Stone Passions Trilogy (90 page)

Friends. She hated that word. She didn’t want to be his damn friend. She wanted to be his everything, the way he was her everything. It was blatantly obvious that he desired her: no amount of material could hide the impressive erection that seemed to have taken up permanent residence between his hard thighs. Why was he so reluctant to give in to the passion that practically singed the flesh from her bones every time she was near him?

She knew why: she was still a virgin and he was a sex master. What chance did she really have? Innocence only went so far in a world where he had experienced everything, including innocence. Maybe she should have played coy, been the coquette, acting like a petrified virgin instead of blatantly pursuing him with everything in her arsenal. Unfortunately, it just wasn’t in her nature to go after something she wanted half-heartedly once she put her mind to it. And she had never wanted anything as much as she wanted Armand, even if she had fought her own attraction for years.

“Are you finished?” he asked, his voice breaking through her thoughts.

Heaving a sigh, she pursed her lips and took a step back and glanced between the painting and the model. There was something missing but she couldn’t quite figure out what. With a shrug of her shoulders, she returned her gaze to Armand, “For now.”

He stood up and stretched, lifting his arms over his head and arching his back. His muscles bunched and flexed and Ferris’s mouth went absurdly dry as heat enveloped her body. Twisting around until the muscles along his rib cage popped and the muscles of his abdomen contracted, he asked, “Can I see it?”

She knew he was speaking. His lips were moving and sound was coming out but she had no idea what he was saying. The sight of his hard body took up all of her senses and if he hadn’t smiled and shattered what was left of her brain she would have realized his intentions as he made his way over to her and her canvas.

But she was picturing him as the warrior, coming to claim the lover he had to leave behind. In that moment she wanted more than anything to be that woman, to be the object of passion that was blazing in his green eyes. Her eyelids grew heavier as he approached and for a moment she thought he meant to take her in his arms and kiss her as if he had just walked through Hell to be by her side.

His hand reached out and she leaned forward, ready to be embraced when reality forced its way into her fantasy as his hand went past her to the canvas. Wrapping her hand around his wrist, she stopped him from going any further, “Um, no, you can’t see it yet. It’s not finished.”

“Come on,” he grinned, slaying her where she stood. Life was so cruel, making her love a man that refused to love and be loved. “Let me see it.”

Putting her plans of seduction aside, she fell back into the natural rhythm of their relationship. She was just going to have to figure out some other way of seducing him since nothing she did pushed him across that final line. Stepping between the portrait and Armand, she shook her head and grinned, “Not until it’s done.”

He smiled at her, that devastating smile that made the butterflies fuck and her skin burn. Without deliberate thought, only that she didn’t want him seeing the portrait yet, she reached out with her loaded brush and painted a line of pale blue down his naked chest. He froze and stared at her. She froze and stared back, heat blossoming in her cheeks. “Oh my gosh! I am so sorry.”

Before she could grab a rag and wipe it off he had easily wrestled the paint brush from her lax fingers and brushed it across her cheek. Startled, she gaped at him as a mischievous smile curved his lips. Her heart tumbled madly in her chest as she fell a little bit more in love with him. It was so rare that he let her see his mischievous side and she doubted anyone else even knew it existed.

He crossed his arms over his naked chest and he should have looked ridiculous holding the blue tipped paint brush but he didn’t. He looked sexy and so powerful that even a line of sky blue streaked across his chest didn’t take away any of his masculinity.

Matching his grin and holding his gaze, she reached to the side and surreptitiously grabbed a tube of paint. Without warning, she aimed it at his chest and squeezed, splattering hot pink all over his gleaming skin. Throwing the tube down, she stepped forward and smeared it around with her palms, taking a moment to enjoy the firmness of his muscles. “Much better.”

“You think?” he asked, his voice coming out as a rumble. Wrapping his arms around her, trapping her arms between their bodies, he hugged her. A little giddy by his response, she wasn’t fully aware of what he was doing behind her back until she felt cool, squishy paint oozing between her shoulder blades and down her spine. She gasped as his broad palms rubbed it in.

He stepped back and she saw the burnt umber staining his palms. His eyes dipped to her chest and she glanced down, seeing the light blue and hot pink smeared on the front of her shirt. Grabbing a handful of tubes, she took one and squirted it at him and ran across the room, prepared to get away from her masterpiece and take cover as the paint war escalated.

Ducking behind a shrouded chaise, she peeked over the top and saw Armand standing there with a blob of green smeared across his abdomen, the hard muscles flexing as he slowly and methodically picked up some tubes of paint, taking his time in choosing which colors to retaliate with.

“Now, Ferris,” he murmured, shaking his head in mock disappointment as he slowly prowled across the room towards her. “Is that any way to fight?”

“I don’t want to ruin my painting,” she explained, keeping her eye on the man who still stood too close to the portrait. A slow smile curved his lips as he looked at her and gauged the distance between her and the painting. Her eyes widened in alarm as she understood at once what his intentions were, “Please, Armand, don’t look.”

He hesitated, looking once more at the canvas before letting his shoulders slump and heaving a sigh, “I'll wait until you’re ready to show me.”

Ferris breathed a sigh of relief, her tensed muscles relaxing when he promised to wait knowing that he would keep his word. Before she could relax completely, though, he looked at her with that mischievous smirk again, “However….”

He was across the room and leaping over the chaise, splattering her with paint. All she could do was laugh and try to cover her face with one arm as she blindly squirted paint at Armand with the other. “Stop! I give up!”

He laughed evilly as he tossed the empty tubes down. He then proceeded to rub the paint in, smearing it all over her shoulders and arms. With his hands occupied, she took the opportunity to create her own masterpiece on his torso, taking more enjoyment from touching him than from painting him. Lightly, she trailed her fingers over the contours of his chest, relishing the feel of his skin beneath hers. The vivid colors only enhanced his masculinity, his virility.

His shoulders were impossibly broad, capable of taking on the weight of the world and often did. His chest was carved from marble, uncompromising and beautiful. His stomach was ridged with muscles, the hard flesh unforgiving and mesmerizing. She could have spent hours tracing the lines of his body, learning him by touch and not just by sight. Her fingers trailed lower, to the soft material wrapped around his trim waist. The white robe was quickly stained by the paint on her hands and she chuckled.

Slowly, she realized that he was no longer chaffing his hands up and down her arms, across her back. Instead, his grip had tightened on her shoulders and his breathing was ragged, harsh. She looked up and met his green eyes and forgot everything. He looked at her with ravenous eyes and as she stared at him, his nostrils flared in recognition of a woman in heat. He tugged on the binder that held her hair in a ponytail, letting the long, dark strands fall to the middle of her back. Sliding his hand into her hair, cupping the back of her skull in his broad palm, he growled, “Ferris. What have you done to me?”

Then his mouth was on hers and he was consuming her whole with a kiss.

Her hands trembled as they skirted across his sizzling skin. She was afraid of touching him and discovering he was mist, an illusion, that this wasn’t real. She had dreamed about it for so long, fantasized about him for so long, that she couldn’t quite grasp that it was finally happening. She was kissing Armand! He was solid, he was real and the kiss was better than she could have ever imagined.

Sliding her hands up his chest, over his shoulders, she went up on her toes and fell into the kiss. Heat embraced her as he took her into his arms and deepened the kiss, gently pushing his tongue into her willing mouth. The taste of midnight and mint filled her senses and she was drowning. She felt the long, thick ridge of his erection against her belly and she shivered in fear and excitement.

It was finally happening.

His chest was so hard against hers, so perfect, as if they were made for one another. Her hands slid higher, into the thick silk of his hair. She pulled him closer as if even a sliver of space between them was too much. Warmth flooded her system and her body quaked.

His hands were at her waist, her ribs, and he was pulling her shirt up. Reluctantly, she broke the kiss and held her hands over her head as he tore the shirt from her body. She stepped back to resume kissing but he held her at a distance and ogled her body, the sun-kissed skin mottled with all of the colors of the rainbow, her delicate bra ruined by seven different colors. The sheer lace cupped the full weight of her breasts, presenting the flesh as an offering to her beloved.

Reverently, he reached out and she saw that his hand trembled as well. Ever so lightly he traced the curve of her breast before cupping it in his warm palm. She held her breath as she watched the hunger burnish his cheeks, as he took a ragged breath. He slowly pushed the strap off her shoulder, pulled the cup away from her breast, baring her to his gaze.

He raised his head and green flames devoured her soul. “I shouldn’t be doing this.”

She covered his hand with her own, holding his hand against her breast, knowing he could feel her heart fluttering madly. Moistening her lips with the tip of her tongue, she whispered, “Don’t stop.”

His eyes closed and he inhaled deeply but he did not remove his hand. She could see the battle raging on his face, his usual impenetrable mask gone as he waged an internal war. Capturing her lower lip between her teeth, knowing there was no turning back, she tugged at the knot that held the material around his waist together. The soft cotton came undone and she pushed the robe off of his broad shoulders, watching his face as the material fluttered to the floor. He stood before her in all of his naked glory and her belly quivered in anticipation. She could barely catch her breath as her heart thudded rapidly in her chest.

Her teeth sank deeper into her lip as his erection stretched towards her, dark with blood that raged just beneath the surface. It was long and thick, wrapped in heavy veins with a plum-shaped head that leaked a clear fluid. With a shaking hand, she reached out and traced the lines of one of the veins along its long length, making his penis twitch. The skin was hotter than melted steel, the flesh was hard as iron, but the skin… the skin itself was like nothing she had ever felt. It was so soft and perfect. He was huge and she knew it was going to hurt to take him into her body but he was what she wanted, what she had always wanted. He was magnificent and she would bear any pain to be one with him.

He sucked in a shuddering breath as she ran her hand along the length of his erection and she froze, her gaze flying to his face, to his eyes that were half-shuttered but still burned into her soul. Color was splattered across the harsh planes of his face and he no longer held any trace of coldness for which he was famous. “Ferris, you don’t know what you’re doing.”

Holding his eyes, slowly sliding her hand up and down, pumping his penis in a slow, deliberate rhythm, she purred, “I know exactly what I’m doing, Armand. I want this. I want
you
.”

He groaned a heartbeat before claiming her lips in another scorching kiss, his hands tearing her fragile bra from her body. Her soft curves were pressed against his unyielding flesh and flames kissed her skin, sinking deeper and deeper until her body was on fire. The soft denim of her shorts rasped against her skin and she needed to be naked, to feel the length of his body all along hers.

In desperation, she started tugging at the fastening of her shorts, fighting with the snap until Armand’s strong fingers simply jerked the zipper down, tearing the denim until the material fell to the ground and landed next to his discarded robe. Broad fingers delved into her lacy panties and pressed against the damp and swollen folds of her sex, the touch both foreign and exhilarating. Instinctively, her legs parted and he pressed a finger deeper, touching the unbroken skin of her virginity.

He pulled back and looked at her, his breathing harsh and rapid, “There’s no turning back.”

“I know,” she whispered, thrusting her hips forward and rubbing her clit against his finger. She closed her eyes as exquisite pleasure burst forth from the light touch. His hand moved and the panties were torn from her body and she was blissfully, unapologetically naked. Closing the breath of distance between, she flattened her body against his, letting every inch of her skin absorb the delicious feeling of touching Armand.

Suddenly, he grabbed her around her back and beneath her knees, swooping her up into his arms and against the blistering heat of his chest. Holding her gaze, he moved slightly before depositing her on the covered chaise, following her down until he covered her with his body. “This is a very bad idea.”

Brushing the hair out of his eyes, letting her fingers linger at his temple, she smiled unsteadily, “It’s the very best idea.”

With a groan of surrender, he kissed her, letting his hand move over her body to stroke her curves, her flat stomach. His hand moved between her thighs and she startled at the contact. Laughing softly, he smiled against her lips, “Relax. If we’re going to do this we’re going to do it right.”

Her smile widened at his words. They were so Armand, embracing the inevitable and making it his own. He was so domineering and she adored that part of him, she adored all of him. And when he lightly traced the swollen folds of her sex she just wanted him to hurry up and enter her. He chuckled, moving his fingers in a slow, sensuous rhythm against her clit, teasing her with the lightest of touches, “You’re so impatient, my sweet.”