11. Art
ART
I love being able to study Tess’s face as she absorbs the paintings and drawings hung on the walls of the gallery.
I’ve never done this with a woman—taken her somewhere that means something to me.
I don’t know why this particular woman affects me in such a way, but she does.
The last couple of days have been torture, wondering if I was going to see her.
I’d been able to hear her moving around the flat upstairs, picturing exactly where she was and what she was doing by the sound and position of her footfalls.
I’d wanted to go up and speak to her, but my male pride, and fear that she regretted what had happened between us, had prevented me from doing so.
A part of me still worries this is going to end up complicated.
She’s my landlady, plus she lives above the shop.
If this all goes wrong, things could get seriously awkward.
I know all this, and yet I still hadn’t been able to stop myself from talking my way into getting her to spend the rest of the day with me.
It had been easier to stay away when I’d not been able to see her, but the moment she’d been there, standing right in front of me, I hadn’t been able to stop myself.
Taking a risk, I reach to Tess, my hand bumping hers.
I judge her reaction—whether or not she pulls away.
But she doesn’t, so I go a step further, lacing my fingers between hers.
Her hand is as tiny as the rest of her, and it’s all I can do to stop myself from dragging her against me, and scooping her up.
She’s cute, and fiery, and she seems interested in me, not just because I have muscles and tattoos, but genuinely interested in the person I am beneath it all.
I’ve only known one other woman who’d been like that, and she left me broken hearted many years ago.
I’d made myself a promise I wouldn’t get involved with another woman, and yet here I am breaking that promise.
“So, what did you think?” I ask her, when we’ve made it all the way around the exhibition.
“It was awesome. I honestly never knew it was possible to do so much in black and white.”
I suppress a smile. “You thought it was boring, didn’t you?”
She smacks my arm. “No! Not boring. I loved that you love it.” She smiles and my heart tightens in my chest. “That was the best part for me.”
“Can I buy you a coffee?” I ask, wanting to drag out the length of our time together as much as possible.
Her face lights in a smile. “I think I can handle that.”
We take the stairs up to the next floor, where the café is advertised. It’s quieter up here, most people ending their day’s sightseeing now and heading back to their hotels.
We pass some conference rooms that appear empty. Acting impulsively, I grab her hand and push open one of the doors, jerking her inside.
“Art!”
I look down into her eyes. “I couldn’t go another second without kissing you.”
I don’t give her a chance to reply. I cup both my hands either side of her face, my fingers in her silky dark hair. I crush my mouth to hers, and she resists for only a second before her body relaxes against me and her arms slide around the back of my neck.
My need for her surges up inside me. Since I first got a taste of her, I haven’t been able to concentrate on a single thing. Maybe another woman would have erased the thought of her from my head, but I hadn’t wanted that either.
I only want her.
She wears a cotton dress which just begs to be flipped up.
There’s a massive boardroom-style table in the middle of the room. Blinds cover the windows, offering us privacy.
Reaching down, I hook my hands behind her thighs and lift her. Her calves wrap around my hips, and with my mouth consuming hers, I carry her over to the table. I place her on the smooth, polished, dark wood, which I know will be cool beneath her bare thighs.
“Art!” she gasps. “What are you doing?”
“I’m gonna fuck you hard on this table, that’s what I’m doing.”
“Oh!”
I try to pull the cardigan she wears away from her shoulders but she grabs it and pulls it back up again. “No, leave it. Someone might walk in.”
I’m not going to fight her on that. The rest of her clothing makes access to what I want easy enough.
We fumble frantically, me dragging up her skirt, her yanking at my fly.
Our hands are everywhere, pulling at clothing, trying to expose skin.
I bend my head and suck her nipple through the thin material of the dress, feeling it harden and pucker beneath my tongue.
I want her so badly, desperately. Nothing else matters.
Tess works my zipper and the air hits my cock, moments before her hand wraps around my length.
Her small, slim fingers make my erection look huge, and I take pleasure in glancing down and seeing her work my shaft.
She’s watching, too, her dark hair falling over her face, her lips swollen from my kisses.
“Fuck, you’re so damned sexy.”
She does look insanely wanton, dishevelled and flushed.
My fingers slip up the smooth length of her slender thigh, until I meet with the silky material of her underwear. I press against the front, feeling the already damp material. She gives a moan and circles her hips, pressing against my fingertips. From her body language, I can tell she wants more.
I roll her panties down, Tess lifting herself up slightly so I can pull them down her thighs, and then I throw them to the side.
I drag her closer again, settling between her legs.
Her calves wrap back around my hips. I reach between them to position my cock at her entrance.
Holding my hard length firm, I rub the head up and down her slit, over her clit, making her gasp, and smearing my pre-cum and her wetness over us both.
Tess arches her hips forward, clinging to me, and urging me on. “Now, Art. I want you now.”
I don’t need any further encouragement. With a slight angling of my hips and a push forward, I slide balls deep. Her inner muscles hold me tight, her hot, wet channel encasing me, sending me dizzy with bliss.
My movements are short and fast, slamming into her.
Her arms wrap around my neck, her sweet, hot mouth kissing mine.
I know I won’t last too long, aware we might have someone banging on the door at any moment.
I reach down and my thumb finds her clit.
The result is instant, her gasping, breaking the kiss to bury her face against my neck.
I fuck her hard, circling her clit, driving deeper. My orgasm builds, tightening in my arse and rising up through my balls. The muscles in my backside and thighs bunch like rope, and I’m coming, coming…
Tess cries out, and her pussy clenches tight around me. That’s all I need. I let myself go, hot cum surging up from my balls. Realising what I’m about to do, I quickly pull out. Streams of white ribbons land on her flat stomach, and I groan as my orgasm hits again.
I catch my breath and look down to see the mess I made on her skin.
“Shit, sorry.” I delve into the back pocket of my jeans for a tissue. “I suddenly realised we didn’t use protection.”
She looks up at me from beneath her dark lashes. Her cheeks and chest are flushed, and her beauty makes something in my chest contract.
“Art, if you say sorry one more time after we have sex, it’s going to start becoming an issue.”
I laugh. “You know I didn’t mean it like that.”
“It’s okay, I’m on the pill. And I’m clean, I promise.” She takes the tissue and wipes my cum from her stomach.
“Yeah, me, too.”
I pull her back in and kiss her again. She smiles against my mouth and I match it, our noses and foreheads pressed together.
“Come on.” I force myself to break away. “We’d better get out of here before someone starts banging on the door. You still want that coffee?”
“Let’s forget the coffee and get something stronger.”
I grin at her. “Sure.”
Hand in hand, we leave the gallery together, both flushed and casting glances at each other that are somewhere between adoring, shy, and lustful.
I can barely believe she allowed me to do that to her, taking her on the table while multiple tourists and art gallery staff walked past. We could have been caught at any moment and thrown out.
I’d taken Tess to be uptight and conservative, completely opposite to the type of person I am, but the more I look past the smart clothes and salon-cut hair, the more I catch glimpses of the adventurous woman beneath.
I’ve always chastised people for judging me the moment they see me, but I’m starting to wonder if I’m guilty of doing the same.