Chapter 12
CHAPTER
TWELVE
Mason
I stand in the corner of the gallery, watching Harper as she moves from piece to piece. Her eyes are wide, drinking in every brushstroke and splash of color. This is her moment, her triumph, and I've made it happen.
My cock twitches as I imagine claiming her right here, marking her as mine in front of all these cultured Parisians. But I hold back. For now.
"What do you think?" I murmur in her ear as I come up behind her.
She startles, then relaxes as she realizes it's me. "It's...overwhelming," she admits. "I never thought I'd see my work like this."
"Get used to it," I growl. "This is just the beginning of what I have planned for you."
Harper shivers, and I'm about to suggest we slip away to celebrate privately when a man approaches, eyeing Harper's latest piece with interest. He introduces himself as a local collector, and I feel my fists clench as he begins chatting with Harper.
But I force myself to relax. This is what she’s here for. To sell her art to collectors. Get her name out.
This is why I made this happen. To see her shine.
I'm about to interject when a familiar figure catches my eye. Tyler. Damn it. How did he get in here?
He saunters through the gallery like he owns the place, his paint-splattered jeans and ratty t-shirt a stark contrast to the refined Parisian crowd. A few guests wrinkle their noses as he passes, but Tyler pays them no mind. His gaze is fixed on Harper.
My jaw clenches as he approaches. The collector excuses himself, sensing the tension crackling in the air.
"Harper!" Tyler calls out, his voice carrying across the hushed gallery. "This is incredible!"
Harper's face lights up, and something twists in my gut. "Tyler! I can't believe you're here!"
I know they’ve talked since the mishap where he completely misrepresented me to my girl, but I’m not fool enough to believe Tyler has let it go. Maybe the guy made a legitimate mistake. I’ve yet to get an apology from him and don’t expect one.
A man knows when another man wants his girl, and this Tyler? He wants Harper.
Over my dead body.
They embrace, and I have to restrain myself from yanking them apart. When they separate, Tyler's eyes narrow as they land on me.
"I see your sugar daddy made it happen," he says, his tone dripping with disdain.
Harper frowns. "Tyler, don't start?—"
"No, I'm serious," he presses on, gesturing around the ornate gallery. "All this fancy bullshit? It's not you, Harper. He's trying to mold you into something you're not."
"That's enough," I growl, stepping forward. "I think it's time for you to leave."
Tyler ignores me, focusing on Harper. "Can't you see what he's doing? He's controlling you, manipulating your art?—"
"Stop it!" Harper's voice rings out, silencing us both. Her cheeks are flushed, eyes flashing with anger. "Tyler, I appreciate you coming, but you don't get to decide what's best for me or my art."
I blink, surprised by her vehemence.
She turns to me, her gaze softening. "And Mason, I know you arranged all this because you believe in me. Thank you."
Tyler opens his mouth to argue, but Harper cuts him off.
"This is my night," she says firmly. "My art. My choice. And I choose to celebrate it, here and now, with both of you—if you can behave like adults."
I'm stunned into silence, arousal and pride warring within me.
Tyler looks like he's swallowed something sour, but he nods grudgingly.
As Harper leads us both towards her next piece, explaining her inspiration, I can't take my eyes off her. She's radiant, confident, commanding the room.
And I can’t fucking wait to get her alone.
I keep looking at the way her hips swap in that dress I had made specially for her. The exposed expanse of her back. The delicate curve of her neck.
My cock is going to be making an obscene tent in my trousers if I don’t do something soon.
I can't take it anymore. The sight of Harper glowing with confidence, commanding the room, is too much to resist. As she finishes explaining her latest piece, I grasp her hand and tug her away from the crowd.
"Mason, what—" she begins, but I press a finger to my lips, urging silence.
I lead her down a dimly lit hallway, away from prying eyes. My heart pounds as I scan for a secluded spot. There—an alcove partly hidden behind a large abstract sculpture. Perfect.
I pull Harper into the shadowy space, pressing her against the wall. Her eyes widen in surprise, but there's a flicker of heat in their depths.
"Shh," I murmur, covering her mouth with my hand. "We need to be quiet."
She nods, her breath hot against my palm. I trail my other hand down her side, savoring the silky feel of the dress I had made for her. My fingers find the slit in the skirt, slipping underneath to caress her thigh.
Harper's eyelids flutter closed as I stroke higher. When I reach the lace edge of her panties, she lets out a muffled whimper. I growl low in my throat, torn between the need to claim her and the thrill of our clandestine encounter.
"Do you want this?" I whisper, my lips brushing her ear.
She nods frantically, her hips pushing forward. I smirk, then yank her panties aside. In one swift motion, I lift her up, pinning her between my body and the wall. Harper wraps her legs around my waist as I free myself from my trousers.
With a stifled groan, I thrust into her welcoming heat. Harper's cry is muffled by my hand as I begin to move, setting a demanding pace. The risk of discovery only heightens our shared pleasure.
I bury my face in her neck, inhaling her intoxicating scent. Mine , I think fiercely. All mine .
I drive into Harper with relentless intensity, savoring every muffled gasp and shudder. The thrill of potentially being caught only fuels my passion. I can feel her tightening around me, her climax building.
"That's it, sweetheart," I growl softly. "Let go for me."
I angle my hips, hitting that spot deep inside her that makes her see stars. Harper's eyes go wide, her body tensing. I clap my hand over her mouth just as she comes apart, stifling her cry of ecstasy.
The pulsing of her inner walls around my cock is exquisite torture. I grit my teeth, fighting my own release as Harper trembles in my arms. Her nails dig into my shoulders as waves of pleasure crash over her.
When the aftershocks subside, I slowly remove my hand from her mouth. Harper gulps in air, her chest heaving.
"Mason," she breathes, voice husky with satisfaction. "That was..."
"We're not done yet," I growl, still achingly hard inside her.
I pull out, ignoring her whimper of protest, and set her on shaky legs. In one smooth motion, I spin her to face the wall. Harper braces herself against the cool surface as I enter her from behind.
The new angle draws a strangled moan from us both. I set a punishing rhythm, one hand gripping her hip while the other tangles in her hair. The quiet sounds of skin on skin seem deafening in the secluded alcove.
I lean in close, my lips brushing the shell of her ear. "You're mine, Harper," I rasp. "Say it."
She shakes her head, stubborn even now. I tug gently on her hair, changing the angle of my thrusts. Harper gasps, her hips bucking back against me.
"Say it," I demand again, feeling my own release approaching.
"Yours," Harper finally whimpers. "I'm yours, Mason."
Her admission sends me over the edge. With a final, deep thrust, I bury myself inside her and come with a muffled groan. Harper shudders against me, her body milking every last drop.
We stay like that for a long moment, both panting and trembling. Finally, I ease out of her and help her straighten her dress. As I tuck myself away, reality starts to seep back in.
The sounds of the gallery filter down the hallway—soft music, the murmur of conversation. Harper's cheeks are flushed, her hair slightly mussed. She's never looked more beautiful.
And I know with every fiber of my being that I’m only going to get more obsessed with her every day for the rest of our lives.