Page 5

Bella

The first thing that comes to my mind as I slowly awake is the languid feeling in my bones. The next is the feel of the soft bedding beneath me.

Memories of last night wash over me, and I don’t know whether to laugh in happiness or scream into the pillow in embarrassment. I can’t believe I was so bold as to give myself to Roman.

But then again, I couldn’t help myself. The attraction between us is so intense that I find him irresistible. It’s like a strong tether that will always pull us together no matter how far apart we are.

I remember his words to me right before I fell asleep, and my heart swells with an unnamed emotion. You’re mine.

I slowly blink my eyes open, and take in the sight of Roman, sitting a few feet away from the huge bed. My heart races in my chest at the sight of him. He’s sitting sideways, shirtless, a paintbrush in hand and his head bent over an easel. He looks even more handsome in the early morning with his hair disheveled and his perfectly chiseled features as he concentrates on whatever he’s painting.

He turns his head to look at me and our gazes clash. “Oh, good morning, baby,” he says in a velvety tone that sends shivers up my spine.

I can’t stop the blush that heats up my cheeks as his gray eyes bring back more memories. “Good morning,” I reply, clearing my throat.

“Don’t move. Stay,” he commands softly as I start to rise onto my elbows. “Have you been awake long?” he asks, his gaze sweeping across my face as I return to my position and he shifts back to the easel.

“Not really,” I reply. Then I wedge my hands behind my head, using my elbow as an anchor as I gaze at him curiously. “I didn’t know you paint.”

“Yes. I’ve always enjoyed painting. Could’ve made a living out of it if I wanted to, but I prefer dealing,” he answers as he glances up at me for another look.

“Really?” I say, wanting to know more. “I can’t wait to see what you’re painting.”

“Later. Right now, I want you to strike a pose,” he says, his brows scrunching up in concentration.

I don’t know what it is, but all of a sudden, I feel the need to make him let loose and let go of his tightly held control. So I strike the silliest pose I can think of, making a goofy expression. I burst into laughter at his shocked expression—I know he wasn’t expecting that. Then I strike another, and another, making crazy facial expressions until he’s laughing alongside me.

After a few minutes, his laughter dies down to chuckles and he says, “Be serious, Bella.”

“Alright,” I say, giggling softly. I push down the soft coverlet, feeling bolder. I strike the most provocative pose I can think of, enjoying the way his gaze traces over the skin of my breasts and down to my now exposed sex between my spread legs.

Roman’s brush freezes mid-air and I watch his eyes go dark with desire. “Perfect,” he says with approval, then continues to swipe his brush as if nothing happened. “Don’t move,” he orders as he bends his head to swipe his brush over the easel, glancing up at intervals.

Every dark stare from him heightens my need to be touched. I chose the erotic pose to shake his composure, but it turns out that I’m the one most affected by it. My breath comes out in heavy pants and my sex floods with every stare from those gray eyes. Every brushstroke feels like a phantom hand grazing my skin, making me feel sensitive and responsive all over. My nipples peak and I can almost feel his breath against my skin.

“You look ready to come,” Roman says with a raised brow, as if unaffected, and I moan in response.

The only indication that he’s enjoying this as much as I am is the darkening of his gray eyes. And his aloofness only makes me wetter. I squeeze my thighs together, sliding one subtly over the other, hoping to ease the ache.

“If I sink my fingers into your pussy, will I find it soaking wet?” he asks as his eyes trace over my body again, his words causing the ache to grow.

I moan softly in response, pleading with my eyes. The torture continues for a few minutes until he finally finishes with his painting. “Done,” he states, then puts down the brush.

He looks at me with a hooded gaze. “You want me to ease the ache, baby?” he asks in a soft, rough tone.

“Y-yes,” I whisper brokenly.

“Baby, as much as I want to fuck you and make you come hard, I can’t. You’re still sore from last night,” he explains, and I moan in disappointment.

“I want you to do something else. Touch yourself,” he commands.

I inhale sharply, my eyes going wide. I’ve never done this before. “I-I don’t…” I stutter, blushing hard under his stare.

“You’ve never touched yourself before?” he asks in surprise, and I nod in response. “That’s okay, baby. I’ll guide you through it,” he reassures me. “I want you to caress your breasts and gently roll your nipples between your fingers.”

We stare at each other and I grow wetter under his gaze as I slide my hand to my breasts and gently tease my nipples, then roll them between my fingers like he instructed. Warm tingles grow under my ministrations, Roman’s gaze causing goose bumps all over my body. I continue to knead and roll my nipples until I’m gyrating and writhing.

“Good. Now, circle your fingers over your clit, then slowly dip them in your pussy,” he rasps roughly.

My hands glide down my breasts to my aching sex and my thighs fall open. A moan falls from my lips as I rotate my finger over my clit, my wetness serving as lubrication. Our gazes remain connected as pleasure mounts and the ache in my core blooms with every stroke. I whimper as the sensations climb higher and the need to let go grows. I moan, staring into Roman’s cloudy gaze. Then, I slowly slide a finger inside my wet channel, whimpering softly at the dual sensations, amplified by his presence. The need in his eyes, in addition to the stroke of my fingers and thumb, pushes me over the edge.

“Ohh,” I moan aloud, quivering and jerking as my pussy slicks up and I climax, continuing to flick my clit and trembling softly as my orgasm gradually subsides.

I withdraw my hands, looking up to find Roman’s potent stare on me, and my cheeks heat up at being watched as I pleasure myself. “Don’t be shy,” Roman growls, and I giggle at his chiding look, my embarrassment forgotten.

“Can I see the painting now?” I ask as I don his discarded shirt after cleaning up in the bathroom.

“Of course.”

I head to his side and gasp, speechless. Before me is a lifelike painting of my first pose. My head and shoulders are resting on the pillow, my hair spread out around me, and my body is covered by the blanket. I look sultry—my eyes are dark with desire. My hair is like a wild wave, draping over my shoulders, and my cleavage peeks out just a little.

“This is perfect. You’re really good,” I say breathily, still in awe as I stare at the portrait. Then I turn to face him with a frown. “But, why did you tell me to strike more poses, if you were going to paint the first one anyway?” I ask, hiding a smile.

Roman’s lips twitch as he straightens and tugs me onto his lap, my arms instinctively encircling his neck. “You don’t really think I’d let anyone else see your beautiful body? You’re mine, baby, and I don’t share,” he murmurs as he nuzzles my neck.

My heart melts at his words, and I find myself wishing I could stay in this cocoon forever. I shake my head and smile. “That’s so possessive. I don’t think I’ve ever met anyone like you.”

“You better not,” he says, and growls playfully into my neck, making me giggle breathlessly.

I shift my body sideways, dropping an arm to look at the portrait again. “It’s truly beautiful. Thank you,” I whisper.

His hands tighten around my waist in response, and I place my chin on his head, settling deeper into his arms as I stare at the painting. Suddenly, I’m reminded of my father. It’s sad and sentimental at the same time, as I think about the times he used to paint portraits of me.

The rush of excitement I felt earlier seeps out of me, and I stiffen in Roman’s arms, feeling guilty. I can’t believe that for a while I totally forgot the reason I went to the chapel in the first place. Tears of frustration well up in my eyes.

“What’s wrong, baby?” Roman asks in a concerned tone, shifting his head from beneath mine and cupping my jaw.

I muster a smile, but it’s melancholic as I say, “It’s nothing. The painting just reminds me of my late dad.”

“Oh, I’m sorry you lost him. He was a painter too?” he asks in a low tone.

I sigh softly. “Yes, he’s a popular artist. His name is Warren Flint, but everyone in the art world knows him as Donovan,” I explain. I look up to see Roman’s eyes flare with shock and recognition. “You’ve heard of him?” I ask.

Roman nods, seeming to school his expression. “I’ve seen his work, yes,” he answers. Then he asks, “Is that the reason you were at the auction house yesterday?”

“Yes,” I say, then turn to face him with furrowed brows. “I know you’ve heard the news about my father killing himself. Well, I don’t believe he would ever do that. He had a lot to live for, and he was looking forward to his retirement. He had no reason to be suicidal. I suspected foul play since one of his last pieces was missing, but with no evidence, the police ruled it out. And I’d almost given up on ever getting justice when an intruder broke into his studio. I searched the room after that, and found the access card to the chapel. And well…you know what happened after that.”

“What you did was very risky,” Roman says in a chiding tone. “What if it had turned out differently for you?”

“I know, but I couldn’t just sit at home. I had to do something.”

“Alright. But no more investigating on your own,” he says. “I know a very good private investigator—I’ll hire him to find out more about your dad’s death.”

I nod softly, feeling a weightlifting off my shoulders. “Thank you,” I say. Then a thought strikes me. “I need to ask another favor from you.”

“What is it, baby?”

“I went to the auction house with my dad’s truck, and I don’t know if you can find a way to get it out of there?”

“I can do that,” he answers, then eyes me, his eyes flaring with want. “Now, kiss me,” he orders.