do you think you’re doing?” Ruthie hardly ever raised her voice.

  Except just then she did. She hadn’t met Sol before a few minutes ago, and yet the well of pain in the man’s voice had called to something inside her. Not sexual, or romantic; she just recognized a soul in need. If she could bring someone closer to him through her painting, she would—it was just that simple.

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nbsp; “He’s not a good man, Ruthie. I don’t want you anywhere near him,” Tobias said firmly.

  She shook her head. “Are any of us really good, Tobias? Besides, it’s not your call to make.” Ruthie turned away from him, afraid he’d see her anger and do his best to talk her out of it. Right now she needed it. How dare he try to control her this way!

  “It is my call. You’re mine.”

  She threw her hands in the air. “That’s rich. You deny me for years—years, Tobias—and now all of a sudden, I’m yours? We just had a conversation about trust. You need to keep in mind, I’m not quite there yet, so handing over my entire life to you, including whom I talk to and whom I don’t, just isn’t happening. In fact, that probably won’t ever happen. Capisci?”

  “You know him a whole ten minutes and you’re speaking Italian?” he groused.

  “It’s the only damn word I know in Italian. Stuff it,” she responded on a huff, and crossed her arms.

  The air went redolent with sexual heat. She took a step back and felt the wood of his desk hit the back of her thighs.

  “When you do that, cross your arms, it plumps your breasts up for me, Ruthie—it makes my mouth water for a taste of you.”

  He was in front of her now, not touching, but his meaning and intent very, very clear. She raised her chin and remained silent.

  “And you have this way of cocking your hip out that draws my eye to your slim waist and luscious ass. I’m going to pound that ass, Ruthie, watch it move beneath my thrusts as you scream into the sheets later.”

  She almost melted into a puddle at his feet. His dirty talk did insane things to her equilibrium, throwing her off her game big time.

  “Capisci?”

  He was at her lips then, and she’d just dredged up the fortitude to push him back when he struck, pressing his torso against hers and lifting her legs, settling them around his hips. He reached between them and she heard him unzip his pants.

  She’d just recovered enough cells to respond when she felt him rip the well-worn fabric of her jeans right down the middle. They were gone just that fast.

  The air of his office was cool on her heated bare flesh. He did this to her, made her insane with lust, out of her mind with need. She didn’t want him in anger, though.

  “You think to try me, and there’s no better time than right now to show you I meant what I said,” he whispered at her lips.

  “Which part?” she asked tentatively.

  “That you’re mine.”

  He rested her ass on the top of his desk and separated their bodies just enough to run the thick length of his cock through her soaking-wet folds. She let her head drop back because her neck was too damn weak to hold it up any longer.

  “Open your eyes,” he demanded.

  She whimpered.

  “Open your eyes, Ruthie. I won’t tell you again,” he promised.

  She opened her sightless eyes and raised her head. What did his face look like right now, ratcheted in lust? Did the red of his need ride the defined ridges of his cheekbones? Were his lips set in harsh lines?

  “I wish I could see you,” she said on a moan.

  “Feel me instead,” he returned in a guttural voice as he entered her with a long, slow thrust.

  She exhaled on a groan that echoed back to her.

  “Three years, and I’ve never forgotten how your pussy feels on my cock. Your body clutching mine is so amazing,” he said at her ear. The warmth of his breath sent chills chasing one another over her skin. “Just a little more, Ruthie. Let me in, baby,” he pleaded.

  Her body was doing its best to accommodate his length and girth, but it had been a while, and though her pussy was greedily pulling him deeper, it was a torturous process.

  “I’m going to fuck you right here on my desk. Slow at first, and then I’m going to move deep and fast, take us both where we want to go.” His voice was muffled because his face was buried in her neck.

  A sharp sting at her collarbone, a whispered curse as he laved the wound. He pushed on her shoulders until her back met the cool finish of his desk.

  “I can’t wait,” he said harshly, and then he was seated to the hilt.

  The brush of his pelvic bone against her clit had stars dancing in her mind.

  “What color do you see?” he asked.

  “All of them, Tobias. I see all of them,” she answered, and it was the truth.

  Her words must have unleashed him because he began diving in and out of her body just as he’d said, slow at first, then picking up the pace. His breath was harsh as were her pleas for him to make her come.

  She reached for his face, needing to feel his expression as he took her. He stilled above her, his cock embedded in her pussy, his hands clenching into the flesh of her hips. His hold was possessive. Ruthie stroked over the planes of his face, brushed hair she knew was the color of milk chocolate away from his forehead, and traced the line of his eyebrows, down his nose to his mouth.

  His lips were flat, a testimony to his restraint. She didn’t want him to hold back. He’d finally returned to her, and she needed him to take them both over.

  “I have needed you,” she said softly. “Take me there, Tobias.”

  He groaned once, lifted her body from his desk, and walked, still embedded in her body, to the couch. He lay her down gently, opening her shirt and unclasping her bra.

  He hummed his approval. “So goddamn beautiful.”

  Then his mouth was on her, kissing, licking, and biting. He rolled her nipples lightly between his teeth, he nipped the underside of her breasts, and he suckled the skin over her ribs. But never did he stop moving between her thighs, building the tension and driving Ruthie mad.

  Her head thrashed, she sensed release hovering close, and she wrapped her legs around his hips, squeezing in demand.

  “What do you need, baby?” he asked at her ear. “Tell me what you need.”

  “You,” she said, the word coming out garbled, and tried to catch her breath.

  Heat spiraled up and out, centering in her groin.

  “You want to come, don’t you?” he demanded.

  “Yes,” she whispered, barely able to breathe, hoping he could hear her.

  “Am I giving you what you need, Ruthie?”

  She wanted to scream in frustration. Her orgasm hung on the edges of her mind, threatening to pull her under, and he wanted her to answer questions?

  “Am. I. Giving. You. What. You. Need?” He punctuated each word with a hard thrust.

  “Yes!”

  “What else do you want, Ruthie? I need the words,” he requested, never stopping his relentless attack on her body.

  “More!”

  He chuckled, and even that was sexy. “More what?”

  “Harder,” she keened in a loud wail. Her body was splintering, the fabric of her mind ripping at the seams because of the pleasure he was forcing on her.

  “Like this?” he asked, and proceeded to sink so hard and deep into her body that her back bowed. “Or like this?” he questioned as he slowed down, gently withdrawing and sinking back in until Ruthie was almost insensate with pleasure.

  “Yes,” she told him, and wondered if he could hear her.

  “Say it, Ruthie. Give me what I need,” he commanded.

  Light coalesced within her, reaching every corner of her mind as he thrust one final time, exploding inside her, his climax taking her up and over the precipice. “It’s you! Always you, Tobias,” she whimpered as she gave herself over to pleasure.

  She had no idea how much time passed, but when she floated back down it was to Tobias kissing her face, her neck, anywhere he could reach. He was still inside of her, still hard, though she knew he’d come—his orgasm had triggered her own.

  “I’ve missed you so much, Ruthie,” he said at her shoulder.

  “I love you,” she said. A simple truth so he would know just how affected she was by him.

  He leveraged up, then pulled out of her slowly, causing them both to moa
n as aftershocks rippled through her pussy. Her body had a mind of its own, clamping down to prevent his departure.

  She was empty then, and he was up, moving to his office bathroom. Ruthie heard water running, and Tobias returned, wiping her gently with a warm cloth.

  “I hope your leather’s okay,” she murmured sleepily.

  “Even if it isn’t, I’m never getting rid of this couch,” he told her, and there was a smile in his voice.

  She raised her head and smiled. “We’d just have to christen another one, yeah?”

  He chuckled and lifted her in his arms. It took her a moment to find the energy to stand. He’d literally fucked it all out of her.

  He kissed her lips softly, tracing the seam of her mouth with his tongue. Gentle touches followed, up and down her back, over her shoulders, down to her hips and back again. “I love touching you.”

  Ruthie threaded her hands through his hair, massaging his scalp and reveling in his moan. “Good thing I came back then, huh? Now you can get your fix all day, every day.”

  “I destroyed your jeans.”

  “I know. Got anything I can cover myself with?” she asked primly.

  “Me,” he said with enough roguishness to have her pussy fluttering. “But I need to get you home. I’ve got a robe in the bathroom—you can wear that to the car, and once we’re at my place, well, you won’t need clothes at all, will you?”

  “It’s my fervent hope that I will not, Sir.”

  If she hadn’t had her hands on him, she would have thought he’d disappeared, he went so still. He tapped her mouth with a finger, and she nipped it.

  “I like the sound of that from your lips, Ruthie. But not yet. There’s a lot you need to know before you gift me with your complete submission.”

  It was then that Ruthie knew Tobias was playing for keeps. She’d worried that perhaps she might not be able to meet his demands. While that was still a worry for her, she was stepping into this extraordinary world with him. He was going to hold her hand, and with Tobias for her, no one could be against her.

  “Hold on, I’m going to grab the robe,” he told her, and she waited.

  He returned, wrapped her in the enormous, plush robe, and they were walking.

  “We’re going down the back elevators. The valet will meet us at the side entrance,” he informed her.