Wanted_Big Bad Single Dad_A Billionaire Matchmaker Romance

by Daphne Dawn

  To regain my composure I take a step back, only to have my heel find a crack in the pavement of the footpath. I lose my balance and instinctively reach for something to hold onto so as not to fall.

  A strong hand steadies me.

  Each and everyone one of my nerve cells starts to tingle. He pulls me toward him. My heart races a million miles an hour and I have to fight a sudden desire to melt in his arms. Images of two naked bodies entwined flash through my mind.

  “Shall we go in?” Robin’s voice penetrates my foggy brain.

  “Thank you,”’ I mutter and pull my little black dress down a little, desperate to regain composure.

  Blake links arms with me, pulling me in close, in a possessive manner.

  “I think I better hang on to you.” He smiles brightly at me.

  My skin is burning where he’s touching me and I curse the weakness of my flesh.

  Inside Out Art is not the small gallery I was expecting, the grey bland concrete exterior betraying the vast, expansive treasure hidden inside.

  As soon as we enter, I catch my breath.

  Waiters in black suits and white shirts balance trays of champagne, weaving their way expertly through the large crowd of attendees.

  I notice all the envious stares most of the women aged eighteen to eighty shoot in my direction as we try make our way to a less busy part of the exhibition. Of course the stares are because at Blake, not me.

  “Wow,”’ Robin exclaims and stops in front of a smaller painting.

  I am swept away by the beauty of the young woman in the work of art. I tilt my head to the side and glance at Blake, acutely aware of his intense gaze on me.

  “You should model for him,” Robin says loud enough for everyone to hear before she moves onto the next painting.

  I would have liked to hit her, best friend or not. It is as if all eyes are suddenly upon me. The women shoot poison arrows in my direction and if looks could kill I’m sure I would be a pile of ashes on the floor beside playboy Blake, who ‘s clearly enjoying the spectacle.

  I decide not to reply and instead follow my ex-best friend. Oh, I’ll have some words for her next time we were alone. I feel conscious of the sound of my stiletto heels echoing on the concrete floor and I wish I had chosen different footwear, something less attention-drawing.

  As I walk from painting to painting I cannot help but be impressed. Art isn’t exactly my forte, but I know enough to appreciate good paintings when I see one.

  Most of the subjects are women, of course. But they’re not the nudes I had expected. There are nudes apparently, but they’re not in your face. Most are surprisingly discreet.

  “I still want you to model for me. You’re the perfect combination of beauty and sex appeal.” I can hear Blake speaking softly in my ear and those butterflies have come back in millions. My knees wobble a little and I hope they won’t give way.

  I can’t remember the last time Dale said I was pretty, sexy or beautiful.

  “I bet you say that to all the women you want to have your way with.” The words are out before I can stop them.

  Moving on to the next painting my eyes feast on a young woman who is leaning on a windowsill. She has a faraway look in her eyes. Blake has captured the longing of the woman perfectly.

  I focus on the finer details. Her arms folded. Pink lace of a bra is just visible with her white blouse unbuttoned to just above the gap between her breasts. It is suggestive, but not offensive.

  “You’re jumping to conclusions.”

  His voice brings me back to reality, as does the gesture of his left index finger stroking my cheek.

  “Um,” I’m lost for words.

  “Will you at least have dinner with me?”

  I feel my resistance crumble and desire sweep through me.

  Before I can stop myself I nod.

  Blake

  "You know what's sexier than chocolate?" I say, looking over my shoulder at Katherine from the stove.

  "Nothing is sexier than chocolate," she says with a smile.

  "Chocolate and chili."

  "I don't know," she says, scrunching her nose. "That sounds strange as a combo if you ask me."

  "Try this," I say, motioning for her to join me in the kitchen. I spoon some of the sauce from the pan and hold it out to her. "I think you'll like it."

  She leans in, parting her mouth. I place the spoon on her tongue.

  "Good, right?"

  "Oh wow, there's some heat to that, but it's…amazing," she says.

  "Fun fact – chilis are an aphrodisiac."

  She seems interested in that, but also hesitant to believe anything I say. I don't know if it's from the heat of the peppers, or talking about aphrodisiacs, but I notice that her face suddenly looks flush.

  "How do you know so much about food?" she asks. "I had no idea you have culinary skills."

  "I know my way around the kitchen," I smile.

  I watch as she steps away from the kitchen and looks around the apartment.

  "Nice place you've got here," she says.

  "It's my own private oasis in the middle of the city."

  "You do have a lot of privacy here."

  "So," I say with a grin, "what do you do for a living besides making men excited?"

  That catches her attention.

  "You can try to butter me up all you want, but that's not why I'm here," she says.

  I can tell this isn't going to be easy. She has her guard up higher than the Empire State building.

  "What? I can't give you a compliment?"

  She considers this for a moment.

  "I came here to have dinner, not to be pet like some lost pussy cat."

  "A lost pussy," I say, smiling at the pun. "Now that's an interesting thing to think about."

  "Can you get your head out of the gutter for even five minutes?" she says. But as she turns her head away, I detect the hint of a smile forming on her lips.

  It's working. She's slowly letting her guard down.

  "I can't help it," I say. "You're so hot, even my zipper is falling for you."

  I reach down and pretend to pull my zipper up.

  This causes her to laugh. "So, you're an artist, chef, and comedian."

  "Sometimes," I say with a smile.

  "I'll give that one to you," she says. "That was pretty funny."

  I finish cooking dinner, and carry it to the dining table. The entire table is set atop a checkered tablecloth and I made sure to add a bouquet of flowers from the farmer's market.

  Because who doesn't love flowers?

  "You outdid yourself," she smiles. "This looks incredible."

  "Never miss an opportunity to see something beautiful," I say.

  She considers this and nods. "Beauty is such a strange combination of things."

  "It's so hard to qualify, isn't it?" I ask. "I mean, what pleases one person may not please the next. It's sort of like this giant, fascinating puzzle that we're all trying to figure out. But do you know what I think the best part about beauty is?"

  Katherine shakes her head. "No, what's that?"

  "The best part is that no art can truly and fully express it," I say. "As an artist, that's the goal. You chase it, and try to re-create it, and you can come very close, but it's never the exact thing in your mind's eye. I find it fascinating."

  "How many layers do you have?" she smiles. "You can paint, cook, make me laugh, and you're also a philosopher."

  "Is that a good thing?" I ask.

  "A very good thing," she says, and she seems to be blushing all over again. "Consider me charmed."

  "You know, I have a confession to make," I say, pouring her a glass of red wine.

  She looks from the wine to me, and arches an eyebrow. "Oh?"

  "I've read your book."

  "Wait," she says, surprised. "You have?"

  "It's really good. You have so much talent as an artist."

  "Look who's talking?" she says, her grin widening. There's a new sparkle in her e
yes when she turns to face me. "I think you're one of the best painters I've ever seen."

  "You're just saying that," I chuckle.

  She places a hand on my arm. "It's true! I mean it. The way you capture a person's personality in their portrait is incredible."

  I lean forward in my chair, moving closer to her. My heart seems to be kicking in my chest now. Here I am, sitting across a woman who is not only incredibly hot, but who is also an artist. She understands it.

  "Being a creative person is hard," I say. "For the most part, the world doesn't understand it. It's frowned upon in many circles, and every painting I do is a passion project."

  "Yes, exactly" she says. "But only because it has to be fuelled by passion. The most beautiful and creative art in the world isn't seen or touched — it's felt with the heart."

  As soon as she says the word 'heart' I'm acutely aware that mine is already close to bursting. This woman is driving me crazy, and in the best possible way. My pulse feels as if I've just climbed a few flights of stairs.

  I want to touch her. Hold her.

  "I want to show you something," I say, extending my arm across the table and taking her hand in mine. "Come with me."

  We both get up from the table and I lead her into my studio.

  "These are my private works," I say, turning to her.

  "That's incredible Blake," she says, just above a whisper, her eyes scanning each of the paintings. "And what are those?"

  She points to a group of paintings at the other side of the studio. "These pieces are a little more…sensual."

  "I can see that," she says. "Actually, I can feel it."

  I step toward her. I lift my hand, slowly moving it from her face to her hair. I place my hand on the nape of her neck, my fingers tangled in the soft strands of her hair.

  Our gazes lock, and I lean in, pressing my lips to hers. She moans, softly and faintly, and her breaths come in hot little pants. I move my other hand down and wrap it around her waist, pulling her even closer.

  She reaches up, one of her hands caressing my hair now, and the other one softly cupping my neck. She parts her lips, and her warm tongue brushes mine.

  Time officially stops, and for the first time in a long time, I know I'm in trouble.

  Fuck, she just gave a whole new meaning to the word ‘hot’.

  Katherine

  Kissing.

  It’s a simple physical act, but sometimes it can be so much more. Just like putting down words on a page, or slowly moving a brush over a blank canvas…it can be an art form. How it is expressed really depends on the artist.

  And this kiss…

  Blake’s mouth fits perfectly on mine like our lips are matching pieces of the same puzzle, and I just close my eyes and surrender to him. His hands are on my waist as he pulls me into him, our bodies pressed tightly as I use my tongue to part his lips and explore his mouth.

  He tastes differently from all the other men I’ve kissed; his kiss is brimming with desire, but there’s also a certain softness to it as well. The two blend together into something wonderful and pleasurable. Like two contrasting colors mixed beautifully together to create something new, something unique.

  Our tongues dance around one another softly, and I feel myself getting wetter with each passing second. The fabric of my thong is already sticking to my skin, my fluids drenching it as desire takes over me.

  I’ve never been a naive woman – I’m a writer, after all –but I don’t think I’ve ever wanted a man this much in my entire life. It’s as if there’s something special about Blake, something that tells me he’s so much more than meets the eye. There’s an aura about him, one that envelops and subjugates me without a word passing between us.

  “Katherine,” he says, my name hanging heavy in the air around us. I stare into his eyes, my mouth slightly ajar as my heart starts drumming a wild song of lust and sin.

  “Take me,” I find myself saying, the sound of my voice coming out of my lips sweet as honey.

  I don’t think I’ve ever been this direct with a man but, with Blake, I just know small talk isn’t necessary. We merely exchange a glance and we already know everything there is to know.

  He doesn’t reply –he just smiles, his lips curling into a satisfying grin, and then kisses me again. His hands go around my waist and then down, over the curve of my ass cheeks, and he pulls me into him harshly.

  I thrust against him without even thinking, needing to feel my crotch against his; there’s something big there, something long and thick. I can feel it pulsing with a raw hunger that makes my insides clench.

  I place one hand on his chest and slowly slide it down his shirt, only stopping when I find the hem of his pants. I feel his leather belt under my fingertips, and I bite my lower lip as I open my hand wide and prepare to go for his crotch.

  He responds silently, grabbing my hand and, all the while looking into my eyes, places it over the hard shape pushing back against his pants. I bite harder on my lower lip, realizing that his cock is far bigger than I thought it’d be. I try to curl my fingers around its thick shape, but I can barely hold it with just one hand.

  “It’s so…” I start to say, lowering my voice until it becomes just a whisper, but I don’t know how to finish my sentence. It’s so what? Big, huge, enormous? For a writer, I’m suddenly at a loss for words. He’s all that and some more, and I can’t wait to really feel it.

  My heart is beating so fast now that I can barely think straight, but my unconscious mind is still working; letting go of his cock, I go for his belt and unbuckle it. Then, taking a deep breath to steady my hands, I undo the top button on his pants and pull the zipper down.

  His cock is making an impressive tent in his boxer briefs, and I can’t help but look at it. With one finger, I trace its contour, going from its root to the tip. Oh, Jesus, he’s really big.

  I grit my teeth and, moving fast, slide my hand under his boxer briefs and, turning my wrist, I grab his thick shaft. The warmth of his cock spreads to the palm of my hand, and that’s all it takes for me to become a truly wet mess. It won’t be long before my fluids start dripping down my legs.

  “Enjoying yourself?” He asks me, grinning, and the look in his eyes tells me he already knows the answer.

  I just nod, running my tongue between my lips. Holding my breath, I start moving my hand up and down, stroking him softly as the hunger in eyes keeps on growing.

  “Yes…yes, I am,” I admit, suddenly feeling dizzy as I imagine his thick cock trying to push its way past my pussy lips. Is that even physically possible? How will it feel? I don’t know, but I’m sure as hell willing to find out.

  You know, maybe it’ll inspire me. And God knows I need some good inspiration.

  “I’m right here,” he says, leaning into me and brushing his lips against my ear. A shiver climbs up my spine as his deep rugged voice caresses my eardrums. I stop stroking him and just tighten my fingers around his shaft, feeling it pulse against the palm of my hand.

  With one hand on my waist, he pushes me until my back’s against the wall, and then he takes one hand right to between my thighs. He flattens the palm of his hand against my pussy, bunching up my dress in the process. I gasp as he does it, but then I moan as he takes his hand off and slides it under the hemline of my dress, his fingers finding their way to my drenched thong.

  “Fuck, I need to have you,” he says, rubbing his fingers back and forth over the wet fabric, fondling my pussy lips. My muscles tense up under his touch, and it feels like his fingers are made of fire and electricity. There’s something magical to his touch, that’s for sure.

  “You seem tight,” he whispers, that grin of his widening until it becomes devilish, “are you tight, Katherine?”

  “I…I…” I mutter, but I don’t even know what to tell him.

  “Don’t worry, I’ll see that for myself soon enough,” he says, and that image of his cock pushing its way past my drenched folds bubbles up to the surface of my mind once more.
>
  He presses harder on my pussy and I gasp again, my insides clenching with anticipation. Clasping his hand on the fabric, he pulls on it, and I close my eyes as I feel my thong leaving my wet pussy. He pushes it down my legs and, once it falls in a bunch at my feet, I just kick it off.

  His hand is back between my thighs in a heartbeat, and this time it’s a moan that leaves my lips, feeling my naked pussy burning at the touch of his fingers.

  He finds my clit quickly enough and, rubbing on it, he forces my brain to go on overdrive. But he doesn’t linger there for too long –no, his fingers start caressing the length of my pussy, going up and down my wet folds with a maddening slowness.

  Before I know it, I’m moving my hips, thrusting against his hand in pure desperation. I’m not in control of my body anymore –I’m just like a puppet, pleasure pulling the strings and assuming all control. And I don’t care, I don’t care one little bit.

  Using his middle finger, he presses it right on my pussy and starts sliding it in, feeding it into me with that frustrating patience of his. He curls it upward, only stopping when his fingertip feels that hidden spot of pure delight tucked away inside of me.

  “Yes, you’re really tight,” he whispers, pressing so hard on my G-spot that bright lights explode behind my shut eyelids. He doesn’t move his hand –he just holds it there, his finger pressed tight on my G-spot as he rests his thumb over my clit. Pressing on these two spots at the same time, he waits while that high voltage current builds under my skin, electrifying every inch of my aching body.

  Then, he starts fingering me at a furious pace, all that patience thrown to the curb.

  “I can’t wait to be inside of you, Katherine,” he continues, fingering me so hard that I can’t even speak. Even if I could somehow force my mouth to make a sound, I doubt my brain would be able to produce a coherent sentence.

  “Oh…God,” I groan, grabbing at his shirt so hard that my knuckles turn white. I’m gritting my teeth, every muscle in my body tensing up as if concrete was being poured inside them.