Chapter 21 #2
“A woman always knows. You carry an aura of sadness carefully disguised as ruthlessness. You act as if you’re always daring anyone to cross you because you enjoy whatever response is required, no matter how severe or how brutal.”
I allowed the brush to guide me, enjoying the moment even as I was mulling over her insinuations.
“I am ruthless, Penelope. I’ve done some things that in most traditional settings would be considered criminal, even heinous and without any level of guilt.
I’m a dangerous man. There are those both in and out of the business who would call me a monster. ”
“Monsters only exist in movies and books and in the darkest and most fervent reaches of our minds.”
“That’s where you’re wrong, sweet Penelope. Monsters exist because people require them to be.”
“Your father.”
“As I said,” I whispered while brushing my knuckles across her heated cheek, “you’re very perceptive. Just be careful pulling away the layers. You might find what you’re looking for, but in doing so, you’ll also discover I’m right.”
That I was warning her about me surprised me more than almost anything. I’d never cared enough before to do such a thing. It would appear every aspect of my being around her was different.
“Perhaps you are very dangerous, yet you’re one of the most sensitive, sensual men I’ve ever met. That alone means you’re not completely devoid of a conscience. Did it ever occur to you that I might crave what you seem to fear you can’t control?”
“Is that so?”
She nodded several times, teasing me. Tempting me. Even putting me in my place. “Painting is a way of soothing your demons.”
“Are you suggesting painting is a weakness?”
“Of course not. But you need a way to quiet the rage.”
I pulled the brush away. “You’re far too astute. We all need an outlet, a release from pain.”
“You’re right. Reading was mine, but I can certainly understand why painting would be forever rewarding. A stunning painting lasts forever both in visceral ways and ones of the heart and soul.”
“Very deep,” I told her while cleaning the brush to select another color. “You should know something else about me, Penelope. I’m unapologetic about everything. I take what I want even if it doesn’t belong to me.”
Her smile was almost devious in intent. “Does that include people?”
“Absolutely. Especially people.”
“If you’re trying to frighten me, it’s not working.”
“I’m not trying to frighten you. I’m merely telling you the truth.”
I could tell she was mulling over what I’d just told her, choosing to ignore it. “I envy your talent. Both in painting and freeing your demons.”
“Would you like me to show you?” I slowly turned my head, even more attracted to her than I’d been before.
The delight in her face stilled me. “I would love that.”
“Come here.” I guided her in front of me, immediately placing my arms around her.
As I lifted her hand, she partially turned her head until my lips were almost pressed against her cheek.
Being this close was even more intimate than what we’d shared before.
As soon as I placed the brush into her hand, she shuddered audibly.
“A light touch is all that’s needed. Allow the bristles to do the work. ”
“I’ll try, but I can’t promise anything.”
“Feel the music in your fingers. Imagine what an author would be thinking when she wrote an intimate or difficult scene.”
I whispered the words in her ear, enjoying the closeness even more. Perhaps because she was in my full control. In my house. In my arms. In my bed.
And under my tutelage.
Over the next several minutes, her initial tentative actions shifted, becoming more inspired. More intense. Slowly, the tension faded, leaving only a desire to create.
Her breathing was rapid, her heartrate increasing as the piece came together. I could sense excitement, both in her actions and in her natural fragrance. Everything about her was alluring, but perhaps more so given she was surrendering to me in a way I hadn’t expected.
As if she was enjoying no longer being in control of her actions.
When I twisted her hand, wrapping my fingers around hers for the final elements, I sensed a sheer joy growing within her that I hadn’t experienced in years. If ever. There were no words needed, our sensual reactions to what was being created both personal and ripe with passion.
Instead of one person being highlighted, showing an emotional bed of longing and need, there were two.
My sweet Penelope understood both the sentiment and the depiction.
Of us.
When we were finished, I backed away, allowing her to enjoy what she’d created while I stripped off my clothes.
In wanting her, in needing her, I was sharing my own sense of vulnerability. Whether she fully understood it or not, she belonged to me in every way.
She slowly turned, her chest rising and falling and in an act of sheer defiance, she dragged the wet tip of the brush down my chest. Only she wasn’t creating a work of art.
The lovely woman was marking me as belonging to her.
It was a cathartic moment when there’d been few in my life.
At least this time, there was cause for celebration instead of despair.
I wasn’t in the mood to be as tender as before, even if she’d argue that how I’d taken her on the Ferris wheel had been anything but savage. Yet she’d had all the control the entire time.
Not this go-around.
I fisted a handful of her hair, digging my fingers into her scalp as I crushed my lips over hers. She still had the salty taste of my cum on her tongue, which pushed my cock into a state of full arousal.
The kiss was as powerful and rough as I’d intended, immediately sweeping my tongue inside. She ran her palms up my chest and over my shoulders, tangling the fingers of one hand in my hair. As she arched her back, she shifted her hips back and forth.
Every sound I made was graphic, a deep growl as a beast would do in the wild. I savored the moment even though I had no intention of allowing it to last but for so long.
That’s how crazy she made me and how hungry I always remained around her. Only after a few additional seconds, I couldn’t take the wait any longer, pulling our lips apart.
She cried out as if already missing me, her eyes slightly unfocused. With the way she twisted her lips, I was torn with how to fuck her. I ripped off her shirt, delighting in the fact she wasn’t wearing her thong.
When I forcefully slipped my hand between her legs, she gripped my arms both out of surprise and to steady herself.
While I fingered her wet pussy, she threw her head back, offering me a glimpse of the long line of her neck.
My mouth watered to suck on her pebbled nipples, but I enjoyed watching her expression almost as much.
Almost being the key word.
I slipped my fingers into her tight channel while trying to control my breathing. Her fingers clung to me and she was gyrating against my hand.
If she only knew the thoughts in my mind, the need building.
With her sweet lips twisting, I concentrated on slicking my fingers, which was easy to do.
“You’re so wet,” I told her.
“Yes.”
“What do you want?”
She laughed. “A silly question. For you to fuck me.”
There was a sense of urgency in her voice, another moment of full surrender. Being with her felt unlike anything I’d done before.
As I removed my fingers, I rolled them across her lips.
She parted them without being asked, peering at me with an emotion I wasn’t certain of, but one I longed to continue seeing.
I shoved my fingers into her mouth, every muscle in my body tensing as she gripped my arm with one hand, my wrist with the other.
Every lick was provocative, every sound she made clawing at the level of hunger and freeing the predator. She’d gone from being my prey to something else altogether.
And why?
Because even though I held all the cards, she was controlling my moods. My desires. My needs.