The Sculptor's Seduction (The Gentlemen's Guild Book 2)

by Dr. Rebecca Sharp

  Cyn paused, gathering more of the fabric of the dress in her hands before continuing to push it down over her rib cage, exposing the pristine, pale skin of her stomach. The dress slipped easily over the flat plane, coming to stop at her waist.

  “Are you sure you can handle more?” she asked huskily.

  Based on her satisfied smile, Sloane was sure that his desire for her was written all over his body; but he wasn’t going to stop now. She’d broken his resolve the last two times they’d been in this room.

  This time, he was not giving an inch.

  “Take. It. Off.” His command was hard – just like the rest of him.

  Then she took that damn lip of hers in her mouth again and stretched the fabric of her dress over the wider expanse of her hips and ass. Instead of letting the ball of material fall to the floor, she took her time bending completely over – God, if she had only been turned slightly more towards him and the wall, he would have seen that show from the front and the back. And the distinct metallic taste of blood flooded his mouth again. At this rate, he was going to eat himself alive trying to keep his hands off of her.

  His hands gripped the paper he was holding, steeling himself for the sight he was about to behold. Like Botticelli’s Venus, Cyn rose up from her seductive shell, to stand proudly in front of him, waiting for him to make the next move.

  She was the most stunning thing he’d ever seen; beauty like hers should be a sin.

  Beauty like that was only Cyn’s.

  His mouth went dry as he beheld the sight of her. His eyes followed up the long length of her legs. He thanked God that she was still wearing underwear, although the white, lace thong hardly covered much. Her stomach was flat and taut and, just like the rest of her, evidence that she kept herself in shape. Again, his gaze dwelled on her incredibly full breasts that rose and fell heavily with each breath that she took. Her jet-black hair fell in long waves over her shoulders – a blatant divergence from the almost pure white of her skin. As he continued to stare though, that lightness became ever-so-slightly tinted with pink as his eyes finally met hers.

  They didn’t at first meet the smug satisfaction that had been in her voice. Her gaze was heavy with desire as though every inch his eyes had covered had been a direct caress on her skin. After a moment, that protective sexuality returned, her thumbs hooking underneath the straps of her thong, about to remove what there was of that skimpy barrier.

  “Leave it.” This was enough torture for one day.

  She smiled, her chest sticking out just a little farther, begging him to touch her.

  “So, what now?”

  A tight smile came over his face, setting down his tablet on the stool, he strolled slowly over to her. The look in her eyes said that she thought she had finally ensnared him.

  Not yet, vixen. Not yet.

  He stood in front of her; this time he was the one invading her personal space and he watched her breath catch in surprise.

  It was much harder to hide her own physical reaction to him when she was standing bare in front of him.

  Sloane raised his right hand, watching it intently as he placed his fingers at the top of her shoulder. Her skin was on fire… or maybe it was his. With the lightest touch, he traced slowly down the length of her arm, enjoying the trail of goosebumps that they left in their wake. He heard her breath catch as he bent her elbow, his other hand grasping her fingers; he raised her left arm up placing it across her chest.

  Sloane grit his teeth as his hands moved to tweak the position of her arm. His fingers came dangerously close to the softness of her breasts that swelled against where her arm pushed against it. The backs of his knuckles grazed the sensitive skin and he heard Cyn suck in the breath that had been pulled out of him.

  Her skin was softer than velvet.

  His fingers twitched, aching to be wrapped around those mounds, kneading the swollen flesh.

  Her breath released when his hands began to move away from the edge of her chest and she realized that he was moving her into the position that he wanted to capture her in. He had her fingers clasped around her right shoulder so that her forearm draped across her breasts; it wasn’t much of a barrier and only managed to partially conceal one nipple.

  Then his left hand repeated the motion down her right arm. Only this time, he grabbed her wrist, trailing her hand where he wished his was. Slowly he dragged her fingertips across her upper thighs, over the edge of her panties, and pressing them flat against her center so that it covered the juncture of her thighs. It was a position not that much different from Botticelli’s Venus.

  Except instead of Venus, he had a Vixen.

  He crouched down to arrange that arm, putting himself at eye level with her core. His nostrils flared as he smelled the heady scent of her desire radiating even from behind her hand. He closed his eyes, taking in every scent and sensation.

  Had it really been necessary to torture himself this way?

  He’d planned every movement methodically to get the pose he required – just like he did with every previous model. Except Cyn was nothing like every previous model and neither was his reaction to her. He vowed to touch her only where he deemed it safe, moving her hands to the places he wished he was touching.

  Before he became too intoxicated by her potent desire – and his – he rose, his hands returning to the outside of her arms. Unable to stop himself, he ran his fingers up the soft skin, trailing along her shoulders and the length of her neck. They came to rest on either side of her face, tilting it up to his.

  Sloane stared into her eyes, seeing his burning desire reflected in their molten depths. Her lips parted underneath his gaze. Every movement up until now had been sanctioned, but when that lower lip of hers moved, his thumb broke protocol to gently brush over the reddened flesh.

  Even though every fiber in his body begged him to take her – especially his hard and heavy erection pushing furiously against his pants – he stood completely still, mesmerized by the longing that exuded from her face.

  Cyn tried to move closer to him, but his arms that were bent up between them prevented her body from being able to touch him. Good thing he had insurance on the property because if she had, he was sure the entire building would have gone up in flames. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see in the mirror as her legs rubbed together, trying to ease the painful ache between her thighs.

  “Kiss me, Sloane,” she finally demanded.

  His gaze pinned hers. “Tell me why you don’t dance anymore.”

  Shock, sadness, fear, frustration – all of those emotions flickered in her eyes.

  “I still dance,” she rasped. “I just don’t dance ballet anymore. Ballet made me weak.”

  Sloane felt his brow furrow, wondering what she could possibly mean by that because she surely couldn’t be referring to physically.

  “But it also makes you blissful – and beautiful.” The pad of his thumb circled lightly over her cheek, the only amount of comfort he could offer in his state of arousal. “I know, I’ve seen it.”

  “That’s not enough,” she murmured, her voice only tainted with sadness.

  He leaned his face closer to hers; he watched her eyes close in anticipation of his kiss – the one he let her believe was coming. Her lips parted, feeling his breath against them as he whispered, “Maybe it should be…”

  And then he was gone.

  Her eyes darted open to see him walking away from her, back to his sketchpad. He turned back to face her. He didn’t care that he had a fucking tent in his pants and she knew it; he’d stood in front of her naked and willing body, come within an inch of kissing her, and then walked away.

  He should feel triumphant, instead he felt like he had cut off his arm to spite his face.

  The eyes that met his were still molten, but mostly with anger. She’d been begging… waiting… for his kiss and he had left her hanging – tortured with desire.

  Just like he’d been every night that he’d seen her and probably just
like he would be tonight. He hoped she had to go home and pleasure herself in order to get the tension out of her system – then she would know just how unfulfilled it had left him as well.

  The thought of Cyn pleasuring herself though was the wrong one to have. His arousal throbbed painfully as he stared at her hands that he’d meticulously placed over her body, imagining her fingers sliding gracefully between her thighs.

  His hand shot to his forehead as the thought had him seeing stars.

  “So, I just stand here then?” she asked, her voice thick with the betrayal.

  Sloane just nodded, wincing as he sat down on the stool; his pants felt like they were cutting off circulation to his cock.

  Maybe that wouldn’t be such a bad thing right now.

  His hand began to move over the canvas, capturing the general curves and angles of her body so that he could begin sculpting. Of course, it was easier to sculpt while looking at the real thing. But it was difficult for someone to be able to stand for that long. It was easier and more efficient for him to roughly carve away most of the stone and then only add in the details when the model was in front of him.

  Cyn was still glaring at him, seething at the fact that he had managed to take her control away from her.

  “Is something wrong?” he asked, daring her to admit what she’d been hoping for.

  Her eyes flickered with a look that said she was going to make him pay for that.

  “Of course not,” came her too-sweet answer.

  “Good.” His gaze returned to the paper. “I think you should open your dance school.”

  “Oh, do you? And why is that? You’ve only seen me dance one time.”

  “One time was all it took.”

  “Maybe someday. When I’ve saved enough.” Sloane had a feeling that even if she had the money right now, that wasn’t what was stopping her. It was the sadness and the fear of hurt that kept her from her dream.

  “Where did you learn to dance?” Cyn sighed, her hand shifting to flick a strand of hair off of her shoulder. “Don’t move.” His curt instructions cut across the room and her hand quickly returned to its perch.

  “Everywhere.” She rolled her eyes, pretending to be bored with the conversation. “I told you I’ve been dancing since I was six. I went to different places, different schools for lessons. The last place I danced though was at Juilliard.”

  His hand froze on the paper. Juilliard? She’d gone to Juilliard?

  “What?” she asked sarcastically, her pent-up frustration from earlier erupting when she saw the look of shock on his face. “What? Never met a well-educated whore before?”

  The pencil snapped in-between his fingers. A second later, Sloane was back in front of her, gripping her chin forcefully between his thumb and forefinger.

  “Don’t you ever call yourself that.” If Sloane were ever going to seriously threaten someone’s life, he imagined it would be in the same tone of voice that he just used.

  He knew this was his punishment for resisting his desire at the expense of hers.

  “It’s the truth,” she ground out. Her tone was just as harsh as his.

  The tension between them was suffocating – and it had nothing to do with their current conversation; it had everything to do with the desire they felt for each other. They were locked in their own version of a Catch-22. Either Sloane gave into his desire and hated himself for his lack of control or Cyn acquiesced to his restraint and resented herself for her lack of power.

  “It’s not my fucking truth and I don’t care what comforting lies that delicious mouth of yours comes up with, Cyn… I know it’s not your fucking truth either.”

  Christ, he wanted to kiss her; he wanted to kiss her so fucking hard that her mouth would never think of uttering those words again.

  He knew he was right; she didn’t believe the words even though she said them… even though she wanted to believe them. He saw the sadness hiding in her eyes – the same one that had shown up after she danced for him the other night.

  He wanted to kiss her and heal whatever hurts made her think it was fucking acceptable for her to say that about herself.

  But how could he heal someone when he was just as broken?

  So, as much as he wanted to kiss her and comfort her, he knew in the long run it would only hurt her more. How could a passion like that do anything else?

  “Why won’t you kiss me?” she whispered.

  Sloane felt like his tongue grew ten times its normal size, laying heavy and thick in his mouth as he struggled with how to answer her. If he couldn’t kiss her, at least he could give her this.

  “I can’t kiss you, Cyn, because I won’t be able to stop. Even just tasting you… Christ, it was like a hit of the sweetest, most incredible drug. And I can’t have that kind of addiction… That kind of addiction kills. Trust me.” That was as much of the truth as he could muster, turning away from her one last time and walking back to his stool and sketchpad.

  With the paper propped up, he focused on the sketch. Back and forth, his eyes flicked every so often from his pencil to her increasingly aroused face.

  “But would it kill you… to watch?” she asked breathlessly.

  Sloane felt a shot of desire straight to his groin as he pulled his sketchpad toward himself so that he could see her entire body again. And what he saw was that her fingers had slipped underneath her panties and had begun to move over her core. His jaw clenched and he forced his eyes back to the face that was on the paper.

  And then she began moaning.

  Sloane felt his erection throb against his pants with every sound. Every time he looked back up to her face, it became more and more torturous; the sight of her mouth parting, her eyelids floating shut, and her head tipping back. His body tensed and sweat beaded on his forehead; he had to watch.

  His sketchpad fell to the floor, papers strewn all over, but the noise didn’t stop her. Sloane watched her fingers move even faster over the place where his body wanted to be. Her moans grew louder and more frenzied. Her whole body was shaking… or maybe it was his. His fingers dug into his thighs; there would be bruises tomorrow. Right now, he held his breath, his desire needing to see her find her release.

  She bit her lower lip.

  “Cyn,” he growled and his voice sent her over the edge.

  She gasped, her eyes opening wide as she orgasmed in front of him. Her hips undulating against her hand.

  So fucking stunning.

  His blue eyes stormed with desire, but it paled as he watched the effects of her release spread over her body. Her pale skin flushing pink. Her nipples even more erect. And as she slipped her hand from her underwear, he saw where her desire had soaked through the fabric. Sloane knew that if he thought her kiss was addicting… the sweetness that lay between those thighs would surely cause him to overdose.

  Ever so slowly, her eyes returned to his, smoldering with satisfaction. “Glad to see you survived,” she said throatily, teasing him as she relished the state of arousal that she’d put him in.

  “Of course,” he bit out with a smile, refusing to let her see that she’d won with her little display.

  She had, of course; he was on the verge of exploding.

  “Are you sure—” She attempted to respond, but he immediately cut her off. “Positive. We’re done for tonight.” He quickly put an end to the evening before he completely embarrassed himself. “We’ll pick up next weekend. After work.”

  He bent down to pick up and organize his sketches from where he’d dropped them, listening to the soft rustle behind him as she put her clothes back on. When he finally turned back to her, he felt like he’d been punched in the stomach seeing the anger, sadness, and frustration that was assaulting her beautiful face.

  His mouth thinned. He didn’t know what else to say; he’d already said too much and yet somehow, he felt like he’d only made the situation worse.

  “Goodnight, Cyn.”

  “Sloane.” Her voice was so thick with emotion that he w
asn’t sure if she couldn’t – or wouldn’t – say goodnight to him. “Please send me Ellie’s number when you get the chance.” He nodded. Her reminder sounded like a plea and he hoped that Ellie would be able to help her understand why there couldn’t be anything between them – even something purely physical.

  Her heels clicking on the solid floor was the only sound he heard. They ticked like a timer, counting down to an inevitable end. When the door shut behind her, Sloane sagged onto the stool, dropping his head into his hands.

  His time was up.

  Chapter 8

  “Thank you,” Cyn said as the waiter handed her the menu. She bit into the corner of her lip nervously, wondering if asking Ellie to go to lunch had been the right thing to do. Ellie was one of Sloane’s friends; was it stepping over the line to ask for her advice?

  Maybe she should have just talked to Tash, except that she knew what Tash was going to say… again: ‘You’re in too deep, Cyn. You’re going to get hurt. I think it’s time to cut ties.’ She didn’t need to hear those words, she knew they were the truth. Tash was only looking out for her best interests (in her mind), but she also looked at life in general through the tainted tint of her own past. Yes, if she wanted to go back to her life and routine as it was, she needed to leave Sloane alone. But what if she didn’t want that?

  She’d left the studio the other night stunned by Sloane’s reaction to her. When he’d asked her to take off her dress – even if it was for the sake of his project – she’d been confident that she’d won the silent battle for control over their desire. She’d watched the blue in his eyes crystallize with lust as she’d purposefully teased her dress down over her body. As she stood back up, she could see the sexual tension radiating from him as he tried to keep it under control. For the most part, he’d done an admirable job; if it hadn’t been for the giant bulge in the front of his pants, she almost would have questioned whether or not she was having any effect on him. The heat from his gaze had seared straight to her core and she’d been silently thankful that he’d told her to keep her thong on. She had a feeling, especially after he’d come over to position her arms, that her desire for him would have become just as physically evident as his was for her.