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I heave a sigh and plop into a chair, deflating. “I’m sorry, Vi. I just…” I shake my head. “I really like Declan, okay? He’s not who you think he is.”
“And you know that for sure?” Violet counters, scowling. “He could just have been acting nice on that one date. He could still be a total nutjob–he probably is, if he has to pay girls to bang him. And why virgins, anyway?”
“Look, I don’t know—”
“You didn’t think to ask that?”
“He’s nice, that’s all.” I shake my head.
Vi sighs, then finally drops my shirt on the table and heads to the door. On her way out, she slides the box toward me. I watch her go, feeling guilty and a little worried. Maybe she’s right. Maybe I shouldn’t see him again. Maybe it’s weird how much we’ve been messaging, how often I think about him, this guy I’ve only just met and barely know. I mean, I missed work today because I was up all night talking to him. I’ve never done that before.
He warned me I’d get addicted to him, and now here I am. Falling straight into the trap.
Finally, I push myself out of my chair and cross the room, picking up the box. Its size is deceiving. It’s heavy. I carry it to the table, wondering what I forgot I ordered. Or maybe it’s from my dad? He sends presents sometimes, care packages with stuff from home he thinks I’ll miss.
I set it on the table and cut through the packing tape. Peel back the flaps to reveal a ton of packing material. And when I dig through the packing fluff…
My mouth drops open.
No way.
But of course, I shouldn’t be surprised. I knew money was no object to him.
I lift the cat vase sculpture out of the box, a smile growing on my face. It looks even more beautiful than it did in the gallery, when I dove onto the floor to catch it and protect it from that jerk that knocked it over.
I set the vase on the table, and sit down to study it. I take in the fine glass, follow the smoke curling up toward the ceiling. It’s exquisite.
Violet is wrong. I know exactly what kind of man Declan is.
7
Second date. It’s odd, but I feel like I already know Declan so much better than I would on a typical second date. After all, we spent the entire week messaging each other.
Now the weekend has finally come, and Declan invited me to his condo for dinner. I text Violet the address just to get her off my back since she’s been badgering me nonstop about safety procedures and sending me articles about girls who have been kidnapped by cyber-stalkers. I roll my eyes at her messages, but tell her the address nonetheless, because I know it’ll make her relax a little.
She’ll forgive me eventually, I tell myself as I stand in Declan’s lobby, straightening my dress. The doorman smiles and waves me through, and a short elevator ride later, I’m standing in an elegant foyer. It’s the penthouse.
I chose my sexiest dress this time, the loose silk fabric clinging just enough at my hips to show off my waist, the hemline skimming my thighs and making my legs look longer than they are.
For makeup, I stuck to my usual go-to, just a touch of lipstick and eye shadow, since I’m not great at doing more than that. Apparently, it’s enough, since the moment Declan opens the door, his eyes go dark with desire. The smile on his face is positively irresistible, on top of that.
“Come on in,” he says, stepping aside so I can pass him. The place smells amazing, like garlic roasting in olive oil.
It looks amazing too, and my eyes widen as I take in the foyer and the condo beyond. There’s a massive staircase, old-school and Victorian, curving up away from the front door toward a balcony. I can just make out a few doorways along it, probably to bedrooms upstairs.
Down here, there’s a marble floor in ornate colors, gold and silver intermingled with black marble. The whole place looks like a cross between a Victorian-era mansion and a more modern stylish condo, with touches like the Chihuly-style glass chandelier curving overhead updating the look for a modern touch.
“Yes,” Declan says, catching the direction in which I’m staring. “That’s a Chihuly.”
My mouth drops open now. I’ve always been a fan of the famous glassblower’s work, but I’ve never even seen one of his pieces in real life, let alone met someone who owned one.
The place only gets more insane, as I trail him deeper into the house, past paintings in every style: from Romance-era to crazy modern abstract portraits. By the time we reach the kitchen, which itself is decked out like a professional chef’s, complete with enormous granite counters, all new stainless steel equipment, and another painting, this one, photorealistic still life. At first, I to the thought it was a photo until I leaned in close and realized it’s drawn in ballpoint pen.
“What do you do for a living?” I ask, marveling, even as Declan steps around me to reach for the stove and stir something cooking there.
“Oh, a little of this, little of that.”
I must have cast him a suspicious look because he laughs at the expression on my face.
“Nothing sinister. I work in the art world.” His smile widens. “I own a few art galleries, both here and in a few other cities around the country. But I also run a company dedicated to restoring antique art pieces for museum collections. That’s my real passion, though the galleries tend to pay a bit better,” he adds, with an almost lamenting sigh.
“You really do love art,” I comment, stepping closer to him.
He glances at me, gaze sharpening. “Yes, well. I love one-of-a-kind things… Especially the unique, untouched ones.”
I swallow hard, my mouth going dry. “Is that why you like virgins?” I ask, feeling brave and stepping closer to him.
He meets me halfway, the stovetop all but forgotten as we gaze into one another’s eyes. “It might have something to do with it.” His gaze trails down my body, taking in every inch of me. Normally I’d feel subconscious or shy about a guy checking me out so blatantly, but with him, it feels sexy. I can feel myself getting turned on, my legs tightening as a now-familiar wave of moisture builds between them.
“So I seem like a work of art to you?” I ask, joking, flirtatious as I take one more step closer. We’re close enough to touch now, and I am keenly aware of how long it’s been since he last touched me. How long I’ve had to wait to feel his arms around me again.
“Better,” he breathes, leaning close, his mouth a mere breath from mine. “You’re more unique than any painting. You’re living art.” His mouth sinks into mine, and I groan faintly into the kiss, my knees giving way as his arms wrap around my waist, pinning my body against his.
We stumble backward, or rather, I stumble, him leading the way. He takes us past the stove, and switches off the burner as we pass, before he scoops me fully into his arms, our mouths still locked, and carries me out of the kitchen into a side room.
He tosses me onto a chaise lounge, then kneels over me, both of us grinning.
“I guess dinner isn’t ready yet, hmm?” I ask, teasing.
“I’d rather eat dessert first, wouldn’t you?” he counters, one eyebrow lifted. Then he’s kissing me again, his lips tracing my jawline, down the side of my neck. He nibbles at the sensitive spot where my neck meets my collarbone, and I moan softly, sinking back into the chaise.
“You,” he breathes into my collarbone. “Are.” He lifts my dress slowly, and I sit forward to let him pull it off. “Perfection,” he finishes as he drops the dress onto the floor beside us, then leans down to unclasp my bra next. When he’s tossed that aside, he trails his hands up my torso, his fingertips grazing the edges of my breasts. He traces every inch of me except my breasts, first, his hands exploring my belly, my sides, my neck, all along my chest, until finally, his fingertips circle my breasts.
“I can’t get enough of you, Joyce,” he murmurs. He leans in, hands tightening on my breasts, massaging. I can feel my nipples beginning to harden, even faster when his warm fingers ghost them. He pinches slightly, and I gasp at the shock of sensatio
n, halfway between pain and pleasure. It’s intense, more than I thought it could be, especially when he keeps going.
Then his mouth is on me, his tongue swirling around my nipple, sucking me into his mouth. He moans softly, his lips vibrating against my skin, and I moan with him, wrapping an arm around his neck, burying my other hand in his hair as my head falls back with pleasure. He toys with me, nipping and sucking at my breasts, his teeth tightening just enough to elicit a soft yelp of shock from me before he laps at my nipple again. Pleasure and pain, pain and pleasure, in an alternating tempo that makes my pussy clench and the moisture between my legs grow.
