by Nikki Sloane
When I’d fallen backward on the rug, the remote for his camera hand been abandoned at my side. At some point between his mind-numbing thrusts, the camera clicked loudly. He’d scooped it up in a hand. My pussy clenched at the thought of the dirty pictures.
“I want copies,” I gasped.
“Do you?” His wicked mouth latched onto my ear, nibbling the lobe. “You want to see what I see?” Confusion must have splashed on my face, because he continued. “You want to see how amazing you look when my cock’s deep inside you?”
Oh, God. I nodded quickly, not able to say it out loud. Not because I was embarrassed, but because it was too difficult to speak.
Our bodies slapped together. Beneath him, I rose up to try to meet his thrusts, perhaps trying to control the rhythm. My legs squeezed, the arch of my feet smoothed up and down his legs, doing anything I could to give me leverage. I didn’t really mind being fucked, but what I really wanted was to do the fucking.
He reached back, his hand locked on my ankle so he could hold me in place, and his hips undulated against me. Flashes of ecstasy sparked from him, teasing a new orgasm. The wet slide of his dick inside my body was like nothing else.
“God, fuck.” I moaned it into his shoulder.
He was slick with sweat as he pumped into me. I was hot and sweaty as well, and worse, he had me breathing so hard I was lightheaded. Could he tell? Abruptly one hand hooked under my knee and the other scooped under my back, and I was lifted in the air. He shifted me and set me back down so I was sideways to the camera and completely in the shot. He rose so he was sitting on his heels while keeping us connected, and both of his strong arms were under my thighs, holding my lower body up to meet his punishing thrusts.
Click.
I put my hands on my breasts, partly because I wanted the touch, but also because I wanted to make the picture look as good as possible. Never would I have thought I’d be into this, but shit, I was. It was so freaking sexy.
The long hairs on top of his head refused to stay back anymore and fell into his eyes, but it didn’t deter him. His biceps strained. He pounded into my pussy while his grip on my thighs was so hard I wondered if he’d leave marks. Did he want to, as I wanted to mark him?
“Christ, you feel so fucking good,” he growled.
He was a beautiful monster of ink and muscle, and it was impossible not to be transfixed as he fucked me relentlessly. I grabbed one of his hands and guided it to my breast, sighing loudly when he clenched hard. How did he know exactly what I wanted? Matt hadn’t figured it out in all the time I’d been with him, and Silas’s first try was hitting it out of the ballpark.
“Rough enough?” he asked. It wasn’t mocking, his curious expression told me he was serious.
A smile warmed on my lips. “Is it for you? I can give as good as I get.”
Hesitation flashed over him, then dissipated when I pushed up on my hands, forcing myself up. It was so I could band my arms around his shoulders while I straddled his lap. In this position I was on top, and I could fuck him.
Heat and chaos swirled around us, choking the air as I rode his cock. I rocked my hips while he put one hand on my waist, his fingers biting into my skin. He forced my head down into his kiss, snagging my bottom lip between his teeth. Aggressive and with a delicious edge of pain.
I clawed at him. He tugged on my hair. I twisted one of his nipples. He shoved a hand between our bodies and pinched my clit. Every action escalated and pushed us closer to the brink, while his camera captured it all.
“Yeah,” he said. “Ride me.” He slapped a hand against my ass so hard it stung. “Fuck my cock.”
I was dizzy and teetering right on the edge. My head flung back, tendrils of my hair clung to my damp face, and somewhere along the way my legs gave out. I wasn’t in control anymore. He was beneath me, but his powerful legs were dictating the tempo and keeping me moving on him. They kept my stomach sliding against the defined ridges of his washboard abs, my nipples brushing against his hardened chest.
He leaned me back in his arms. His mouth sucked on my tits, alternating from one to the other, and my climax closed in. The moans from me built in urgency until they were desperate cries.
“I’m gonna come, I’m gonna . . . shit. Oh, shit!” My body tensed in anticipation of the flood of pleasure, and it didn’t disappoint. Everything else faded away until all that was left was ecstasy. It exploded sharply, stealing my breath, and as it rolled down my spine, I quivered.
I’d just finished when he seemed to start. He struggled for breath, and the arms holding me up tightened, and deep inside I felt the rhythmic pulses as he went. I scrambled to find the remote in his hands and click the button as he groaned with satisfaction. His face was wrought with pleasure, and watching him like this . . . all sorts of sexy.
I sealed my lips over his, trying to drink up the last of his moans as I rode out the end of his orgasm.
For a long moment we remained still, our bodies glued together with exhaustion, our lips fused. Then I tipped my head further still, resting my sweaty forehead on the bony part at the top of this shoulder.
Silas’s hand slid gently up and down my bicep, and then I was shifted in his arms, slowly lowered back to the rug. He withdrew from me, peppering kisses along my jawline, working his way to my ear.
“I’ll be right back, don’t go anywhere.”
“Where would I go?” I said. “You were right, I’m too tired.”
He laughed softly as he climbed to his feet and padded out of view. My spent body gave me no choice but to lie prone on the fluffy rug in a post-sex haze. I heard water run briefly. He had to be using the utility sink that was on the south wall of the studio.
An alarm blared in my head that I needed to extract myself from the situation ASAP to avoid awkward cuddling, but I promptly hit snooze. There was a snap of a light switch and light spilled from the corner. A creaking sound rang out and grew quieter. He’d gone upstairs to his apartment? I should use the opportunity to collect my clothes and start pulling them on, but everything was working against me. I was starting to get cold and the rug was soft and warm. It was late, and the release of tension had made me incredibly sleepy. I just needed five more minutes.
The creak of the steps grew louder as he returned. A click, and the two lights on poles died. The only light in the room was the one over the stairs leading to his apartment that he’d left on. Silas carried two pillows and the comforter I’d seen on his bed.
It amazed me how quickly I could go from being sweaty and hot, to freakishly cold after a workout, and lying on a floor with only faux fur between the concrete and me wasn’t helping. Silas draped the comforter over my shivering body.
“Thank you.”
“I thought about carrying you upstairs to my bed, but we’d never fit on the stairs.”
“You barely fit on the stairs.”
I took the offered pillow he extended to me and mashed it under my head. It was a damn good thing it’d worked out this way. Getting into his bed was a bad idea. I said nothing as he dropped the other pillow beside me, sat down, and stuck his feet under the covers. He looked like he was preparing to settle in. Would his arm curl around me next? My heartbeat quickened.
With worry.
Not with excitement . . . Right?
“You forgot to turn off the music,” I said.
“No, I didn’t.” The rock music continued to play in the background. Could he not hear it? My lack of response must have forced him to continue. “I told you, I don’t like the quiet.” He settled down beside me, tugging the comforter up to mid-chest.
“Why?”
He wasn’t touching me, and it was dark, but I could sense the unease in him. This one word was questioning something . . . difficult. His pause was exactly the same I had whenever someone saw my scar and casually asked, “What’s that from?”
“It’s stupid,” he said.
“You don’t have to tell me.” Even though I’d shared my most traumatic secr
et with him, it didn’t require him to do the same. Why the hell did I want him to, though?
I jumped when his body enveloped mine, his warm hand sliding over my stomach beneath the heavy comforter. My breath stalled in my lungs. I wasn’t supposed to allow this. Fuck, I wasn’t supposed to like it either.
“My grandparents used to have this giant hand-carved cabinet. The thing was solid. Sometimes my sister and I would take the blankets out of it and play inside.”
There wasn’t any anxiety in his voice, but there didn’t need to be. I could sense exactly where his story was headed.
“I don’t remember what I did to piss Caroline off. That’s my sister.” The pad of his middle finger traced an infinity loop on my bare skin. “Whatever it was, it was bad. To get back at me, she locked me in the cabinet and told everyone I’d gone across the street to a friend’s house to play in their back yard.”
I blew out a breath. “How old were you?”
“Seven.”
I hesitated, not really wanting to know. I didn’t want to think about being trapped in a dark, confined space for any amount of time. “How long were you in there?”
“About six hours, I’m told. It seemed . . . longer.”
“Holy shit. You couldn’t get out? No one could hear you banging or yelling?” He’d said the cabinet was solid.
“The thing was in the basement. I tried to get out, believe me. I kicked the backboard loose, which was good. That kept the air from going bad.”
I clenched my hand on his, getting him to pause. “Oh my God, you could have died. Did she realize that?”
“Yeah, my father made it plenty clear to her. She probably came closer to dying that day than I did. I’d never seen him so mad.”
Silas’s hand twisted, and suddenly our fingers were laced together. It seemed wrong to move away while he was sharing the story. Hell, it seemed wrong to do anything but listen, as he’d done for me.
“I don’t blame Caroline. She was just a kid too, and kids do stupid things. I probably deserved it.”
My head snapped toward him. “Are you fucking kidding?”
“I was a pretty mean little shit.” His smile was guilty. “Anyway, that’s why I prefer noise. Music, television, whatever. The quiet gets to me.”
He needed anything to convince him he wasn’t trapped in the silence. My gaze left his and went up to the ceiling. “I’m sure.” What was I supposed to follow up with? “What about the dark?”
“We were playing with flashlights. That’s how she got me to go in there.”
I blinked and struggled with the vision of a boy locked inside a thick, wood box, screaming and kicking to no avail, one small beam of light to keep him company. How long had he tried before he’d given up?
“That had to be awful.”
“It wasn’t great. After I realized no one could hear me and I couldn’t get out, I tried to keep busy so I wouldn’t think about it.”
“How’d you do that?”
“I played mental games and shit. Looked for images in the pattern in the woodgrain.”
Jesus. Even now he was looking for images buried in patterns. My heart thudded painfully. It gave all of his artwork deeper meaning. Made it more beautiful, even the patterned tattoo he’d placed on me.
I swallowed thickly. “I’m sorry you went through that.”
“Thanks, but I’m fine. It was a long time ago.”
When the conversation lapsed, I closed my eyes. What the hell was I doing? It sure as hell wasn’t fair to let him think this could lead to anything. I was undercover, and if he found out, he’d go straight to Joseph and destroy the operation my co-workers and I had spent months on. Plus, I wasn’t going to get involved while UC ever again.
My body felt heavy with sleep, and both the comforter and the thick arm on me were warm. I knew I should go. I shouldn’t have let him snuggle close, hold my hand, or share the painful memory which had shaped his life. Yet, I couldn’t move. His breathing deepened and slowed to a languid pace, and the weight of his arm grew as he fell asleep.
I swore I’d rest just another minute. Let him get deeper under, and then I’d slip away, but one minute became two. Two minutes turned into five, and then it was too late. I gave in to yet another thing I shouldn’t have, and fell asleep.
I startled awake. Something chimed that sounded exactly like my phone when I got a text message. No, it was my phone, chirping across the room. Where the fuck was I?
The man next to me sighed in his sleep as I pushed his hand off and sat upright. Silas stirred, but didn’t wake. There weren’t any windows in the studio. Oh my God, what time was it?
I cringed as my bare feet padded across the icy floor and hurried to my purse. I dug the phone out, and scrolled to Shane’s text message under the fake heading of ‘Uncle Phil’.
Crap. I hadn’t checked in with him after the showing was over. He had to be wondering how my meeting with Roland had gone, and he wouldn’t text unless he was worried. Holy fuck, it was two a.m. My thumbs tapped out a quick message saying everything was fine and I’d see him in the morning.
I was still naked, and shivered. Clothes were scooped up and tugged back in place, and all the while I watched Silas for signs of waking. The covers were pushed down to his waist, and his hair fell across his eyes. He looked stunning. Still formidable with the ink spilling across his skin and those muscles beneath it, but peaceful, too.
I couldn’t stay, but did I wake him?
It’d take practically no convincing on his part to get me to stay. I could see how it would play out. He’d tempt me with a single look and I’d be upstairs, tearing my clothes off so we could fuck in his bed.
So I went reluctantly to the camera on the tripod and spent a frustrating minute trying to figure out how to get the damn thing down. It was heavy, and I treated it with care as I turned it over in my hands, finding the latch where I could get at the memory card.
When it was done, I placed the camera on the center of his paint-splattered table, tucked the memory card in my purse, and searched for a piece of paper to jot my phone number down on.
For being an artist’s studio, one would have thought it’d be easy, but all I could find was a piece of wadded up newspaper in the trash. So I tore a piece off, grabbed a red colored marker, and scribbled out my name and number. Then I pinned the paper under the camera so he could find it when he woke and I was gone.
I cast a final look at him. His hand rested on the rug on the bare spot where I’d been sleeping, and the tinge of longing to return and burrow beneath it didn’t go unnoticed. You’ll see him again, I reminded myself. If for nothing else, he’d want that memory card back.
Chapter
TWELVE
Silas didn’t call the next day, which was surprising. He was probably pissed I’d skipped out on him without saying goodbye, and this delay was to teach me a lesson. If the roles had been reversed, I might have employed the same tactic.
By Friday I was nervous. It’d been three days since his gallery showing, so he’d made his point. Maybe I should have been relieved. Perhaps he’d decided it was worth the forty bucks for a new memory card so he could move on without a messy conversation. We’d had great sex, I’d told him I didn’t want more, and I had the pictures, so this was the logical end of things between us.
Only I hated it.
Friday afternoon I bought a card reader, and after dinner I hooked it up to my laptop. I’d held off until now, wanting to look at the shots together with Silas for some insane reason, but if he wasn’t interested . . .
Fuck me!
I scrolled through the raw images as my body burst into flames. I breezed through the beginning shots, only mildly interested in the ones of me alone, but once he came into frame, I swallowed hard. Out of habit, I glanced around my apartment before undoing the snap of my pants, forgetting that I was single and Matt wasn’t going to catch me looking at porn. The one time it had happened, he’d gotten embarrassed and fled the room, rather
than stay and join me.
I dropped my zipper and shoved my hand down my pants, touching myself as I clicked through the pictures, taking each one in. Not every image was perfect. Every few or so, the camera caught a bad angle. My thigh blocked the shot, or everything was out of focus except for an elbow, but even those in the series told the story of two people with explosive chemistry.
He’d captured one shot near the end where I was staring down at him. We were both glazed with sweat, his gorgeous arms wrapped around me, my breasts pressed against him, and the look in my eyes . . . it was the same look of hunger and lust I saw every night at the blindfold club. The look I’d been craving, only here I was the one delivering it. It was . . . provocative.
I got myself off looking at the pictures.
Twice.
In fact, I’d enjoyed myself a little too long and had to hurry to finish getting ready for my shift at the club. How could Silas not call? We’d been off the charts hot, and these pictures were the proof. I copied them to an external hard drive under a folder labelled ‘Recipes’ and stuck the hard drive in the bottom drawer of my dresser, like I worried at any moment there’d be a raid on my apartment seeking only the contents of this drive.
The beautiful tattoo on my shoulder mocked me as I slipped into a deep purple suit dress, and I covered it with a black jacket. During the train ride to the club, I scrolled through the news on my phone, scanning but not digesting any of the information. My head was too busy mulling over my options.
I knew were Silas lived. I could call the gallery and ask for him, or call Joseph and get Silas’s cell number. Then it dawned on me. Maybe this was a strategic move where Silas put the ball in my court and wanted to force me into action. If that was true . . . fuck. It was working. If I didn’t hear from him soon, I’d make that happen.
Marquis, club security, sat just inside the blindfold club’s entrance, and his eyes tightened into slits when he realized who it was. He pulled himself to his feet from the stool he’d been sitting on and towered above me. The move would appear casual and polite to others, but I knew better. He wasn’t rising because a lady had entered the room, he did it so he could assert a position of power and dominance.