Serving Pleasure (12 page)

“It’s my early work.” His voice was even flatter, if possible, his dark eyes piercing. “The paintings at the gallery were purposefully marked lower than anything I’ve done in ten years. The manager realized the resale potential is not there.”

“Why not?”

He didn’t answer her question, but asked one of his own. “What else?”

“News articles. Lots of news articles.”

He closed his eyes briefly and then opened them again. “There it is.”

She swallowed. “I didn’t click on them,” she murmured. “Not the articles.”

His chest lifted. “Why not?”

The headlines flashed in front of her eyes.
Artist Attacked in his Studio. Artist Left for Dead. Attempted Murder in the Docklands. Jealous Lover Attempts Murder, Takes Girlfriend Hostage.

She gave a halfhearted shrug, unable to articulate all the ways she’d been disturbed by the thought of reading the gory details. It felt far more voyeuristic then watching him in his studio. “I don’t know. Maybe ’cause we’d just talked about not crossing any more weird boundaries with each other?”

“Clicking on the articles would have crossed a line but Googling me didn’t?”

She eyed him as if he had sprouted two heads. “Um, honey, Googling is normal. I feel bad for people who don’t Google. It’s healthy.”

Another lip twitch.

Since she was being so honest, she continued. “I did read the headlines before I clicked away.”

His face was like granite. “They were sensational, if I remember correctly.”

“Yeah.” She poked at the roll on her plate. “Sounds like you went through a rough time.”

“It was years ago. I’m over it. So if you’re only here because you feel sorry for me—”

“Would you kick me out if I was only here because I feel sorry for you?” she interrupted.

His jaw clenched, and she held her breath, gambling over the fact
she
probably wouldn’t kick this man out of her life even if he did come to her out of pity.

This was all his fault. All of it. Rana might have pined over him a bit, but she’d been moving on. The memories of their night together would have faded eventually. Then this beautiful asshole had come waltzing back into her life, offering her the sweetest of things, the things she craved.

Lust. Excitement. Desire. Attention.

She could have them. Extend their affair. Get everything she needed from him. Because, God, she needed.

And then she would walk away. There was no other choice.

“No.” He responded to her question quietly. “I would not kick you out. I don’t think I could.”

She closed her hands into fists to hide the trembling. “I don’t feel sorry for you, by the way, so relax. I won’t pry into what happened. If you want to tell me, that’s fine. If you don’t feel comfortable, that’s fine too.”

His eye twitched. “Good.”

“I’ll pose for you.”

He jerked. She hadn’t realized how tightly controlled he’d been, until he looked at her like this. Like he wanted to throw her down and bite into her the way she had those cinnamon buns.

Maybe she wasn’t the only one with a craving.

He opened his mouth, but she raised her hand. “I have some conditions.”

He subsided, his shoulders tensing imperceptibly, but he gave a nod.

“Like you said, it can’t interfere with my job. We’re rolling out a second location right now, and I’ve been doing a lot of the legwork. Plus, there’s my regular shifts at the restaurant. I don’t know how long this will take, but I’m not going to check out on my sisters.”

His voice vibrated with intensity. “That’s simple enough. We can work around your schedule. As for how long… I’ve had models for a few days to a few weeks. It depends on how quickly I’m able to work, and that varies.”

“Okay. Let’s say a few weeks, to be on the safe side.”
And because I want as long with you as possible
, she thought guiltily. “You’ll pay me for my time. This is going to be as professional as we can make it. I want you to treat me like a real model.”

To that, he nodded immediately. “I didn’t imagine anything else.”

“I’ll leave the actual compensation to you.” She raised an eyebrow. “But I’ve seen what you sell your paintings for, so don’t cheap out.”

His head dipped. “Understood.”

“I will, however, need you to agree that you can’t use my face. You can paint me from the neck down. Or hide my face some other way. I can’t be easily recognizable.”

At that, he balked. “I love your face.”

Her heart hitched.
Dummy. I love your face is different from I love you, as you well know. And you don’t want his love.
“Be that as it may, my family won’t be cool with seeing nudes of me, even if it is art. So I want to remain anonymous.”

“This is a hard line?”

The phrase brought to mind sex, of course, but she knew he didn’t intend it that way. She crossed her arms over her chest. “A very hard line.”

His lips compressed. “Fine. But…I often spend part of my early time with a model sketching various parts of them so I can become familiar with their face and body, and I will do that with you.”

Oh, okay, yeah, you can totally get comfortable with my face and body
. “That’s fine. I don’t want my face ever put in public, is all.”

He gave a short nod. “Very well.”

“Okay.” She took a deep breath. This was the tricky part. “Now. The sex.”

He looked away from her, intently studying the window. Though the place wasn’t decorated, it was cleaner than her own. Maybe because he didn’t use the kitchen for anything other than mixing protein shakes.

“What about it?”

She pushed her plate out of the way. “I want to have sex with you. Again and again and again.”

He had turned back to her, his eyes darkening while she spoke, his hands gripping the edge of the table. Talk about craving. He looked like he was ready to leap over the thing and tackle her.

She would be okay with that.

“You’re the first man I’ve been with in a year.”

He frowned at her confession.

“Not because I don’t like sex. I love it. But as my mother keeps reminding me, I’m getting too old for hook-ups.”

At that, he frowned harder. “How old are you?”

“Thirty-two.”

“You’re three years younger than me.”

Her mouth twisted. “And if I were a dude, no one would ever hassle me about my age and my reproductive organs. But there you have it. I’m not a dude. Wouldn’t want to be one, really. Penises seem like a lot of work.”

“They have their moments.”

“Where was I?”

“You’re decrepit,” he said dryly.

“Right. Putting aside my age, I feel like it’s time for me to settle down. I want to find love. Maybe get married.” She smiled wryly at the flash of panic in his eyes. “That doesn’t mean I want to have your babies. I’m just saying where my head’s at.”

“But you still want to…”

“Have sex with you. Yes. And that’s my final condition.” Rana took a deep breath. “You can’t fall in love with me.”

“
M
ore importantly
, I can’t fall in love with you either.” Rana tucked her hair behind her ear. “Don’t get me wrong. It’s not like I fall in love easily. I’ve had flings. But like I said, my head’s not in the same place it used to be in. We both walk, no hard feelings, if that becomes a danger, okay?” Rana stared at Micah expectantly, her face open and honest. In her white tank top and yellow skirt, she looked like a fresh daisy plopped into a barren field.

Was he supposed to be annoyed at her implication that he was Mr. Right Now while she searched for Mr. Right? He wasn’t. He would take whatever she gave him, a dog satisfied with scraps.

There was a slight risk he might fall in love with her. A risk because she seemed rather loveable. Slight because he couldn’t even love his family properly anymore. What made him think he could love anyone else?

The reverse, however, was unlikely to happen. Maybe if she’d met him a few years ago, she might have fallen for him. There was no danger of that with the man he was today.

If she did foolishly show any signs of love, he’d end things, no matter how he felt. She deserved far better than him.

“I have two conditions as well,” he said, his voice unexpectedly hoarse.

She motioned for him to continue.

“You don’t date anyone while we’re together.”

“Obviously.”

Her immediate agreement soothed him. Micah swallowed, this issue having occurred to him last night, while he lay alone and sleepless in his bed. “And I don’t want you to stare at my back.”

Her eyes dipped to his lips. To the scar that bisected the upper lip and then traveled over his cheek. He couldn’t hide that one, but it didn’t bother him as much. The cut had been deep, but not as deep as the wounds on his back and side.

“Is it scarred? From the attack?”

Micah inwardly flinched, though he kept his face impassive. Most people tended to call it the incident or the accident—like it was something unpleasant he had simply bumbled into, not something that had been thrust upon him.

The attack.

He could correct Rana, but he didn’t want to. Something about the jarring roughness of the word felt good, like a dash of cold water on his overheated face. “Yes.”

“That’s why you wouldn’t let me turn the light on that night? Why you took your shirt off last?”

It was also why, even when he’d paraded in front of her nude in his studio, he’d been careful to keep his scars out of her line of vision. “Yes.”

She rose from her chair. He had to fight his embarrassment when it made a loud creaking noise. He clearly hadn’t been thinking when he’d propositioned her so clumsily yesterday, or he would have realized that she would have to come over to his place in order for him to paint her.

Right now, his home looked like a poor bachelor resided in it. Or a serial killer with few ties to the outside world. If his family knew he’d allowed a guest to see he lived like this, they would be horrified en masse.

Rana was too kind to remark on it, though he had caught her quick once-over of the place. She was kind, in general.

She walked around the table, nudging the leg of his chair. She couldn’t have actually moved it—he was far too large for that—but he obliged her, shoving the seat out. Her hand fluttered to rest on his shoulder, and she straddled his lap, her skirt sliding up her round thighs.

“Are you self-conscious?” she asked, continuing their conversation like his cock wasn’t hardening against the notch of her thighs.

“No.” It wasn’t self-consciousness. The plastic surgeon had managed to minimize his scarring, and he had enough nicks and cuts on his body that he didn’t much care about a couple of extra silvery scars. They were reminders, was all.

He didn’t want anything from his past intrusively ruining the time he spent in her arms.

True to her word not to pry, she accepted his condition with a simple nod. Her hand dragged up his shoulder, her nails scraping his neck. “Since we’re still in talks, I do have one more term to add.”

Micah couldn’t resist touching Rana. How could he? She was warm and soft on his lap, her long legs spread on either side of his hips. He wanted to tip her back on the table. Wreck her with his lust. Imprint himself on her body until she couldn’t smell or feel anything but him.

“What’s that?” he asked. Her lips were slicked bright pink today, a color he was desperate to see around his cock.

“I want you to kiss me,” she whispered almost shyly. “You haven’t done that yet.”

He froze, struck by her words. Hell. He hadn’t kissed this woman? He’d been inside her body, ridden her to exhaustion, and he hadn’t kissed her?

What the hell was wrong with him?

He ran his hands up her sides, over the fragile stem of her neck, until they buried in her hair. She had left it loose today, and it spilled over her back, a waterfall of dark brown softness. “I accept that condition,” he murmured against her lips, and took her mouth.

She tasted as sweet as that cinnamon roll she had cajoled him into eating. She moaned, and the small noise made him crazier to get inside her.

He swept his tongue into her mouth, and it tangled with hers. She was aggressive, but he didn’t expect anything else. He liked the way she took no prisoners. Loved the way she held nothing back. He didn’t have to wonder what she was thinking or feeling, not when she made it so damn obvious all the time.

He cradled her head and coasted his other hand down her body to her breast. Her nipple was stiff through the soft cotton tank top she wore. He handled her roughly, swallowing her gasp.

She ripped her mouth free and arched so her breast plumped against his hand. “Harder,” she commanded.

He obeyed, squeezing again, before shoving her top up and yanking her bra down, admiring her breasts in the morning sun. Compared to the rest of her body, her skin was paler here.

He bent his head and licked around a dark areola, savoring her muffled cry. “You taste so good,” he said roughly. “Sweeter than those rolls. I would eat you every day for breakfast.” He ran his hand over her pussy and squeezed, pulling another muffled cry from her. “Right here, right? That’s where you need it.”

Her eyes blazed down at him, dark pools of neediness. “Yes. I need it.”

He moved to tilt her back, but she stopped him by cupping his cock. “But you need it more, I think.”

He barely moved, frozen in place by her hand. “I want to take care of you first.”

“Mm-mmm,” she purred. “You are far, far behind me on the orgasm spreadsheet, sir.”

She had a certain funny way of phrasing things that made him want to smile, though he barely remembered how. “We only had two condoms that night. I thought it silly for us both to suffer.”

“Let’s not get carried away. You were hardly suffering,” she said archly. “But please tell me you have one today.”

He winced. She caught it and glared at him. “Are you kidding me?”

“Yes.”

She blinked at him, and then gave him a blinding smile. “Where?”

He shifted her weight until he could reach inside his jeans pocket to pull out the foil wrapper.

“You’ve been carrying it in your pocket?”

“I was hopeful,” he said defensively. “Did you want to go on a treasure hunt for the damnable things again?”

She rolled her eyes and expertly ripped the foil open. “Fair enough.”

They fought to open his pants, and then her sure hands were smoothing the latex over him.

He filled his hands with her ass and rubbed her pussy lips over him, making his cock slick. She gasped.

“You want this?” he asked. Acknowledging her nod with a squeeze of her cheeks, he pressed against her opening, holding his breath as she came down on him hard.

She was so fucking beautiful: tank top twisted above her breasts, skirt hiked up to her waist, panties merely shoved aside to make room for his thick cock ramming into her tiny channel.

Her fingers attacked the elastic that kept his hair tied, throwing it to the floor and grasping greedy handfuls of the strands. He filed away the information that she liked his hair loose when they were fucking.

At least his inability to get it cut could please someone.

He stroked her buttocks. “I love your ass,” he growled. “It’s mine, isn’t it?”

Her lashes lowered. “For now.”

His brain acknowledged the fairness and honesty of her words, but that wasn’t the body part in charge now. He groaned and hauled her up until the tip of his cock was barely resting inside her. She whimpered and struggled to take him, but he was stronger than her, and she didn’t have a chance.

“But it’s mine for now, isn’t it?” he said coldly.

Her nails scraped over his shoulders, sharp enough for him to feel through the fabric of his T-shirt. It was a reprimand and a spur. “Yes.”

“Good.” He shoved her back down and used his grip to fuck her like he wanted. Like he needed.

When he got her in his studio, he would strip her down. Learn all of her body’s secrets. Make her immortal on paper.

He shuddered. And after each session was done, he would bury himself between these warm, willing thighs.

For now. She was his for now. It would have to be enough.

He could tell she was close when she trembled and clenched up on him. He didn’t stop, giving her exactly what she needed.

Her head tipped back, and she let out a low moan. “Yes, yes, yes,” she chanted as she came.

“I need you,” he whispered, and clutched her close, burying his head between her breasts. “God, I need you. Please... Let me. Don’t stop.”

“No, I won’t.” Her hips moved more lazily now that she had gotten her orgasm. He raised his head and pushed her back so her body arched, long and lean.

She looked down and smiled, satisfied. “Look at us.”

He obeyed, watching his cock pushing in and out of her. She was pink and puffy, her juices making him shiny and wet. He pressed his thumb against her clit and stroked her.

She squirmed. “Do what you need to do.”

“I don’t want to hurt you.”

She draped her hands over his shoulders and came in for a kiss. “You couldn’t.”

Their lips and tongues tangled. She smiled when he pulled away, withdrawing from her. He grasped her by the hips and rose from his seat, placing her on her feet. She was so lithe, her muscles small but powerful. He spun her around and placed his hand on her back, forcing her to bend over the table.

Micah gave her a second to curl her fingers around the edge of the cheap table he had inherited from the previous tenant before he entered her hard. Her squeal made him pause. “Okay?”

“Yes,” she gasped, and that was all he needed. He fucked her harder, harder than he would have dared if she hadn’t told him to do so. He wanted to run himself through her. The cheap table squeaked on the floor and skidded forward to ram into the wall. He didn’t care if he dented the damn thing. He couldn’t help himself.

He closed his eyes and came, feeling like the top of his head might blast off.

He was panting when he rested his forehead on her shoulder, his sweaty chest layering over her back. Instantly doubt assailed him. What had he done? What would she think of him? He shouldn’t have been so rough...

She shifted, and he realized she was struggling to get up. He lurched away from her immediately. “Apologies.”

“For what?” She straightened away from the table. He had to grasp her arm when she staggered a step. She gave him a cocky smile and fixed her top.

He had to look away from that smile. It was far too pretty for his piece of mind. He turned his back, dealt with the condom and adjusted his clothes, his mind racing as fast as his heart.

He couldn’t just stand there like a beast though, so he faced her again. Whatever words were in his head vanished when she stood on her tiptoes and kissed his cheek. “I’m going to be late for work. I’ll be home around nine. Did you want to start the modeling sessions tonight?”

He curled his fingers so he wouldn’t touch the warm spot on his face that held the imprint of her lips. “Tonight is fine,” he confirmed, because she was looking at him expectantly. His tongue felt thick and clumsy. Was he supposed to be able to talk?

“Great,” she chirped. She gave him another chaste kiss on the other cheek. Like a baby duckling, he followed her to the door.

“Wait,” he blurted out.

She cast an inquiring glance over her shoulder.

“I…” He fumbled in his pocket for his phone, thankful it hadn’t fallen out when he’d been ramming into her willing body. For the first time since he had grudgingly purchased the mobile, he was happy to have the damn thing. “You need my number. In case.”

“I left my cell in my house. Call me so I have it.” She rattled her number off, and he quickly dialed it. He let it ring until her voicemail picked up, before hanging up.

Now he had exactly three numbers stored in this phone. His parents, who he would love to avoid, his therapist, who he avoided…and Rana. Who he couldn’t begin to fathom avoiding.

He stood there, staring like a lovesick fool as she sashayed across the driveways to her house. She gave him a cheery wave before disappearing inside. Probably to shower before she went to work.

He wished she wouldn’t. He imagined her walking around the large restaurant he had been in, the scent of his body on her. It was…barbarically exciting. He wanted to mark her, like the basest of animals, and keep every single other man out of her vicinity.

He caught himself, and he flinched. Jesus, who was this man he’d turned into? With more force than necessary, he shut the door and went to the stairs.

He was about to disappear into his studio to prepare it for her arrival, when he realized his home smelled different.

Fresh. Clean.

Cinnamony.

There was a time when he’d had quite the sweet tooth. After the incident—the attack—his mother had often brought him his favorite cakes and tarts in an effort to jumpstart his appetite, but he hadn’t been able to choke them down. Taking pleasure in food had seemed…wrong.

For the first few months he’d barely eaten at all, his muscles wasting away, until his frightened parents had demanded he speak with his doctor, which had led to a nutritionist and a carefully constructed menu. He learned all about calories and fat and complex carbohydrates and exactly how many of each he needed to maintain his frame. Rana was right—he did require a large caloric intake. That was why he supplemented the small amount of food he was able to choke down every day with multiple shakes. Even if he didn’t feel like eating—which was most of the time—he could drink his calories and not freak out his family. Win-win.