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“That’s for the second hour, after I left half a dozen messages on your damn phone, asking you to just call me back and let me know that you were all right.”
His deep voice is level, controlled, but I can hear the raw edge in his words. I can hear the worry he’s carrying, even now, when I’m standing here in front of him, safe and sound and vibrating with desire for him.
The flogger snaps against my ass again, and this time it does hurt. There’s more power in this blow, even though Nick’s voice drops to a tone that’s as tight and raw as I’ve ever heard before.
“Damn you, Avery. That’s for the third hour you were gone without a word—and for how fucking certain I was that I had lost you today.”
“Nick—”
He doesn’t give me a chance to say anything. Not to apologize nor to assure him that I have no intention of walking away from what we have together. Not willingly, anyway. Hell, I’m not even certain I could walk away if I were forced to.
I’m in too deep with him.
Today, more than ever before, I realize that he’s in deep with me too.
I glance over my shoulder, just in time to see that he’s thrown down the flogger. He’s already wearing a condom, and when he comes in close behind me, he is vibrating with sexual heat. I need him inside me with a desperation that rocks me. My body is aching for him. Empty without him.
Gu
iding his cock into the center of my slick, wet folds he impales me on a hard and unforgiving thrust.
A low, guttural roar boils out of him as he pounds into me, his strokes rough and deep. I’ve tasted Nick’s sexual fury before. I know what it is to be swamped by the ferocity of his need, his powerful, ruthless desire.
There is a torment in him, but it’s never been more evident than in this moment. I can’t hold out against it. With my palms and forehead pressed against the glass, I cry his name as my body shatters, every nerve ending detonating with the incredible force of my orgasm.
Nick’s not far behind me. His shout is guttural, animal. The sexiest sound I know. His big body shudders against me, his cock seated so deep inside me I can hardly tell where he ends and I begin.
“You feel that, baby?” His voice rasps beside my ear as his tempo finally slows. “This is real. You, me . . . us.”
“Yes,” I whisper, wanting so badly to believe it, my chest aches with the wish.
Our bodies continue to move together, pressed between the haven of our pretty cage in the sky and the rest of the world teeming and turning outside. The world where real monsters live—my own, and maybe his too—just waiting for the chance to tear us apart one day.
But not today.
Chapter 8
“I was starting to think I’d never see you again.”
Lita flips her safety goggles up as I enter the studio later that week. Today she’s got an old Godsmack CD in the boom box. While drums pound rhythmically and Sully Erna sings about snake bites and voodoo, Lita holds an industrial-size soldering iron in her hand, the metal tip still smoking from whatever she’s working on. She uses it to gesture at my small rollaway that contains my paints and brushes. “Where’s the rest of your shit?”
“This is all of it.” I wheel the box inside, careful not to jostle the large zippered portfolio that’s slung over my shoulder and almost as big as I am.
“You didn’t drag that here on the subway, I hope?”
I glance to the other side of the small studio, where a tall, lanky male artist with a mop of light brown hair has paused his work to stare at me as I come in. He’s got a lean, boyish face and a friendly, open smile.
“No,” I reply. “I, ah, took a car today.” Limousine, actually, but I see no reason to mention that I have a billionaire boyfriend who insisted his driver take me to the studio.
“I’m Matt, by the way. You must be Avery.” When I nod, he tilts his head in the direction of the live model he’s painting—and quite expertly, at that. “This sexy beast is Travis.”
I smile, trying not to gape at the nude, blond male who’s mostly got his back to me, his muscular body twisted just enough to bring out the definition and the beauty of his masculine form. He greets me without breaking his pose. “Hey, Avery.”
“Hello, Travis. Hi, Matt.”
Lita points to the empty easel behind Matt’s workspace. “That’s your spot. Feel free to use the tables and the cloths and anything else you find over there.”
“Okay, thanks.”
