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

by Dr. Rebecca Sharp

  And then she walked behind the couch. He tried to look over to see what she was doing but she quickly yelled, “No peeking!”

  He groaned and let his head fall back, eyes closed, as he waited impatiently.

  “Ok, now you can open them.”

  Fuck.

  She stood before him still wearing nothing – save the colors from the rising sun - and her pointe shoes.

  “I’m going to dance for you,” she said, her voice soft and hoarse with desire.

  “Cyn…” he groaned, unable to take his eyes off of her as she smiled softly and began to move.

  She danced for him like the dawn – rising gracefully from the dark night to colorfully illuminate the world around her.

  His whole body went rigid a few seconds in when he realized that this was unlike what she had done before; it wasn’t ballet like the other times she’d danced for him, yet it was just as fluid and elegant. And it wasn’t a pole dance like he’d seen her perform at the Paradise, yet it was just as sexy and arousing.

  This was her seduction.

  And he willingly would be victim to it.

  Every move that she made was to make him want her, both physically and emotionally. Every move combined the seductiveness of a strip tease with the awe-inspiring soulfulness of classical dance. And he felt himself growing harder with every dip and sway of her body, watching as her naked form teased him with what he would soon touch.

  By the time she glided to a stop, her beautiful breasts rising and falling rapidly – both with exertion and desire – he was afraid he would come just from her first touch.

  “You are so damn beautiful,” he said hoarsely. She stepped towards him, stopping as he held out his hand. “I’m about to lose it, angel.” He laughed roughly. “I’ve never been so turned on in my whole damn life; I know I’m going to fucking explode if you touch me.”

  He watched as she thought for a second and then smiled. “Well, I guess I’ll just have to make sure I’m ready to explode with you.” Sloane watched as her hand slid down her stomach to her core.

  “Fuck,” he swore as her fingers disappeared into her folds.

  His fingers gripped into the leather of the couch as he sat paralyzed, watching as she pleasured herself. When her mouth parted and her head tipped back, he thought he was going to lose it. And then she stopped, her burning gaze meeting his as she closed the distance between them.

  Climbing onto the couch, one knee on either side of him, she reached between them to grab his aching arousal and positioning his head at her moist entrance. His hands reached her hips just as she sunk down completely onto his length.

  He shouted, the noise drowning out her moan.

  Heaven.

  Every. Single. Time.

  Her mouth claimed his and his fingers dug into her soft flesh, holding her steady as he thrust uncontrollably up into her tight warmth.

  She hadn’t been lying when she said she was going to make sure she was ready. He’d pushed inside of her only a handful of times before she screamed his name and her passage squeezed his cock. The searing pleasure sent him over the edge as he rammed inside of her and exploded.

  Cyn collapsed against his chest and they sat there waiting for their hearts and bodies to stop racing.

  There were many things he could have – would have – said. But the only thing that came out was, “Move in with me.”

  She pushed off of his chest to look at him and then that Earth-shattering smile bloomed on her face as she said, “Yes!” Throwing her arms around his neck and kissing him again.

  Her movement teasing his body again with the prospect of a second release.

  “Gorgeous,” he began. “I’m going to need you to be the strong one this morning and peel that delicious honey of yours off of me otherwise I will never make it into the office.”

  She pouted. And he was tempted to sell his whole damn company just to never have to leave her again.

  “I don’t want to go either,” he murmured. “But I love you and I want to help Tash.”

  “I know.” She smiled lovingly at him. “I just like to give you a hard time.”

  “Cyn.” He laughed. “You don’t ever have to try to give me a hard time; I will freely admit right now that around you, I’m hard all the fucking time.”

  Her head tipped back as she laughed throatily and then slowly pulled her body up and off of his, bending down to release her feet from her ballet shoes.

  Grabbing a tissue from the coffee table, he wiped himself off and stood in front of her.

  She looked up at him and said, “I’m so lucky to have you. Thank you for helping Tash…”

  “We’re in this together, angel. I’m going to send you the list of questions Sebastian wanted me to ask her; I think it would be better and easier if they came from you.”

  She nodded in agreement.

  “Let’s get this bastard.”

  The End.

  Thank you for reading!

  I hope you enjoyed Sloane and Cyn’s story! I would love to hear what you think, if you want to head over to Amazon to leave a review! Reviews play such a big part in not just how I get feedback on my work, but on how other readers make their decision on whether or not to check out my writing. It would mean the world to me if you would share your thoughts!

  You can also contact me directly at: author@drrebeccasharp.com

  Xx, Rebecca

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  Other Works by Rebecca Sharp

  The Gentlemen’s Guild Series

  The Artist’s Touch (Book 1)

  The Sculptor’s Seduction (Book 2)

  The Painter’s Passion (Book 3) – Arriving Winter 2018

  Book 4 - TBA

  Book 5 - TBA

  The Passion & Perseverance Trilogy (A Pride and Prejudice Retelling)

  First Impressions (Book 1)

  Second Chances (Book 2)

  Third Time is the Charm (Book 3)

  Continue reading for an excerpt from the next book in the Gentlemen’s Guild series – The Painter’s Passion!

  The Painter’s Passion – Chapter 1

  London

  This was not a good idea.

  No - this was a very fucking bad idea.

  How had this happened to him? He thought. He was always the one who coerced his friends into unfortunate situations. How had he fallen prey to his favorite pastime?

  As Pierce stalked towards the Covent Garden entrance to the Tube, he had to admit there were several reasons that being in London was the best place for him right now. First, there was the fact that he was able to put thirty-five-hundred miles between himself and whatever the hell was happening with Tristan and Sloane – his two best friends and the two other original members of the Gentlemen’s Guild. They’d both gone and fallen in love and Pierce wasn’t taking any chances that that shit might be contagious.

  Fucking assholes.

  Tristan was engaged to Ellie Carter and had recused himself from their popular and successful Guild exhibits. The first fan-fucking-tastic cause of his current mood. Morgan, who was their business manager and also currently in London with him, stepped up and offered to use one of his photographs for the exhibit; one disaster had therefore, been averted. But now, it looked like Sloane and his girlfriend, Cynthia, had worked out their issues which meant that it was only a matter of time before Sloane pulled out of the exhibits, too, or worse, he would continue with pieces that wer
e no longer in their typical, classically erotic style.

  God, that would be so fucking boring. It would ruin everything the Guild stood for.

  Ok, maybe not everything.

  There would still be one aspect of their business left – art restoration and reproduction for major museums around the world. That part was challenging, rewarding, and allowed them to donate millions to fund art programs all over the world. It was also the part that he was currently in the process of fucking up.

  Correction. He’d already fucked it up and had been covering it up for the past few years. Unfortunately, skeletons always seem to find their way out of the goddamn closet.

  Several years ago, while in the middle of restoring Monet’s Bridge over a Pond of Water Lilies, his pride – and his dick – has caused him to lose the priceless artwork. There was a bar… alcohol… and two very beautiful women that he’d ended up bringing back to his studio to screw. Instead, he woke up the following morning, hungover, still hard, and minus the famous painting. There was a ninety-nine percent chance that they’d drugged him because he couldn’t remember much of anything from that night; their faces only a blur in his mind and his desire for future threesomes significantly diminished.

  Now, he was trying to fix his asinine mistake with the hopes that it didn’t cost the Guild everything.

  And the effort was making his already fucking miserable personality even more miserable.

  And if there was any place in the world that could mirror his mood, it was London in the fall. Cold, rainy, dark, and dreary; it was a mood that had been becoming more and more permanent since they’d arrived.

  He, Morgan, Morgan’s twin sister – Ana, and Cyn’s friend – Tash, had left New York for the Queen’s backyard about four weeks ago. Why were they all there? Why London? And why was he so damn miserable? All of those questions could be answered with one word – Ana.

  Ana worked for the white-collar crimes division of Interpol. She’d come to New York to follow up on a lead that the Bridge had been stolen. When she’d told her brother what she was working on he’d immediately called a meeting with the rest of the Guild. And that had really been the beginning of the end.

  Before that meeting, no one except Tristan knew that the Monet hanging in the Met was his forgery. It was one of the many demons that haunted him, yet after almost four years, he’d been lulled into the false sense of security that whoever had the real Monet wasn’t planning on letting it go and therefore, his secret would remain safe.

  If there was a God, He must be having a good fucking laugh at his expense.

  Morgan insisted that they bring Ana into the Guild’s veil of secrecy so that she could help them catch the thief who, for some reason, had decided to magically resurface after all these years and sell the painting to the highest bidder. Morgan laid out his plan before Tristan, Sloane, and Pierce and suggested that they vote.

  He’d been outvoted. And Ana had been let in on their secret little club.

  When new information surfaced from one of her team members back in the U.K. that the thief was still here, they’d planned to head back to London – the scene of the crime – a few weeks after that meeting. However, extenuating circumstances moved up their timeframe and added a fourth traveler – Tash.

  Tash was Cynthia’s old roommate and an escort. He’d met her at a bar in the city a few weeks ago when he’d been out with Sloane; it was the night he’d convinced his friend to take Cyn home. He should have known that would come back to bite him in the ass.

  He was happy for Sloane and Cyn… and that they were happy together, he admitted begrudgingly. But, he’d still screwed himself – and screwed Tash; the first figuratively, the second, literally. Tash was a nice girl and they’d both enjoyed themselves, but neither took the evening for more than what it was – and he appreciated that.

  Tash had been out with one of her other clients, Julian Sanchez, when she’d unwittingly discovered serious amounts of drugs on his personal yacht. When Sanchez realized what she had seen, he’d beaten the living shit out of her, putting her in the hospital tie-dyed with purple and black bruises and a broken ankle. Until Sloane, Tristan, and whoever else they could trust to work with, figured out a way to bring Sanchez down, Tash needed to get out of the city. Sloane said that going with Pierce and Morgan across the pond seemed like the best option.

  And that’s how their band of musketeers ended up in the capital of Great Britain.

  Long live the fucking Queen.

  He laughed to himself in mocking disbelief as he scanned his Oyster card to get on the Tube. He wasn’t thinking about the ninety-odd year old Elizabeth residing in Buckingham Palace. No, he was thinking about the damned desirable monarch who ruled over the townhome that the four of them shared; he was thinking about Ana. He’d needed to get out of the house that morning before he killed someone… or kissed them. So, he’d left and gone for a walk. And he kept walking until Morgan finally called wondering where the hell he was and if he was still alive, reminding him that they had a meeting starting very shortly.

  This morning was just another example of what had been happening over the past four weeks.

  No – even before that.

  From the moment he’d seen Ana, she’d intrigued him and ignored him and that was frustrating. More than that, she’d captivated him and heated his blood like no one ever had before – and that was fucking dangerous. Unknowns were fucking dangerous, which is why he always kept a suffocating grasp on his life – controlling everything to the point where everyone thought he didn’t care about anything.

  And that was the way he liked it.

  He’d met Ana at Tristan and Ellie’s engagement party back in New York City and everything about their meeting should have told Pierce that anything involving her was a bad fucking idea.

  He hadn’t even known that Morgan had a twin – no one had; apparently, he and Ana had been estranged for some years because of some family shit that neither of them wanted to talk about. Plus, she’d been living abroad because of her job. Either way, the fact that he of all people – he who prided himself on knowing everything before everyone – he who liked to keep people on their toes so that no one had the opportunity to throw him off his game – he had been the one taken by surprise. And if her existence hadn’t been enough, her beauty had twisted the knife of ignorance inside of him.

  He’d seen a lot of woman, painted them, slept with them… and he had a lot of comparisons that he could make. Some women are stunning, like Cyn for example, whose dark hair and pale skin would stop you in your tracks. But Ana, her beauty was subtle with an implied sensuality. Her golden-brown waves and the warm tan of her skin pulled him in like a moth to a flame. Looking at her was like looking directly at the sun – a brightly glowing light whose beauty burned so radiantly that it would blind you if you weren’t careful. And in an instant, his entire body had turned hard with the need to capture her sunshine and let it drive out his darkness.

  The four of them – Tristan, Sloane, Morgan, and he – were all good-looking; it was one of the many reasons women lined up to be their models and to sleep with them. Out of all of them though, Tristan and Morgan were what most people would consider the classical Greek definition of handsome. Which is why it shouldn’t have surprised him that Morgan’s twin was the female version of that perfection – in spite of the fact that she dressed entirely too conservative for what he imagined her figure to be.

  And he’d done a lot of imagining in those first few seconds.

  That evening, she’d been wearing some boxy skirt that wasn’t flattering at all and what might have been a more attractively-fitting top if it hadn’t been covered up by the damned sweater.

  And still, he desired her – sweater and all.

  Everything about the situation wasn’t right because it wasn’t what he had been expecting; what he felt for her in that instant was too deep and too powerful for someone like him, especially because he had to fucking feel it for her. Out of all th
e woman in the world, all of the women he’d been with, why did his best friend’s twin have to have this effect on him? That thought made him fucking irritable, but not as much as the fact that she’d made him feel. He hated to feel; feelings are what had almost killed him. So, he pushed anything and anyone away who incited such a reaction. It was why the first thing he’d said to her on being introduced was ‘aren’t you fucking hot?’

  There were many ways to interpret those words; Morgan, of course, as her brother, had taken them the wrong way. Pierce had really just been so unnerved by the news and then his sudden, intense desire for her, that all he could think was ‘why was she wearing a damned sweater in the heat of summer?’

  And he was never unnerved. Never.

  Like something Ellie would do, Ana had fired right back at him – calling him ‘cold’ and walking away towards a glass of wine to warm her back up. Her dismissal only exacerbated his desire. He’d always craved the hard-to-get ones, except that for him, they usually didn’t end up being hard to get. But this was a different story – Ana was a different story; for the first time, he found himself wanted something that he knew he couldn’t have.

  Something that he didn’t deserve to have – a small voice inside of him whispered.

  Moral of the story? He hadn’t made the best first impression and it had only gone downhill from there. He’d made a brief attempt at being cordial – he’d even thought about some playful flirting – to make up for their first meeting since she was Morgan’s sister, after all; but it had only made her response to him even harsher.