The Jewel of His Collection

by Fae Mallory

  “Ian,” she moaned, and nothing had ever been more erotic than hearing her say his name in that broken voice.

  Unable to resist, he plunged two fingers into her tight channel, needing to have at least one part of his body buried inside of hers. His cock throbbed, strangled by his tight jeans, but he couldn’t spare a hand to adjust himself. He caressed the silky skin of her hip, feeling gooseflesh under his fingertips. With his other hand, he drew swirls against her upper wall, discovering that she’d groan and jerk if he applied firm pressure there.

  He drew pictures with his tongue, gradually narrowing in on the tiny nub to lavish it with short, firm licks until Violet was mewling in pleasure, her body arching into him. Just as she started to tremble, he eased off, thrusting leisurely with his fingers as he made circles with his tongue, barely grazing the sides of her clitoris.

  As he stole a glance upward, his chest swelled with pride at the sight of Violet thrashing her head back and forth against the chair, her hair in disarray around her flushed face. Her teeth were buried in her bottom lip to muffle her noises, and he doubled his efforts, determined to hear her scream for him. Only then could he be assured that she was truly his.

  Her heel dug into his back, urging him closer, and Ian was glad to obey. Twice more he took her to the edge before pulling back, his blood thundering through his veins. He felt light-headed from lack of oxygen and the agony of his painfully constricted cock, but all of that was insignificant in comparison to the strangled noises Violet was making and the way she tore at his hair, demanding more of him.

  “Ian, please!” she begged, and he gave in. He thrust his fingers into her in a relentless rhythm, curling them on each stroke to give her the pressure she craved. Violet yelped, throwing her head back as she rocked her hips, riding his hand as her thighs quivered with effort. Pleased by her abandon, Ian used his tongue to make tight circles around her clitoris, flickering it over the top on each stroke and gradually quickening his pace until Violet went suddenly still, yanking on a fistful of his hair so hard that his eyes watered.

  Responding to the tension he could feel inside of her, Ian pressed hard with his fingers as he lashed her clitoris with his tongue, silently begging her to come for him. With a loud moan, Violet pushed her hips against him as she started to shake, and he changed his tempo, laving her with slow, deep strokes to keep the pleasure going.

  “Ian!” Violet’s voice rose into a cry that made him want to beat his chest and howl at the moon. Violet’s hips were rocking helplessly against his mouth as she shuddered in ecstasy, making it all he could do to stay with her. Deaf to anything but her noises of pleasure, he kept lapping at her until she slumped back with a drawn-out moan.

  Ian licked his lips as he sat back, still greedy for the taste of her. Violet’s juices were a drug, and he was an addict. Already, he longed for another dose. Dazed blue eyes blinked at him as she let her leg fall from his shoulder, and he smiled tenderly, leaning down to kiss her knee.

  The constriction of tight denim against his straining cock made him hiss in pain as he bent down, and his hands went to his fly. The touch of his fingers against his sensitive flesh made him shudder as he freed himself. “Look at what you do to me,” he murmured, fighting the urge to thrust into his own fist, his need for release painfully urgent. Violet had him harder than he’d ever been in his life, and she’d never even touched him.

  Eventually, they’d do this in a bed, and he’d take the time to worship her properly. For now, Ian just wanted to bury himself in her. Sitting up on his knees between her splayed legs, he took himself in hand and lined them up, burying his other hand in Violet’s hair to pull her close for a kiss as he thrust home.

  This time her body yielded easily, her tight channel clasping him in a lover’s embrace, and Ian had just enough sanity left to be grateful because he was so close that he couldn’t be patient. Instead, he thrust his tongue between her lips, claiming her mouth as he pulled out halfway and slammed his hips forward, setting a merciless rhythm. His blood was already simmering in his veins, the pleasure spiraling up dangerously, but he couldn’t slow down, pounding into Violet hard and fast as she clawed at his shoulders.

  The pain of her nails only made the pleasure sharper. Ian wrapped his arms around her, yanking her as close as he could and cursing the layers of fabric separating them. Next time they were both going to strip before they got started since he apparently didn’t have any self-control where Violet was concerned.

  Violet’s chair was rattling from the workout they were giving it, and she let out a shriek as the wheels suddenly skidded, knocking them both off-balance. Acting on instinct, Ian pulled her forward as he let himself fall back, using his body to cushion her from the brunt of the impact.

  He slipped out of her as they fell, but Violet landed astride his stomach. That suited him. Grinning, he reached down to take himself in hand. “Ride me, sweetheart.”

  Violet turned bright red at the suggestion, but she obediently scooted back, sitting up on her knees and allowing him to position her before sinking down to take him back in. “Fuck, yes.” Ian groaned in ecstasy, drawing his knees up to give him the leverage to thrust up as Violet rose and fell on him.

  “That’s good, sweetheart. Yeah, ride me. Ride me.” Ian was barely aware of what he was saying, enraptured by the sight of Violet riding him like a prized stallion. Under her dress, her breasts were bouncing, and he wished he could rip the hideous thing off her to bare every inch of her curvy body.

  Above him, Violet was breathing heavily, but her brisk pace never faltered, her powerful legs working hard. Unwilling to let her tire herself and so close that he was seeing stars, Ian reached under the hem of her dress to press his thumb against her clitoris, rubbing her in counterpoint to her movements.

  Violet squealed at the touch, wriggling in a way that made him want to both laugh and climax immediately. By sheer force of will, Ian did neither, maintaining the pressure until Violet threw her head back with a cry, her channel clasping around him almost painfully tight as she came. That was all it took for him to follow her, his hips bucking frantically as his orgasm tore through him with the same devastating power of a tornado. He growled and grabbed her hips hard enough to leave bruises as he spurted into her in endless pulses that made him feel like his soul was being pulled out of his body, leaving him spent and gasping on her office floor, Violet slumped against his chest.

  “Am I forgiven for not calling?” he mumbled, stroking his hand over her sweaty hair.

  Violet snorted with laughter. “I suppose.”

  Wrapping his arms around her, Ian closed his eyes. The linoleum floor was seriously uncomfortable, but he was too exhausted to move. He had Violet in his arms, his cock still held snugly inside of her, and all was right with his world. Eventually the museum would close, and maybe then they could sneak into the Neanderthal exhibit. He was certain to get his second wind with the promise of making love to her on a pile of animal skins.

  “I’ll have Geminids delivered tomorrow,” he promised, pressing a kiss to the crown of her head as he felt himself starting to drift off.

  Above him, Violet stirred. “What?”

  “Geminids,” he repeated with a yawn, already half-asleep. “You earned it. No more Hallar though, okay?”

  He was just drifting off when Violet suddenly yanked away, leaving him embracing air as she glared down at him. “You think I fucked you for a painting?” Violet demanded, her eyes flashing with rage.

  Ian blinked rapidly, trying to remember what he’d just said. “That’s not what I meant.”

  “Get out,” she snapped, turning her back on him as she lifted her hands to her hair, brutally yanking it up into a bun and destroying the waves he’d created with his fingers.

  “Violet, I didn’t mean it like—”

  “Get out!” Violet cut him off before he could explain.

  “Sweetheart, just listen, please.” Ian dragged himself off the floor and tugged his jeans back on, reach
ing out for her.

  Violet rounded on him. “Why? So you can call me a whore again?”

  He winced, realizing just how bad his comment had sounded. “No, of course not. Look, I was going to offer you the painting before, but then we had sex instead, which I wasn’t expecting—”

  “Oh, good. So, I’m a whore, and I’m easy,” Violet said with mock delight, storming past him to open her office door.

  When Ian tried to catch her arm, she shrugged him off, leaving him to chase after her as she stalked down the short corridor leading to the museum’s lobby. “Sweetheart—”

  “Don’t call me that,” she snarled as she threw the door open, nodding at Leroy. “Thanks, Leroy. Mr. Carlisle and I are done.”

  “Took you long enough. Think you can handle the last five minutes?” Leroy grumbled as he turned the desk back over to Violet.

  Ian leaned against the wall and tried to calm his breathing, watching as visitors filed out of the museum. It was almost closing time. Once Violet locked up, he’d force her to hear him out and explain that although his word choice had been poor, he’d truly meant no offense. After that, they could give the Neanderthal exhibit a workout. Better yet, they could go back to his house and see what making love in a bed was like.

  Violet’s posture was ramrod straight behind the desk as she smiled at her guests, and Ian smirked to himself. She was the model of professionalism, and he wondered what the museum’s visitors would think if they knew their prim little curator’s underwear was currently in his pocket. He caressed the warm silk with his fingertips, the fabric soothing him as time ticked away.

  Finally the last visitor left, leaving him alone with Violet. “Sweetheart—” he began, and this time the bell on the door cut him off.

  “Hey.” Hallar stuck his head in, the other man’s gaze sliding over Ian as though he wasn’t there. “I thought I’d see if you wanted to get a drink, but if you’re busy…”

  He let the words hang in the air. “Nope, not busy,” Violet said brightly, hopping down from her stool without giving him a second look. Ian ground his teeth as she walked over to Hallar and caught his shoulders, pulling him down for a kiss that made him want to break the other man’s nose. The reporter’s hands caressed her waist intimately until Violet released him, half-turning. “Mr. Carlisle was just leaving.”

  Realizing that getting into a fistfight with Hallar in the middle of the museum’s lobby was unlikely to endear him to Violet, Ian swallowed a mouthful of bile. He was exhausted, and she was angry and on edge. If he pushed her, she’d only run faster. Tomorrow they could talk this through like civilized human beings. For now, he had to give her some space and trust that she wouldn’t do anything she’d regret once they made up.

  “We can finish our conversation later,” he agreed, feeling like his throat was coated with broken glass. Allowing her to go off with Hallar went against all of his instincts, but throwing her over his shoulder and dragging her back to his house was out of the question.

  “We already finished it,” Violet told him, her voice hard. Beyond the anger in her eyes, he could see pain, and Ian clenched his hand into a fist, fighting the urge to reach for her and hold her close, soothing away the hurt he’d unintentionally inflicted.

  “Violet, please listen to me,” he murmured, ignoring Hallar’s presence.

  “Good night, Mr. Carlisle.” She turned her back on him as Hallar echoed the sentiment, his eyes bright with triumph.

  “Good night.” Clinging to his tattered dignity, Ian made his way to the car, watching with jealous eyes as Hallar escorted Violet down the street. The other man had won this round, but it was only a temporary setback. Tomorrow he’d find a way to convince Violet of his sincerity, and they’d laugh at the misunderstanding.

  Reaching into his pocket, he withdrew her panties and lifted them to his nose, inhaling deeply, but the scent of Violet’s sweet musk wasn’t enough to soothe his frazzled nerves. When he dreamt of setting her passion free, Ian had never expected that passion to be turned against him.

  The memory of Violet greeting Hallar with a kiss made him grind his teeth. It was the same greeting he’d fantasized about the entire drive to the museum from the airport, only it had gone to the wrong man. All he could do was hope that Violet had only kissed Hallar to make a point. If so, Ian heard her loud and clear—she was furious with him.

  At the moment, Violet was convinced that he considered her his own personal prostitute, but nothing could be further from the truth. It wasn’t her just body he wanted. Ian wanted all of her. He wanted to tell her about his work problems and get her advice. He wanted to show her every painting he owned and hear her thoughts. He wanted her to tell him why she’d stopped paining and help her find a way to start again.

  He wanted to go after her and Hallar and rip her out of the other man’s arms.

  With a curse, he gunned the car’s engine and headed for home. So far, trying to pressure Violet had only made things worse. If she didn’t come to him of her own free will, anything they had would be meaningless. There had to be a way to convince her of how much she meant to him, and once he did that, she’d welcome him with open arms. All he had to do was find it.

  Somehow, he would find a way to make this right.

  Chapter 8

  “It looks like you and Carlisle were really getting into it,” Paul said as he ordered each of them a beer. They’d found their way back to the Moon & Raven, this time bypassing the bar in favor of a private booth.

  “We were discussing the exhibit,” Violet said as she pressed her thighs together, acutely aware of her missing panties. Fortunately, her dress was so loose fitting that no one would ever notice she was currently lacking a key undergarment, but she couldn’t help but feel like everyone who looked at her knew she was going commando.

  She was such an idiot.

  After cursing herself up and down for her stupidity in sleeping with Ian without protection, she’d repeated her mistake at the first opportunity, yielding to his seduction with nary a word of protest and confirming that she was every bit as easy as he thought. Ian thought she was the kind of girl who’d sleep with him for material gain, and Violet had to admit that she’d given him no reason to think otherwise. The first time they were ever in the same room, she’d stripped for him in exchange for his paintings, and she’d all but offered sexual favors for the right to display Geminids. She could hardly blame the man for taking her up on her offer.

  Maybe it was better that he thought her motivation was purely mercenary. If he thought she was just sleeping with him to get Geminids, then that meant he didn’t know how he affected her. Ian had turned Violet’s well-ordered world upside down, adding heat and color to her drab existence. She’d fallen in love with him, and to him she was just the museum’s dumpy curator who was willing to slake his sexual desires in exchange for paintings to exhibit.

  Violet clenched her fist around her fork, wanting to stab something. At Paul’s quizzical look, she put the utensil down and tried to smile. “I don’t want to talk about work. Let’s talk about something fun.”

  “Okay,” Paul agreed after a brief pause. “You said you used to paint?”

  Even thinking about her failed career as an artist was preferable to thinking about Ian, and Violet latched onto the topic, pleased that Paul was showing an interest in her life. “I was pretty good in high school, so I decided to go to art school and try to make a career out of it. Madden was a big influence on me even though my style was more Impressionistic than his.”

  “But you stopped. Why?” Paul asked.

  Her memories of the dark days after college where she struggled to make ends meet and lose some weight so her boyfriend would stop looking at her with disgust weren’t quite so painful now. Joe’s cruel words had destroyed her self-esteem, but at least he’d never called her a whore. She shrugged. “Real life caught up with me. It’s hard to find inspiration when you’re worried about paying the bills.”

  “But you don’t
have to worry about that now. The museum’s doing great. So, why didn’t you start painting again?” Paul’s words sounded like an accusation, and Violet tried to laugh them off.

  “When would I have time?” she deflected, taking a swallow of her beer.

  “If you really wanted to, you’d make time. I get up an hour early every day to work on my novel. It’s a pain, but it’s important to me, so I make time for it.” Although Violet could see the logic in his reply, his words still raised her hackles. He was implying that painting wasn’t as important to her as writing was to him, but as far as she was concerned, painting was too important to her. To try to paint and fail hurt far more than not painting at all.

  “It’s complicated,” she murmured.

  Paul chuckled. “Life’s complicated. That’s why you have to go after what you want instead of making excuses.”

  She’d gone after Ian and ended up with nothing but wounded pride. Going after what she wanted hadn’t worked out particularly well for Violet. Still, Paul had a point. Life was hard enough as it was without wasting time on things that didn’t make her happy.

  Reaching out, she caught Paul’s hand and tugged, bringing his mouth to hers. Warm lips pressed firmly against her own, and Violet held on, waiting to feel a spark. Just like the kiss she’d instigated in the museum to prove to Ian that he meant nothing to her, this one was utterly devoid of passion. A simple look from Ian was enough to set her aflame, but when Paul swiped his tongue over her lips, Violet felt nothing but vague distaste.

  Paul was a nice guy. He was gainfully employed, attracted to her, and completely safe. He would never break her heart because he couldn’t touch it. She could marry him and have a picture-perfect life, but when Violet tried to picture it, she felt like she was drowning. If she broke up with Paul, she might never find anyone better, but that was a risk she was going to have to take. He wasn’t right for her.