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

by Dr. Rebecca Sharp

  Nothing could have prepared her for the sight in front of her.

  Sloane jerked around to face her. He was still wearing his suit pants and button-down shirt from the club, but they looked nothing like they had there. His shirt was half-unbuttoned, the sleeves rolled up, and the entire front of it covered in dust and dirt – as though he’d turned the Dolce & Gabbana into a dust rag. And his pants were in no better shape. In his hands were the mallet and chisel – the noise that she’d heard from below – and from the looks of him, his work of art had turned into a workout; his skin shimmered with the sheen of sweat that coated it. But, as startling as all of that was, what stopped her in her tracks was the look on his face.

  His stone-cold expression was harder than the marble that stood behind him.

  Cyn swallowed over the lump in her throat – this was going to be a long night.

  “Hi,” she began softly. He just continued to stare at her as though she wasn’t real. “I… umm… I got done earlier; Pierce called it for the night.” She winced as she said Pierce’s name – probably should have left him out of it. “I didn’t know if I should come here or not…”

  “Why didn’t you tell me?” His voice rasped to the point where she wished that she had water or something to offer him to drink.

  She slipped off her shoes and walked further into the space, his intense blue eyes pinning her down with every step. She stopped at the spot where she’d stood the other night, her toes digging into the plush carpet.

  “What do you mean? What does it matter?” She returned, unable to help the feeling of incense from creeping into her tone. “Why didn’t you tell me you owned RSP Realty?”

  She heard him swear underneath his breath. “That’s not the same thing and you know it.”

  “Oh, isn’t it?” she asked rhetorically.

  “Owning RSP doesn’t require me to strip naked on a daily basis.”

  She raised an eyebrow. “Is that a problem?”

  “Yes, it fucking is.” The words exploded from his lips.

  “Why?” She shot back; the emotional night let her anger levels rise easily to meet his. Her arms flew out from her sides. “Isn’t that what you asked me to do here the other night?” His eyes flared. “Isn’t it? Oh, no, wait. You didn’t ask – you demanded. In fact, that’s what I’m supposed to be doing right now, right?” Her arms moved angrily to take off the fitted t-shirt she’d thrown on. His gaze jerked to hers. “I’m assuming—” Her fingers unhooked her bra, freeing her breasts to his gaze. “— the same position, too.”

  “Cyn—” he bit out. The anger fueling his eyes now sparked with desire.

  Her chest heaved with emotion. “What? Is that not what you’re paying me for?” She pressed on, hooking her thumbs underneath the waistband of her yoga pants and thong, removing them both in one shot, coming up to stand completely naked in front of him.

  His tools fell to the floor with a crash. For a second, Sloane looked like she’d just shot him – the painful, tortured look that covered his face made her chest ache. Had she gone too far? He tore his eyes away from her as both of his hands dug hard into his scalp. She could see his frustration building to overwhelming levels, just like his desire was. His entire body was tense and the bulge in the front of his pants seemed unbearably large; she wanted to go to him and ease all of their frustrations, but that wasn’t an option.

  “That is also not the same.”

  His reply cut through her. “How is that not the same? I take off my clothes for money, Sloane. That’s my reality,” she continued, her pitch now hysterical – hating the feeling that she’d let him down when it was his own goddamn fault for building her up so high. “And I enjoy it.”

  His white-hot stare returned to her as her hands drifted evocatively over her body into the position that he’d placed her the other night. She could see the battle of emotions raging inside of him, fighting himself to deny what he really wanted. This is what Ellie and Pierce had been talking about. He was constantly punishing himself – but for what, no one knew. And still, he said nothing. Cyn felt her own frustration growing.

  He was a wall – just as solid and impenetrable as the marble next to him. Unfortunately, she didn’t have a mallet and chisel to carve through him to what was buried inside. This – her body, her desire – was all she had. She felt her eyes welling with tears even though she had no reason to be crying.

  “Tell me how it’s not the same, Sloane. Tell me.” She wanted to sound angry, instead it sounded like she was begging. And she was.

  Cyn let out a hysterical laugh, the tears now slipping through and streaking down her still partially made-up face.

  “It’s not my fault you’ve decided to carve me into an angel that I’m not,” she said, her tone a captivating mix of breathless anger and desire. “This is me; this is what this body is good for, Sloane. And if you didn’t want to hire a ‘high-class hooker,’ then you never should’ve called my name that night. You should have just—” She stopped on a sharp intake of breath as Sloane cursed, ramming his fist against the marble.

  She blinked and he was in front of her, his face ragged with intensely possessive desire. “It’s not the fucking same because what I’m asking you to do is for me – not anyone else. Because I’m the only one I want to ever see you like this. And that is the goddamn difference!” He roared.

  She saw the bright, blue fire of desire an instant before his mouth claimed hers.

  Sloane groaned into her sinfully sweet mouth. He couldn’t think, he couldn’t breathe. All he knew was that he had to have her – or part of her. He’d come back to his studio to try to carve her image out of his head and into the stone, but that had been idiotic. He’d left on fire and it was the type of inferno that could only be put out one way.

  He’d hammered into the marble, angry at Cyn, angry at Pierce, and mostly, angry at himself for wanting her like he did. He’d felt like he had the first night they met, seeing her walk away with Pierce – swept away by a storm of possessiveness; only tonight, it had been far worse. Her dance, her body had been mesmerizing… the fact that an entire room of other men had seen it… seen her… was enraging. He wanted to pretend it was just his high-and-mighty personality wanting the best for her, wanting more for her than that. But the simple fucking truth was that he would kill any other man that tried to touch her.

  He left blinded by rage. He wasn’t even sure what he had done to her sculpture – hopefully he hadn’t ruined it with his mindless – pointless – attempts to hammer out his anger. All he could see in front of him was her in that dress… and then out of that dress; her beautiful body on display as if it was the only piece of her worth anything. He saw her body moving around the pole as if it were a man – straddling it, sliding up against it. Christ, he was jealous of the damn pole.

  And then she was here, in front of him, with hope and fear etched into her face. He’d forgotten that she was supposed to come; either that or he assumed after everything that had happened at Paradise that she wouldn’t show up, let alone show up early. Pierce must have… No, he didn’t want to know what that fucking asshole did after he stormed out; he no longer fucking cared.

  His body was already taut with exertion and ire when she’d entered his studio – his safe space. He’d stared at her for so many reasons – not the least of which was that even in spite of everything, her beautiful fucking determination to even show up here was enthralling.

  He also stared because his entire being was at the brink of what it could take. The events at the Paradise, Pierce, going ape-shit on his sculpture, and now the source of it all was standing in front of him. He knew his restraint had worn too thin; he was barely in control of his body and its rage… and raging desire for her.

  He should have walked out or told her to leave – anything to get him out of that precarious position. The last time he’d lost control of himself he’d almost killed someone. If he lost control now, he would take her… he would stake his claim to her. And in
his perception, that was just as good as murder.

  He should have just left.

  Instead, he’d stood there and gave in to his need to understand her; he dug the knife deeper into himself by provoking her. She wanted to know if her being a stripper was a problem and when he said ‘yes,’ she immediately took it the wrong way… and he let her. He wanted to drive her away because she was dangerously close to making him forget the foundation upon which he’d lived his life; but then, he saw what his answer had done and his control slipped quickly from his grasp. Her anger as his response and her brazenness, removing all of her clothing to provoke him, created an avalanche of desire inside of him.

  What she said next was what pissed him off the most; she looked at him and accused him of judging her when the truth was that she was the one judging herself. She was the one who deemed herself unworthy of more. If it wasn’t for the possessiveness he felt, he wouldn’t care less about what she did for a living if it was truly what made her happy, but this didn’t. She told herself that it made her feel good, that it made her feel powerful and safe; but that was fear talking.

  He knew from experience.

  But when she’d reiterated what Pierce had said – calling herself a ‘high-class hooker – he’d felt her words slice right through the wall he’d fortified around his emotions. His restraint gave way to the torrent that had been pounding against it.

  And he didn’t care what it cost him… he didn’t care what damage tonight would do to him; he would gladly die from desiring her. He was going to show her that she had so much more to offer than what she’d relegated herself to.

  As soon as his lips touched hers, he knew that he would never taste anything as exquisite as her. The toll that the emotions of the night had taken on him meant that he kissed her like a man starved of sustenance. He’d kissed women before; he’d done things with women before… he hadn’t been a complete monk, that was for damn sure. But, nothing had ever been like this.

  The taste of her mouth was pure intoxication – dark and sweet, like licorice. And, in spite of all the anger that had fired back and forth between them, as soon as their lips met there was only one thing worth fighting for. Her mouth opened beneath his, welcoming him further into oblivion. And he went – greedily.

  He’d done things with women before… but it had been a while. He couldn’t even remember the last time he kissed a woman, which meant that he consumed her kiss like it was the only thing keeping him grounded.

  Sloane felt her arms wind around his neck, pressing her lush, naked form completely against him. He saw flashes of white behind his eyes as his desire eviscerated every other sense from his body. It had been years – nine to be exact – since he’d lost control of his emotions which meant that his response to her was nothing short of ravenous.

  His arms clasped tightly around her. One hand immediately dropping to the velvet firm flesh of her ass, gripping it almost painfully tight to pull her hips close against his and the part of him that burned to be inside of her. His other hand dove up underneath the dark tresses of her hair, his fingers delving underneath to rest on her scalp, tipping her head farther back so that her mouth opened even further beneath his.

  His kissed her – he drank from her – until he could no longer tell where his mouth ended and hers began. And the way she moaned under his assault – God, it was a miracle he hadn’t come already.

  His lips moved greedily to the edge of her jawline, heading for the soft expanse of her neck.

  “Please, Sloane,” she murmured, her fingers threading through his disheveled hair. “Please take me. I need you.”

  He groaned against her neck hearing her hoarse plea. His heart was pounding out of his chest with need for her. He would trade the fucking air he needed to survive if it meant that he could be with her without inevitably hurting her. But that wasn’t possible.

  His teeth bit into the satin skin of her neck, sucking forcefully on the flesh as though he were trying to mark her for everyone to see that she belonged to him; that her lips, her neck, her body… he was staking claim to it all.

  “I’m so wet, Sloane. Please just take me.” He captured her lips roughly again before her words completely slayed him. Even though she was pressed flush against him, he felt the micro-undulations of her hips against his aching erection, the heat from her core searing through to him straight through the layers of clothes he still, mercifully, had on.

  He wanted to touch her, explore her further, taste every inch of her sinfully sweet skin, and mark every inch for himself. But she was writhing in his arms, her need torturing her – and himself. He’d lost all restraint when it had come to avoiding any physical touch with her, but he hadn’t lost his rationality. And if he wanted to keep it that way, he couldn’t continue on the slow path of exploration that he’d begun.

  No, like their argument, their anger, and subsequent destruction of every last vestige of restraint, their passion wouldn’t be slow and sweet, it would be mind-numbing and explosive.

  Sloane didn’t care about himself; all he had to focus on was her desire. He wanted her to feel beautiful and confident as she lost control in his arms. And he wasn’t going to waste any more fucking time doing it.

  Hands underneath her ass, he hoisted her up slightly, walking blindly until he hit the edge of the couch. He swallowed her sharp intake of breath into his kiss, slowly setting her down on the cushioned seat. His hands slid out from underneath her, resting on her hips as he tore his mouth from hers.

  With a fire burning in the ice of his eyes, he captured her gaze as his torso slid down slowly over hers. He had to bite his lip to stop himself from dropping to capture one of her luscious breasts in his mouth as he passed over them, but there was one part of her that was begging for him and that he could no longer ignore.

  “Please, Sloane,” she gasped as his gaze finally left hers to take in the sight before him – thighs spread wide to accommodate his shoulders, her core open before him, glistening in the dim light.

  He blew gently over the tender, swollen flesh; her hips rose up in response as her hands dug into the couch.

  “You know you’re not a hooker, Cyn. I want to hear you say it.” His voice with hard as he swayed under the heady scent of her desire.

  She moaned softly, before her voice whispered hoarsely. “I’m not a hooker.”

  “Cyn, look at me,” he said harshly, her eyes blinking open slowly under the heavy weight of her eyelids. “This, right here – I’m not paying you for this. I’m not paying you a single cent for what is about to happen right now. I need to know that you are here because you want this – because you want me.” He groaned as he saw more moisture seep from her folds at his words. “If you truly want this, then I am going to devour your sweetness. I have been so fucking starved, Cyn. And I didn’t even realize it until I met you. If you want this, I am going to eat you all night long – no breaks, no mercy. I will make you forget that there was ever anyone else between your thighs but me.”

  “I want you, Sloane, I want—” Her words were cut short on a gasp as his mouth engulfed her.

  Christ – and he’d thought her mouth was sweet.

  Sloane groaned as his mouth drank her desire. Distantly he felt her fingers pierce through his hair to grasp his scalp, pulling him tighter against her. He wouldn’t make her wait – hell, he couldn’t wait; he needed to taste her as she came for him. With an expertise that he didn’t pretend to have, he heard her urgent moans as his tongue swirled around her clit. He flicked it over the soft bud again and again, the sound of her strangled panting urging him on until she finally broke underneath him, screaming his name, as he felt the rush of warm sugar underneath his tongue.

  He gently lapped the liquid, letting her body begin to come down ever so gently from her release before he pushed her back up again. Cyn gasped his name again as he began to suck on her center, taking that bud into his mouth with rhythmic, deep pulls. Again, he followed her lead, listening to her sounds of pleasure,
feeling her leg muscles begin to tense uncontrollably around him until she shattered again.

  When her breathing had just begun to slow, he devoured her again. He tortured himself, pushing his tongue into the hot, tight passage that his cock was dying to be inside of. He thrust in, then pulled out to lick over her sensitized nub, repeating the rhythmic assault until she exploded again underneath him. His mouth was drenched in her desire and it was the most intoxicating thing he’d ever experienced.

  He wanted more.

  “Sloane,” she moaned. He could feel her heartbeat throbbing all the way down in her core. “I can’t…”

  Oh, she could.

  He didn’t give her a chance to relax this time, his tongue vibrating over her clit. At first, her hands in his hair almost attempted to push him away, the movement of his mouth causing exquisite pain over extremely tender flesh. But he didn’t relent – and in another minute, she was back to pulling his mouth as tight against her core as she could as he brought her up and over the crest of another release.

  He growled, feeling her body shake underneath the onslaught of pleasure.

  But he wasn’t done.

  She wanted him… well, she wasn’t leaving here until he was the only one she could ever remember wanting.

  Sloane wasn’t sure if he came up for air; he wasn’t sure that he needed to. He could survive on Cyn. Hell, he could do more than survive.

  At some point, his knees ached from pressing into the floor. His arms worked their way underneath her, lifting her weightless body down onto the floor so that he could lay between her thighs. His eyes looked up for a moment, catching a glimpse of them in the mirror - the black expanse of Cyn’s hair covered the plush, white carpet; her head tipped back, eyes closed in complete erotic oblivion; the rapid and erratic rise and fall of her perfect breasts; and, finally, his head centered between her bent knees as he claimed her.