Total pages in book: 76
Estimated words: 71911 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 360(@200wpm)___ 288(@250wpm)___ 240(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 71911 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 360(@200wpm)___ 288(@250wpm)___ 240(@300wpm)
I set the note aside and stared at the blank canvas, releasing a slow breath when I felt the daunting task in front of me. It’d been a while since I’d felt creative in any capacity. After Bolton asked for an open marriage, everything in me felt stunted. I took a seat and noticed the apron sitting there, crisp and white, ready to be destroyed by paint. I decided to take off my clothes so I wouldn’t ruin them, leaving only my thong on, and then got to work.
I didn’t hear Theo when he walked in. I felt him when he drew close enough.
In just his sweatpants, he came close, examining the canvas that was now splashed with color. His arms crossed over his chest as he looked at it.
“It’s nowhere near done.” It didn’t look like much right now because I layered the background with color, trying to capture the dining room with the window in the background, the chandelier hanging from the ceiling. “I start on the outside and work my way in.”
He didn’t compliment my work and give me false praise. “How long does it take to make a painting?”
“It’s different every time, but at least a week for me.”
He gave a slight nod. “Are you hungry?”
“Always. Since I don’t eat four thousand calories.”
His eyes shifted to me with a hint of amusement.
“Where were you?”
“In the study.”
“Working?”
“Always.” He stepped away and opened one of his drawers to pull a black shirt over his head. “Where do you want to go?”
“Do we have to go anywhere?” I untied the apron and set it on the table. There were a couple spots of paint on my skin, a spot of champagne gold that I’d used on the chandelier. When I sat across from him at dinner, all I could think about was digging my fingers into his dark hair and feeling him thrust inside me. He seemed to be a beautiful and complex person on the inside, but he was so damn pretty on the outside too.
He turned back to me and subtly looked me up and down. “I’ll tell George.”
I walked away from the easel and made my way toward him, stepping off the rug and feeling the hardwood floor underneath me.
His eyes were down on my tits, watching the way my body moved as I drew close. Like a lion that studied the movement of his prey, he looked like he would strike at any moment, get me tight in his jaws and never let go.
My hands planted on his hard stomach when I was close enough, feeling the hard muscles under the searing-hot skin. I felt his abs, all eight of them, my eyes tracing the lines that separated each one. “That was thoughtful of you.”
He continued to stare at me, his muscular arms at his sides.
“Why do you care whether I paint or not?”
That intense stare continued, seeming to be so lost in my face that he hadn’t heard what I said. “I’m not a plotter or a thinker. I just do shit. Wanted to help you do the same.”
“If you aren’t strategic, doesn’t that get you killed in your line of work?”
“Am I dead?” he asked seriously, like he really wanted an answer.
My eyes moved to my fingertips at the top of his sternum.
“I do things when I want to do them—and there’s no way for my enemy to anticipate that.” His arm curled around my waist and rested on the small of my back before he moved to my ass. Effortlessly, he lifted me to him, bringing our faces level so neither one of us had to crane our necks.
His dark eyes took mine in, always looking at me like it really was the first time he saw me.
“I wish I were a little taller.” I was five-three, a valley compared to his mountain.
“I think you’re perfect.”
“You have to pick me up every time we stand together.”
“You weigh nothing, sweetheart.” He started to move me to the bed, just as he did last night, showing no signs of strain from holding the weight from my belly and ass. Instead of rolling me onto the bed, he placed me on the edge before he dropped his bottoms, showing that fat dick.
I immediately stared at it, still sore from the night before but too anxious to stop it.
He rolled the latex down his length then tugged me to the edge, gripping me by the backs of my thighs. He licked two of his fingers before he slid them inside me, invading me in a slick motion like he was already innately familiar with my body. Then his thumb started to work my clit at the same time, pulsing and rubbing, making me draw breath between my clenched teeth.
He stared at my face as he continued to finger me, his fingers getting soaked in the arousal that started to flow to my entrance. He smeared it onto his thumb then used that as lube over my clit.