by Naomi West
“What is this place?” asked Carey once the bike had been pulled into a stop. “Another drug den full of art?”
Owen let out a brief, dry chuckle. “Nope,” he said. “Just a place I crash sometimes.”
Owen led her up the stone steps of the townhome and to the grand front doors made of dark wood, a small light hanging over them. Opening the doors, he revealed a gorgeous entry hall, a spiral staircase leading to the second floor.
“Nice place,” said Carey, looking around at the tasteful, masculine décor.
But Owen wasn’t in the mood to talk. Her hand still in his, he led her up the stairs, down the hall on the second floor, and into a large bedroom. Once there, he turned her towards him and looked down at her with those cutting eyes of his, gazing at her as if he were looking right into her soul. Carey opened her mouth slightly to speak, but no words came out. Owen placed his hands on her hips and brought her close enough to him that she could feel the heat from his body. Her heart pounded in her chest, and at that moment she felt he could do whatever he wanted with her.
And what he wanted was a kiss.
He leaned in and placed his lips on hers. However, unlike before, this kiss wasn’t rough and animalistic—it was tender and soft, his lips lingering on hers as he held her close. Carey was struck by that—there was so much that she was able to understand about just what was going through Owen’s mind simply by the way he kissed and held her. She sensed that there was almost a longing to how he kissed her, as though he’d been waiting to do this since the day they’d shared together. The kiss was chaste at first, but soon their tongues were intertwined as Carey put her hands on his body and caressed his muscles over his shirt.
A moan escaped from her lips as she touched his body.
“I’ve been waiting for this,” said Carey. “I didn’t want to admit it to myself, but I’ve been wanting it for days.”
Owen’s lips moved down her jaw, along her neck, and over the top of her chest. Each kiss sent a new wave of pleasure through her body, his lips on her skin like electricity.
“You have no idea,” he said, his voice a sensual growl.
His hands moved from her hips to under her shirt, and soon they were under her bra, his fingers teasing her nipples. The sensation was almost too much for Carey to bear, and she felt as though her legs might give out from underneath her. Eagerly, she pulled off his tight white T-shirt and exposed the body that she’d been lusting for. Her eyes flicked from one tattoo to another, and she was in disbelief by just how much they turned her on.
Owen didn’t waste any time getting Carey out of her clothes. He pulled her shirt off over her head and quickly unfastened her bra. Soon, they were both in nothing but their pants.
Before Carey could say or do anything else, Owen scooped her off of the ground and held her in his arms, carrying her towards the bed. Carey loved the feeling of being held by him in this way, feeling herself grow wetter by the moment at the ease with which he was able to lift her, his muscles bulging as he held her.
Gently, he set her down on the bed. Leaning over her, he took her breasts into his hands and kissed her nipples gently, on after another, the sensation forcing Carey to take in a sharp breath of air. She crossed her legs together in delight, savoring the feeling of Owen’s mouth and tongue on her breasts. Once he’d had his fun, he moved down, undoing the button and zipper of her jeans and slipping them off of her, leaving Carey in nothing but a black thong. With another pull, that was soon off of her body. Owen moved his hands up her legs slowly, clearly enjoying the feeling of each square inch of her delicate flesh.
Once his hands reached her inner thighs, he pulled her legs apart, exposing her sex to him. Carey watched as his ice-blue eyes narrowed as he took in the sight of her pussy before him, another low growl escaping from his sensual lips. He then placed his mouth on her inner thigh, kissing her more, moving up bit by bit until he was just at her sex. Once there, he turned his attention to her lips, kissing her teasingly just around where she truly wanted him.
Then, slowly, he began to work his tongue over her pussy. Carey let out a long, lingering moan as his mouth began to pleasure her, as if the tension that had been building up over the last week was finally able to be released. He started slowly, dragging his tongue over her clit, the pleasure shooting through her body like fire. Soon, however, his pace quickened and he attacked her pussy with hungry laps of his tongue, slipping his fingers inside of her as he did. Carey thrashed and moaned as he ate her, running her hands over the short stubble of his shaved head, guiding him just where she wanted him. She listened to the wet sounds of him eating her, falling into a trance of pure ecstasy
Owen didn’t have to keep at it for long before the orgasm that had been building in her since his mouth first touched her pussy broke free and tore through her body. The pleasure was almost too much, and all Carey could do was thrash her hips and hold on her dear life. She grabbed onto Owen’s head hard, making sure that he stayed just in the spot he was, that he continued to pleasure her in just the right way that kept the orgasm pulsing through her body.
When the orgasm passed, Owen propped himself up on his arms and crawled towards Carey until he was right on top of her. Carey didn’t waste any time undoing his belt and zipper, and after a quick yank of his jeans, Owen was soon just as nude as she was, his massive cock hanging down hard and straight, pointing right at Carey’s waiting pussy. Once he was nude, Carey reached down and took hold of his enormous member, stroking it eagerly, loving how thick and hot it felt in her hand.
But she didn’t want it to be just in her hand.
“Tell me what you want,” said Owen, staring down at her with those ice-blue eyes.
“You know what I want,” Carey moaned, barely able to take the anticipation.
“I want to hear you say it.”
Carey swallowed, hardly able to speak with just how much she wanted his cock inside of her.
“I … want you to fuck me. I want it so goddamn bad.”
The small smirk that formed on Owen’s lips made it clear that was just what he wanted to hear. Carey still holding his prick in her hands, he lowered his body onto hers, sliding himself into her with liquid smoothness. Carey let out another sharp gasp as he entered her, looking down and watching every inch of him disappear inside of her. She could still hardly believe that she was able to accommodate the entire length of his cock, but as he buried himself in her, she loved just how full it made her feel.
Once he was fully inside of her, Carey placed her hands on his slim, hard hips as he began to rock up and down, moving just how she wanted him. Carey moaned, closing her eyes tight and focusing on the pleasure that took hold of her body. Owen penetrated her over and over again, shoving his prick into her and steadily increasing the tempo. As he fucked her, Carey moved her hands all over his body, taking in the sensation of his stone-solid muscles as she watched them flex and tense. Eventually, her hands made their way to his ass, and she pressed hard on his firm cheeks, guiding him into her.
Soon, his thrusts began to take on a faster, rhythmic pace. The increased speed caused the pleasure stirring in Carey to build and build, and she realized that another orgasm was on the way. Her moans became tight shrieks and moans, and her eyes winced shut as she focused on the pleasure moving through her body.
“Oh my God,” she said, repeating the words over and over like a chant. “Don’t stop; please don’t stop.”
She could tell that he didn’t have any intention of it. He fucked her harder, driving deep into her again and again.
The second orgasm was somehow more powerful than the first. Carey let out a long sigh as the orgasm exploded into her body, the feeling so intense that she felt as though she just might come apart at the seams. It was like a white-hot light was pulsing through her and stimulating the entirety of her being with an ecstasy that she could hardly imagine.
With a deep grunt from the bottom of his lungs, Owen came hard. His body shook as he came, Carey’s
hands still on his ass and making sure he stayed in her good and deep as he unloaded himself into her. The feeling of him cumming was the extra little something that she needed to take her pleasure to the next level. Closing her eyes, she imagined his cock inside of her, picturing what it looked like as it sprayed its load.
Soon, they both were finished. Owen collapsed onto his side, placing his hand on Carey’s belly as they lay contentedly.
She couldn’t help but smile.
Chapter Eight
Carey
“About damn time you showed up.”
The voice of Amber Reese, the artist for whom Carey had been interning, was cutting. Not looking up from the massive scrap sculpture in front of her, Amber pointed with a slim, magenta-nail-tipped finger towards one of the many long, wooden tables that filled the interior of the studio space.
Carey, her arms loaded with art supplies, food, and other items off of the checklist Amber had given her earlier in the day, plopped the supplies down on the table and took a long breath.
“Sighing already?” asked Amber, her hands on her slim hips as she regarded the work in front of her. “Doesn’t bode well for the rest of the day.”
“I’m not sighing,” said Carey. “Just, um, exhausted from running up the stairs with all of the things.”
Amber, a reedy, middle-aged woman dressed in stylish yet practical clothing, had already turned her attention to one of the other nearby interns, directing her to do one thing or another while Carey shook her head and went over the supplies one more time to make sure that everything was there.
Once the checklist was complete, Carey leaned back against the table and looked around the studio. The industrial-looking space was a small yet bustling hive of activity, all centered on Amber, the queen bee. She’d been a hard taskmaster over the last six weeks or so, treating Carey like her own personal servant girl. Taking her coffee out of the Styrofoam tray and popping open the plastic top, she wondered just how many half-calf extra foam lattes, exactly, she’d been sent to fetch since her time at the studio started.
Too many, she thought to herself, taking a sip of the coffee and catching her breath.
But she knew the experience would eventually be a good one for her. Sure, she hated the way that Amber would get her attention by—
A sharp snapping sound cut through the air, jolting Carey out of her reverie. Amber was snapping her fingers while not even looking in her direction, but Carey had learned quite a bit about just how a studio worked. Amber could be a tyrant, but she knew what it took to have her interns work efficiently as they collaborated to have Amber’s many commissions finished and shipped by their deadlines.
“Mouse, hand me that pair of needle-nose pliers, would you?” said Amber, holding out her hand towards Carey.
“Mouse” had been Amber’s nickname for Carey during her time there, taken from Carey’s bookish, unassuming dress and demeanor. Carey wasn’t crazy about having a nickname like that, but she did her best not to take it personally. After all, the other three girls all had nicknames as well, based on some quirk of their appearance or personality. Amber’s excuse was that she didn’t have time to memorize the names of every intern who came through her doors for a few weeks, and any attempt to imprint them into her mind was precious space that could otherwise be used on her projects.
At least, that’s what she told the girls.
Carey snatched the needle-nose pliers and placed them into Amber’s bony hand, backing away as she did as though she was defusing a bomb.
“Hmm,” said Amber, stepping away from the piece and running a hand through her green-tipped blonde hair. “What do you think, Mouse?”
Carey couldn’t believe what she was hearing. She’d heard her share of requests and demands over the last few weeks, but never once had one of them been for advice. She could hardly think straight through the shock.
“I, um, think that—”
Amber rolled her hand through the air in an “on with it” motion.
“You’re going to need to learn how to project that squeaky little voice of yours, young lady,” said Amber, turning her emerald green eyes onto Carey and narrowing them. “See how far whispering like that gets you when you’re trying to issue orders to staff backstage in the last five minutes before a show opening.”
Carey cleared her throat. “I think that it’s a little heavy on the base,” she said, gesturing to the accumulation of gears and metal pipes at the bottom of the piece. “Maybe moving some of them up to the, um, middle would give the piece a little more in the way of balance. “
Amber placed her small, pert chin in the crook of her finger, considering the idea. “Hm. Maybe.”
She then turned her attention back to one of the other interns and barked out one order or another.
Carey felt light on her feet. Despite not being certain of just how her suggestion had been received, she couldn’t help but feel a little thrilled at even being asked. Turning her eyes back to the piece, however, she really had no idea what to make of it. It appeared to her as less a piece of art and more an assemblage of random items from a junkyard. She had no idea what Amber was intending with the sculpture, let alone why rich Bostonians were so keen on paying tens of thousands of dollars for them, and all she could do was give her opinion from her own aesthetic sense.
Maybe that’s what she wants, thought Carey, taking another sip of her coffee. I mean, I’m the only one here who actually knows how to paint.
A vibration from her pocket brought her back into reality. Amber hated phones in the workspace—she was convinced that screens interfered with the creative process—so Carey set down her coffee and ducked into the bathroom to see just who was texting her. She had a hope of who it was, however. Shutting the bathroom door behind her, she slipped her phone out of her pocket.
Hey, Kid. How’s Mistress Scrap Metal?
It was Owen, and Carey couldn’t help but smile as she looked at the text.
This was the development over the last few weeks that she was most happy about. Ever since their night at the party, Owen and Carey had been just about inseparable. Whatever night wasn’t taken up by Carey’s work at the studio or the restaurant, or Owen’s duties with his motorcycle club, was spent together. Carey couldn’t believe that she was dating a man like him, or what a rough guy like him would even see in a shy artist like her, but she wasn’t about to second-guess her good fortune.
The usual. Though she actually asked me for my opinion on something.
Moments later came the reply.
You serious? Praise from Caesar.
She quickly typed up her next message.
I know; I still can’t believe it. Anyway, I can only pretend I’m going to the bathroom for so long. Meet up tonight?
You know it.
Carey smiled as she placed her phone back into her pocket. Checking her watch, she saw that she was just about done with her time at the studio. After that, she had to hurry to be on time to her shift at the French Café, the upscale little bistro where she and Lily had been working over the summer. Then, after that, it was all about her and Owen. She found herself counting down the time until they could see each other once again, like a little kid counting down the time until her birthday. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d been this excited about anything.
She finished up her time at the studio and hurried back to the place she shared with Lily to quickly change into the white blouse and black skirt that she wore for her other job. But as she finished with the last couple of buttons on her shirt, a strange feeling gripped her. It was a sharp, intense nausea that felt like a sickly hand wrapping around her stomach. Her eyes going wide as she looked at herself in the mirror, Carey rushed to the bathroom, fell in front of the toilet, and vomited just a bit. She felt instantly better once she’d gotten whatever it was out of her system.
What the hell was that? she thought, quickly brushing her teeth and otherwise making herself presentable once again.
; Shaking her head as she hurried back into her bedroom, she chalked it up to nerves while she finished making herself ready. But the explanation didn’t sit well with her; she felt as though something was very wrong.
After catching the bus, Carey soon arrived at the French Café, which was a chic, sunny bistro in the nice part of town. The place was only a few minutes from opening, and the small dining room floor was, like the art studio, a bustle of activity as well-dressed and attractive waiters and waitresses hurried to put the place in order for the dinner shift.
“There you are,” said Lily, standing in front of a mirror in the dining room and tying her bowtie. “I was worried you were gonna be late or something.”
“And miss all of this?” asked Carey, gesturing to the dining room floor around her. “Not for the world.”
“You complain, but you love it,” said Lily, putting the finishing touches on her uniform. “After all, you get to spend just about every night with me, the most fun person in the world.”