Page 8 of Painted Truths

“Well, I never want to think about you or Cade’s cocks, but that's all I seem to hear about lately. Mostly, where you’re sticking them. You’re a fucking manwhore if I ever met one.”

He laughs good-naturedly at my ribbing, knowing full well I’m right. He rode the success of his bestsellers all the way to the bank, and then rode the banker's wives for shits and giggles.

“Ah, but, DeMarco, I’m one sexy ass manwhore.” Chuckling harder at his exaggerated wink, I’m about to reply, when I catch sight of a head of blonde hair on the stairs near our security who has had the evening from hell keeping all but those Caden deemed the “tastiest pussy” in the club out.

Ever the gentleman, our Cade.

Without so much as acknowledging Nate, I stand and begin to make my way toward the staircase in an attempt to ensure my eyes aren’t playing tricks on me. Spotting that same blonde head, now engaged in conversation with Burt, whose lips are tipped into something suspiciously smile-like and whose perma-scowl seems to have disappeared for the first time since we arrived, I lengthen my strides to close the distance in mere seconds, despite the crowd.

Just before I reach my destination, or perhaps that should be quarry, because the way I’m stalking toward her makes me feel like a hunter closing in on its prey, she spots me, her eyes widening like a deer in the headlights.

“I’ve got it from here, Burt.” I nod at the chain keeping my beauty from entering the room, and Burt quickly unlocks it, holding it open so that she can enter.

I’m taken aback by the sound of her laughter. It’s like a wind chime, and Tinkerbell made a baby, and it’s, undoubtedly, the most beautiful sound I’ve ever heard.

Until the next words leave her mouth. “Who says I want to come in?” Her eyes sparkle with mischievous delight at my apparent confusion.

The first thing that registers is the fact that the sound of her voice instantly has my cock stiffening uncomfortably in my pants. The second, she doesn’t seem set to fall at my feet like the rest of the female species.

Women tend to throw themselves at all three of us at all times of the day and night. We’re accustomed to not having to graft.

And the thought that I may have to work for this one makes my semi throb painfully against the fabric of my jeans.

The thrill of the chase.

I knew I’d always been a sadistic bastard.

Inclining my head, with my hand on my heart and a cheeky grin plastered to my face, in an exaggerated toff accent my father would be proud of, I tell her, “My most heartfelt apologies to the most beautiful woman I have ever laid eyes upon. I had but hoped to make your acquaintance.”

Laying it on with a trowel, I extend my hand in the hopes she will take it, lift my head to display my teasing, now fully loaded smile, and seal it with what I’ve been told is a cheeky-as-fuck wink.

Once again, I’m greeted by her tinkling laugh before she accepts my outstretched palm, placing her petite fingers on it.

A bolt of electricity runs from her fingers into mine and all the way up my arm, hitting me square in the chest. Her eyes, which up until that point had been laser-focused on my hand, shoot up to meet mine, meaning one thing.

She felt it too.

Her smile widens impossibly, displaying her enticingly deep dimples to perfection, and I find my lips mirroring hers.

Jesus, who the hell am I, and when did I turn into a complete fucking idiot?

Still holding her hand in mine, I draw her closer and weave our way towards the back of the room near the door we entered through earlier. I turn from the table I’ve nabbed for us to alert our server of my desire for two drinks, which he delivers within seconds of having seated my little Miss Peaches and even before I have taken a seat for myself.

“Dom okay for you?” I nod at her drink, which she moves to pick up from the low table in front of her. She smiles almost shyly before taking a sip from her champagne flute. “It’s delicious. Thank you.”

Having barely spoken more than a handful of words, it’s crazy to feel this level of attraction between us.

The desire is palpable. Tangible. The ultimate aphrodisiac.

Up close, she’s even more mouth-wateringly delicious than I had earlier thought.

Younger too.

Caden’s pulling motto races through my brain: before you tap it, make sure you wrap it.

No, you twat, not that one.

I shake my head before asking, “You’re old enough to drink that, right?”