by Maddy Raven
I walk toward the blonde man. He looks up for just a second, and I know I can’t turn back without being obvious. It’s now or never.
I stand behind the chair across the table from him. “Is this seat taken?”
His eyelashes flutter at me. “Help yourself.”
I have never heard his voice before, not even him speaking to someone else, but I am pleasantly surprised by how deep it sounds. His husky tone tickles the hairs on my neck, and I am suddenly desperate for him to whisper in my ear.
That is not the only thing I’m desperate for. I want to touch him, want him to touch me. I imagine his finger trailing ever so lightly across my forehead, down my cheek, until it reaches the side of my mouth. I salivate as I stare at his lips. His eyes are bright, but there is a dark, dangerous hunger beneath the surface, lurking under the shadows of his thick eyelashes. We make eye contact, and I know he feels what I feel. I know he wants me too.
In my mind, I’m entering terrifying territory. I’m supposed to meet Derrick and our friends at Custom House for dinner in a few hours. I need to go home and change, and my long, golden mane needs to be styled in an up-do. I do not have the time or the emotional energy required to speak to this man. And most importantly, I do not have the freedom to speak to him.
I look down at his sketchpad, searching for something innocent to say. He has his arm across the top of it, obstructing my view.
“What are you drawing?” I ask.
The movements on his face are fascinating as he contemplates his response. His eyebrows move slightly up and his eyes dilate. His nose twitches and he brushes it with his free hand. The corners of his lips turn up in a small smile, and I see the whites of his teeth for the first time.
The energy between us is electrifying. Now that there is only a foot between us, we are pulled toward each other like magnets. When I first sat down, my arm was rested on the edge of the table, but it has moved closer to his without me knowing. Our attraction is nearly unbearable. My heart is trying to escape my chest, but my chest is tightening at the same time, perhaps trying to hold it in. Blood rushes between my legs, and I wish I had more time to get ready before dinner. I would need a long, sudsy bath to calm myself down after this.
The blonde man hesitates before moving his arm from his notebook. I look at his sketch from upside down and realize that it is a woman in an exquisite, fabulous ball gown.
The image shocks me. “Did you design this yourself?”
The blonde man nods.
I grab the notebook and pull it toward me, righting it so that I can see the image properly. The dress has unique sleeves and layers upon layers of fabric, and I imagine it coming to life in deep pinks, soft blues, perhaps with lutestring and moire. The gown is unlike anything I have ever seen, and I am a designer. I have studied all the greats—Coco Chanel, Charles Worth, Donatella Versace, Valentino, Ralph Lauren. I have studied the up-and-coming artists—Zac Posen, Phillip Lim, Cecilia Cassini, even the Olsen twins. The blonde man has incredible natural talent.
“The shape of the sleeves!” I exclaim. I am dying to bottle this man’s talent and place it in my pocket. “What was your inspiration?” For a moment, I am distracted from his lips. For a moment, I am all business.
But then his eyes bore into mine, and I can’t remember why his inspiration matters. My skin is on fire and I want him more than anything else in the world. My breathing grows shallower and without even realizing it, I leave my chair, scooting around the table to be nearer to him.
I sit in the chair next to his. He glances at me shyly. “What is your name?”
“Lily Briar. What’s yours?”
His cocky smile toys with me, withholding the information. “I’ll show you the book that inspired this gown.”
He stands up and walks down the rows of books. I follow him. A solitary woman mans the information desk, but other than her, the entire floor seems deserted. It is only he and I.
He ducks into one of the aisles and quickly locates a book with thick binding. He hands it to me and it’s heavier than a brick. I look at the cover.
“Grimm’s Fairy Tales?” My eyebrows shoot up and I purse my lips in confusion.
“Page 237,” he says.
As he opens the page, his fingers brush my hand and I get so excited, the book slips from my grasp. It lands with a crash that I’m afraid will draw attention. I pick up the book and shove it back into the opening on the shelf. I have a sudden urge to hide from other people, to protect another moment alone with him. From the looks of it, he feels it too.
His hands grab my waist and he pulls me toward him. Our lips crash into each other. His mouth is hard, unyielding, and he tastes like sugar. I can’t get enough. I press harder against him, but it only makes me hungrier.
My ponytail has fallen out and my hair is loose against my back. His fingers get tangled in the strands. He grabs a fistful and yanks down on my head, and I gasp. Luckily, no one has heard us.
He steps backward, pulling me by my hair into a small alcove with several desks. No one is working at them, and he does not feel nice anymore. He flips me around and shoves me against the wall, pressing my face into it. I am so shocked I yelp, but his left hand covers my mouth to silence me.
“Hush, hush,” he tells me huskily, his lips buried in my hair. A tingle shoots through my veins. I notice a small tattoo on his left hand, an outline of a bird that looks like a raven, just underneath his thumb. I am curious to learn the story behind it, but I am sure he will reward me for my silence. I won’t interrupt us, not now.
I nod, relaxing in his arms. I can be quiet, if only my heart will quit hammering against my rib cage.
His entire body presses against mine, and I can feel how hard he is in the crease of my ass cheeks. In my wildest fantasy, I imagine him bending me over one of the desks like his whore, forcing his manhood between my legs as he enters me.
But his movements are controlled, gentle again. They make me long for his roughness. His right hand moves steadily under my blouse, between the cups of my bra until he finds my left nipple. His fingers pinch it, hardening it. Then, he presses his thumb against it in a circular motion, stimulating me and setting my blood ablaze. My entire body prickles with delight. No one has touched me like this in a long time. He alternates between the pinching and the rubbing, and I feel my blood racing faster and faster.
His left hand leaves my mouth and caresses my other breast. I bite my lip, determined not to moan, not to cry out, no matter how much he pleasures me. His length, already hard, grows thicker the longer we play.
His fingers scrape against my belly as he moves below my waist. The elastic waistline of my panties snaps as his hand glides underneath them. He gropes gently for my opening and dips a finger in.
I am wet as hell. My panties are sticky, probably covered in my mess. He pulls his hand out and sticks his slick finger into his mouth.
“You taste good.” His voice is raspy, like he is at the edge of the cliff and can’t decide whether to jump.
“Please,” I beg. I don’t want him to stop.
For a split-second, Derrick’s image fills my mind. It occurs to me that I am cheating on him, but I know I cannot stop. I don’t have enough willpower, don’t have enough blood in my brain to make sense of what is happening.
The blonde man’s hand plunges back into my panties, and Derrick is forgotten in an instant. He takes his time touching me, watching my reactions, learning what I like the most. His fingers settle between the lips of my rose and he moves his fingertips in the tiniest of circles at the base where they meet. I dig my fingers into the wall, chipping the paint with my fingernails, sighing in disbelief at the pleasure. I know I must be quiet, not a single moan, or it will all end.
But it feels so incredible that I can’t keep quiet for long. He has to silence me. He moves his right hand from my breasts to my mouth, hooking the side with his finger like I’m a fish. My head turns sideways and his lips meet mine. Our bodies move in sync as he u
nzips his pants, getting hold of his member. He takes it in his hand and strokes himself, and I reach back to help him. All the while, he plays my rose like a flute with his masterful technique, bringing me to climax over and over again. I have never come this many times in my life, and every time, I kiss him harder in a plea to keep it going.
His fingertips slip into the back of my pants, just above the center. He stops kissing me and sinks his teeth into my shoulder, silencing himself right before he comes. I climax just as he does, and his liquid spills down my lower back.
That’s the last thing I remember until the next time I wake up. And I didn’t even get his damn name.
Beauty Awakened: The Queen and the Honey is an erotic fantasy about 25,000 words long, or 130 printed pages. It is free in ebook format at all major retailers. Recommended for ages 18+.
TITLES AVAILABLE FROM MADDY RAVEN
Available in 2014 from Maddy Raven:
From the Beauty Awakened series:
The Queen and the Honey (Beauty Awakened #1)
The Princesses and Their Slippers (Beauty Awakened #2)
The Coffin and the Kiss (Beauty Awakened #3)
The Knight and His Brother (Beauty Awakened #4)
The Bride and the Blackness (Beauty Awakened #5)
The Princess and the Crown (Beauty Awakened #6)
The Sister and the Seven (Beauty Awakened #7)
The Raven and the Riddle (Beauty Awakened #8)
From the The Billionaire’s Alibi serials:
The Proposition (The Billionaire’s Alibi #1)
The Contract (The Billionaire’s Alibi #2)
The Scandal (The Billionaire’s Alibi #3)
Get updates when new novels and novellas come out!
http://www.maddyraven.com/free-novels/
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Maddy Raven has been writing novels for years and years, but only recently ventured into erotic fiction. She believes in strong storytelling, twisted plots, and fantastical, escapist worlds. She is currently working on the Beauty Awakened series, which retells several of the less popular Grimm fairy tales, and The Billionaire’s Alibi serials, which puts a surprising twist on billionaire romances.
Get in touch with Maddy at [email protected].
COPYRIGHT
This book is a work of fiction. Any references to real people, real locales, or real historical events are used fictitiously. All names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the author’s imagination, and any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental. This material is provided “as-is” without any warranty of any kind. Every effort has been made to ensure the accuracy of this book; however, errors and omissions may occur. The publisher assumes no responsibility for any damages arising from the use of this book.
Copyright 2014 Maddy Raven
All rights reserved. No portion of this book may be reproduced or transmitted—electronically, mechanically, graphically, or by any other means, including photocopying, recording, taping, or by any information storage or retrieval system—without written permission from the publisher.
Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data is available.
Spaulding House Publishing
600 S. Dearborn St.
Chicago, IL 60605
First Printing
Author: Maddy Raven
Table of Contents
The Billionaire's Alibi: The Proposition
Midpoint