Page 119 of Painted Truths

Wrapping his arms around my waist, encouraging me to arch my back even further, Henry pulls my ass back, seating himself impossibly deeper inside me. And my greedy pussy swallows his onslaught, begging for more.

Harder.

Deeper.

Our bodies are in perfect alignment, and nothing in this world has ever felt more right. More destined.

"You love that, don't you, Peach? You love when I use your body—when I fuck this juicy cunt."

Henry's hand reaches up from my hip to tweak my nipple. It hurts oh-so-good. Sending a flood of moisture to my centre, drenching his shaft in my arousal before moving his other hand to my clit. Slapping my pussy with the flat of his fingers, I whimper against the glass before he circles them several times, gathering my juices and then moving his hand to where our bodies meet. He gently runs along my outer lips once, then twice, before slowly inserting his middle finger alongside his ravaging cock. The added friction of his thumb pressed firmly against my clit while his finger stretches me even further, has me pushing back against him with utter abandon.

He groans blissfully, his mouth on my shoulder, his breath coming in heavy pants as he hits deeper with every emphasised word, "So… fucking… wet."

Biting into my shoulder blade, not at all softly, I can feel my pussy begin to clench. That pained pleasure once again brings me closer to completion as I press harder against the cool glass.

"Don't stop, don't stop, don't stop." My chant only encourages him as his hips pump faster and faster, and without warning, I erupt around him, howling his name as a mind-blowing, earth-shattering orgasm rips through me, milking his cock. He groans loudly, holding himself far within my centre—so deep that I can feel his savage warmth jettison deep inside as each thick rope sends undulating waves of pleasure through my ravaged body.

My forehead is pressed against the cool glass. Chin down, desperately gasping for air as though all the oxygen had been sucked from the room. I begin to recede from our coming together when he presses a soft kiss on each shoulder blade before tenderly pulling his still rock-hard cock from my aching folds.

Taking breath after deep breath, Henry meets my eyes before smiling that devastating smile of his, the delicious one that turns my insides outside before he scoops me up into his arms, hugging me close to his broad, sweat-slicked chest.

"That was quite the welcome. I hope you don't treat all your house guests like that."

My lips quirk while his chest rumbles with deep laughter.

Having crossed the living space, Henry carries me down a very unlived-in hallway before entering the master bedroom and crossing to the adjoining ensuite. There he cleans me silently and gently of our dual releases, planting adoration filled kisses on the most random of body parts—my right knee, my left eyelid, over my heart, the tip of my nose.

Shucking his ruined shirt, he places it over my shoulders, tugging it closed over my exposed breasts before taking my hand in his, a small smile playing on his lips.

"Firstly, you're not a house guest, Peach. Tomorrow, we'll move you in properly, and we'll make this place our home. Okay?"

I can't quell the surge of delight that flows through me at his words as I smile broadly in reply.

"And secondly, come with me." He softly pulls my hand, encouraging me to follow him. "I need to show you something."

Walking back out of the bedroom and further down the hall, he opens a door right at the end. I enter just behind him to see all the odds and ends that make up a very much lived-in artist's studio—in total contrast to the rest of the penthouse.

"Is this where you painted your gift for Caden and Layla?"

He nods. "This is the only place I use when I'm here. I've lost count of the number of nights I've fallen asleep on that goddamn futon."

Shrugging his shoulders with a self-deprecating half-smile firmly in place, he lets go of my hand to stand at my back. Then, placing his hands on either bicep, he slowly turns me to face the door we've just come through, and the sight before me drives all breath from my body.

Directly above the door, there's an exceptionally detailed painting of a beautiful blonde woman dressed in black, tight-fitting clothes, her arms raised above her head as though in motion. Eyes closed with a slight smile on her upturned face, she looks… utterly happy. There are various hues of greens, reds, and yellows dotted throughout, giving the image an almost lifelike presence. It's stunning.

Once I manage to tear my eyes away, I look at the paintings and sketches tacked haphazardly to the wall on either side to find dozens of blue eyes staring back at me in darker hues.

"It took forever to get the colour just right."

My stomach drops before filling to bursting with a myriad of butterflies, ready to take flight at a moment's notice.

"Is that—” I swallow roughly and try again. “Is that me?" My voice raises in incredulity on the final word, earning me a deep chuckle from the man pressed close to my back.

"Peaches, I kept my distance out of respect for my father's wishes. I've spent two years telling myself that. I forced myself to swallow that you were with my brother when I had no reason to believe it. Not after the undeniable connection we'd shared that night."

Stepping in front of me, he puts a finger underneath my chin and gently meets my awed gaze.

"It wasn't until after the night at the O2 that I realised the truth and made a vow to fight for you. I had stayed away because you deserve so much more than the half-man I have spent my entire adult life being. But in choosing to fight for you, I also choose to fight to be the man you deserve."