The Bachelor's Promise (Bachelor Auction) (16 page)

Groaning, he took her mouth. Broke away and pressed another kiss to her jaw. “The only thing better than coming in this beautiful mouth is coming inside you. Are you going to let me back in, sweetheart?” He cupped her between her legs. Hell yeah, just like he’d known. Drenched.

“Yes, please,” she said. “Now.” She shoved at the pants still hanging at his hips, and he loosed a low, dark chuckle.

Toeing off his shoes, he quickly shucked his socks, pants, and boxers, and shrugged out of his shirt. He didn’t bother removing her bra, but dragged the cups under her breasts so the material propped them up, offering her flesh to him like a sacrifice. One he took the time to feast on while skimming her panties down her legs.

Noelle clapped her hands to his head, arching into his caress. Releasing one nipple with a wet pop, he moved to the next and sucked it deep, coiling his tongue around the peak.

“Aiden, I need you,” she whispered, her voice cracking on “you.”

The need inherent in that word… It echoed the same gnawing hunger inside him. He’d had her mouth on him, and he’d tasted her flesh in return. But he was desperate for more. Wouldn’t be satisfied until he was seated so deep inside her, she felt him even when she was alone in her room or at the gallery. He’d brand her, mark her. Tattoo her as surely as the ink etching her skin.

Giving her nipple one last lick, he snatched his pants up, removed the wallet, and plucked a condom from the fold. Quickly, he sheathed himself and, setting her back on the dining table, positioned his cock head at her tiny entrance.

Yanking himself from the lure of her glistening, pink, swollen sex, he raised his gaze to her face. Needing to ascertain she was with him.

“Yes,” she said, as if reading his mind. She undulated her hips and wrapped her fingers around his rigid length. And guided him forward. Penetrating herself on him. She whimpered. “Yes,” she repeated on a small cry.

“Lean back on your hands,” he said, palming her thighs and spreading them wider. “Keep your eyes on us, sweetheart. Watch us.”

He did the same. Studied how her folds parted for him, how he stretched the tiny portal to her pussy. How she took him. Swallowed him. And the heat.
Fuck
. Her sex was like a furnace, burning him alive even while giving him life. She closed around him. Tighter than her hand, her mouth. Smooth muscles quivered around him, struggling to accommodate his size and width.

This
. He fought to keep his eyes open. But this was heaven…and hell. Though no longer a virgin, her flesh still resisted his invasion. He paused, waited for her to relax around him. Waited for the telltale softening. He pulsed against her, neither fully withdrawing or pushing forward. Just small, restrained thrusts that didn’t give or relinquish the flesh he’d already conquered.

And then…
oh fuck
. There it was. The natural signal he’d been waiting for. Her walls fluttered, eased, allowed him to rock forward, deeper. This time when he withdrew, only his tip remained inside her, and then he buried himself inside her. Her sex surrounded, molded, and embraced every inch of him. Bathing him in liquid fire.

He was lost in her, drowning in her. Every heavy thrust pushed him farther under. Every milking of his cock stole more of his breath. Every sharp cry and low whimper pilfered more of his will. Here. He could stay here, fucking into her like a madman, forever.

His hips jacked back and forth like a hammer, pistoning inside her, driving, slamming, riding. Sweat rolled down his temple, slicked his chest, but he didn’t stop. Not when orgasm bore down on him like a freight train, threatening to run him over, knock him out. So close, so damn close…

Swearing, he thrust a hand between their bodies and swiped his thumb over her engorged clit. She screamed, bucking into the caress. But he didn’t let up, circling and rubbing it. Noelle twisted under him, as if her body didn’t know whether to get closer to him or squirm away. Yeah, he understood that kind of clawing pleasure. The kind that made you afraid to let go because you knew—
you knew
—you wouldn’t be the same on the other end. But he didn’t ease up, instead pinched the shiny, fluttering bud.

She exploded. Her pussy clamped down on him like a vise, sucking him farther inside her like a mouth. Her back arched high, thrusting her breasts into the air. Gritting his teeth, he fucked her through the orgasm, each ripple, each pulse dragging his seed closer to the head of his dick. Once her flesh loosened, he powered into her. One. Two. Three fucking strokes, and he was done.

Surrendering to the pleasure, he came on a hot burst of light and heat. Goddamn, it seemed never-ending, like he poured his soul and spirit into her body along with his seed. She weakened him. She strengthened him.

And most of all, she scared him.

Chapter Thirteen

“How long did it take for you to get this whole tattoo done?” Aiden traced a petal along her hip and then skipped to a branch that arced down her thigh. After their cataclysmic sex downstairs, they’d moved to her bedroom. The second time had been slower, longer, and just as explosive. He could’ve left for his room—should have—but he was content to stay here in the sex-scented sheets, staring at her bare body and beauty.

“Five hours for the first sitting, and then another three for the second.” Noelle curled her arm under her head and drew a small pattern over his pec and around his nipple. When the small, flat peak responded to her light caress, she smiled.

“It’s gorgeous,” he said, running the backs of his fingers over the inked mural. “I’ve never seen anything as beautiful.”

In the low lamplight of her bedroom, he caught the faint color tinging her skin at his compliment. “Thank you,” she murmured. “Have you ever thought about getting a tattoo?” she asked, stroking his shoulder and arm. “I could see you with one.”

He loosed a bark of laughter. “Uh, hell no,” he said, folding an arm under his head.

“Hmm.” Noelle sat up, the sheets falling to her waist. Unbidden, he dropped his gaze to her breasts, momentarily distracted by the small but full flesh. “Hey.” She snapped her fingers. “Eyes up here. There’s a story here, and I want to know.”

Aiden grunted. “If you want to talk, you might consider covering up.”

Grumbling something about “men,” “thinking,” and “dicks,” she tugged the sheet up under her arms. “Now. Spill the details.”

Sighing, he shook his head, a reluctant smile quirking the corner of his mouth. “I hate needles,” he confessed.

Surprise flashed across her face. “What?”

“I hate needles,” he repeated, admitting just one of the secrets he’d never shared with anyone. Including his best friend, Lucas. “I have since I was a kid. During doctor’s visits they would need to call at least two more nurses in to hold me down for a shot. You know when they show drug users on those TV documentaries like
Intervention
? I can’t even watch people shoot up.” He shuddered. “So the thought of sitting there and voluntarily allowing someone to drill me with one? Hell no.”

Noelle stared at him. Blinked. “Wow.”

He narrowed his eyes on her. “Go ahead and laugh. I can see your mouth twitching.”

She shook her head, eyes wide. “No. Nooo. I wouldn’t laugh at your…trauma.” She snickered. “Sorry. I don’t know where that came from.”

He arched an eyebrow.

“In my defense, it’s just that you’re so…big. And needles are so…tiny.” She held up her hands when he glared at her. “But, hey. We all have our issues. In high school, I knew a girl who was afraid of olives. No joke,” she insisted when he snorted. “When she was a kid her grandfather died in their house. She saw the body before the paramedics arrived, and his eyes were open. So olives reminded her of his green eyes.” She wrinkled her nose. “Which really sucks, because she’ll never know the joys of a stellar Greek salad.”

Aiden laughed, the burst of amusement catching him off guard. As did the surge of pure delight that warmed his chest. If someone had told him he could laugh with Noelle, enjoy talking to her, would confide one of his fears to her, he would’ve escorted that person to an extended stay at McLean Hospital, one of Boston’s finest asylums.

“It’s a shame,” Noelle murmured, stroking his shoulder. “You would be even more beautiful in ink.”

“Huh.” Aiden cocked his head, a smile quirking the corner of his mouth. “So you think I’m beautiful.”

Another of those adorable blushes stained her skin. “Please,” she scoffed, throwing back the cover and scrambling out of bed. “As if the scores of women fawning over you isn’t a big-ass clue,” she muttered.

He would’ve replied, but the sight of her bare body rendered him mute. Hell, his mouth and fingers had explored every inch of her, and his cock had been balls-deep inside her. He shouldn’t still be struck dumb by just a glimpse of her slender shoulders, painted back, perfect ass, and long legs. Noelle put every woman he’d been with to shame. No, that wasn’t true. She relegated them to the status of nameless and faceless.

She returned to the bed with the drawing pad he’d noticed her with several times. Curiosity to garner a peek into this other side of her propelled him up, and he sat, facing her. She set the pad on the covers, then snatched a piece of clothing that had been draped over the headboard. Quickly, she pulled a big T-shirt over her body, then settled cross-legged on the mattress. He didn’t remark on her need to cover up, but he didn’t need a PhD. in psychology to interpret the gesture as defensive. As if she needed to don armor before revealing this part of herself to him. Why? Did she think he would hurt her? Ridicule her? Better question: who had made her feel like protecting herself was necessary?

While the questions tumbled through his head, she thumbed through the pad and, after several seconds, paused on a sheet. For a moment, she gripped the drawing pad between her hands, staring down at the sheet. Then, she inhaled and, flipping the pad, handed it to him.

“I drew this for you. Well, it’s what I imagined for you,” she explained, voice soft, hesitant. “For a tattoo.”

Aiden shifted his attention from her shuttered gaze and expression to the paper. He sucked in a sharp breath, stunned. Slowly, he accepted the pad, handling it as if it were the most delicate, precious artifact. Because to Noelle, it probably was.

And he could understand why.

Jesus Christ, the drawing was gorgeous.

A lion stared back at him from the page.
Stared
. Because his gaze seemed alive, patient, intelligent. Watchful. His strength and beauty seemed to radiate from his face, muzzle, and mane, captivating him. She’d captured the fierceness of the beast, but also his cunning and majesty. Though in black and white, Aiden could clearly imagine the rich golds and browns and striations of black that would cover him like a regal mantle.

The animal was gorgeous. And she’d drawn it with Aiden in mind.

He returned his attention to Noelle, who silently studied him. Though her bright eyes and the firm line of her mouth revealed nothing of her thoughts, he didn’t miss the tension tightening her shoulders or the clenching of her fingers in her lap.

“You drew this for me?” he murmured. “Why?”

She shrugged a shoulder, shoving a lock of tangled hair behind her ear. “It reminded me of you. You’ve always reminded me of a lion,” she said, the clenching in her lap increasing though her voice remained steady. Almost unemotional. “When I was younger, this nature show would come on television after all the Saturday morning cartoons went off. Because nothing else was on, I watched it. From the first time I met you, you reminded me of the lion on that show. You very rarely raised your voice. You seemed in control, above the madness, but so mature and a protector. And beautiful.”

Again, she’d struck him speechless.

A protector. Beautiful. Was that really how the eleven-year-old girl had seen him? And the woman? The one he’d grown so close to, only to push her away? What about her?

“I would put it right here.” She placed her palm over his right pec, smoothed her hand up his shoulder, distracting him from his thoughts. “Spread out his mane here.”

He almost wanted to change his mind for her. See her work come to life
on him
. Part of him longed to wear her art on his skin…longed to be marked by her in this special way that so reflected her spirit, her passion.

“This”—he traced the outline of the mane, careful not to touch or smudge the pencil—“belongs on a canvas or a wall, not me.”

“Well, it was just an idea…” she murmured.

She reached for the pad, but he lightly grasped her wrist before she could remove it from him. “No, sweetheart, don’t misunderstand me. I’m humbled that you saw this likeness in me. But something so powerful, so gorgeous, deserves a bigger canvas than me. It needs to be seen, not hidden under clothes.” He lifted her hand, placed a kiss to the center of her palm, wordlessly praising the hands that could create such images. “Why aren’t you exhibiting your work, Noelle? Your job is giving artists their own shows, but why haven’t you had one?”

Silence filled the room, and he studied the crown of her bent head. When she lifted it and met his gaze, he caught the struggle in her eyes. As if, internally, she warred with confiding in him. That was okay. He would wait as long as it took…as long as she needed.

“My dream is to open an art gallery that is for everyone, not just those with deep pockets. I do want to provide new artists a place to launch and build their careers, where they can make a living from their passion, but that’s not all. My dream is introduce people who wouldn’t ordinarily have access to the art that saved me. That provided an outlet to me while growing up, and even now.” Passion vibrated in her voice, energizing it. Her reserve melted under it. Damn, that kind of excitement and pleasure was contagious…and hot as hell. “The gallery would exhibit everything—paintings, sculptures, photography, woodwork, street art, even tattoos. Some of our most talented, gifted artists work in tattoo shops. Hell, for some kids, street art and tattoos are the only art they see. But I also want to start a program for inner-city youth to expose them to the different mediums early, give them a safe place to express themselves without ridicule or rejection.”

“Did someone ridicule or reject you, Noelle?” he asked, careful to stifle the anger stirring inside him.

“Some people,” she said slowly, seeming to be carefully choosing her words, “cannot give what they’ve never received. My father didn’t have parents like Caroline; my grandfather was a drunk, and my grandmother, what little I remember of her, was a shadow. Affirmation wasn’t big in his childhood home. And though he did the best he could with me, he didn’t understand my wanting to spend all my time drawing, or taking art classes, or going to college for it. And like a lot of people, what he didn’t understand, he didn’t approve of or like. Art school was”—she waved her hand as if conjuring the term she was looking for—“a haven. I felt safe there—safe enough that I didn’t have to pretend to be someone else. There, I didn’t have to worry about being approached by someone because my father owed them money or my brother had screwed their girlfriend and they figured turnabout was fair play. I was only judged on my art, not my last name. I haven’t felt that way since.”

Pain, regret, shame pierced him. He heard what she hadn’t specifically said. He’d failed to make her feel safe, accepted. Valued. Hell, he was one of those who’d rejected her, persecuted her because she was a Rana. It amazed him that she’d allowed him to touch her at all. That she’d lowered just one of those steel walls of hers to be vulnerable with him. To trust him with her dreams, her goals. Give him a glimpse into her heart.

“I think you can do both.” He turned the pad around. “The artist who can create this”—he tapped the page—“can nurture artists and inspire them as well as bring pleasure into other people’s lives. You can—and should—do both.”

“Thank you,” she whispered.

He nodded. “Will you show me more?”

She contemplated him, then after several heartbeats, flipped to the next page in the pad. For the next few minutes, he perused her drawings, awed by the evidence of her talent. Beauty, at turns vivid, wild, and haunting, filled page after page. He turned to one of the few color drawings. It contained the outline of a man, but his body disappeared into the beige, brown, and black colors that depicted cracked and dry earth. On another page, also color, the outline of a man curled into the fetal position was almost obscured by a vivid painting of a stork in flight.

“Those are some of the pictures I’ve been working on for Lo’s new body-paint show.”

“They’re gorgeous.” He flicked to the next page, bearing the outline of a reclining person, whose body had been transformed into the gold, orange, red, and black plains of what he assumed was the Serengeti at sunset. “I’m glad you’re going to do the show. And if any of these will be the art you display, prepare to have people fighting to buy anything of yours.”

A smile slowly spread over her face, like the sun breaking over the horizon at dawn.
Jesus
, his heart thudded. No new contract or acquisition of a company had ever filled him with the satisfaction and joy of seeing her light up.

“Do you want to be my guinea pig?” she asked, her eyes bright with humor. Apparently, she didn’t believe he would agree. To what exactly, he didn’t know, but if it would keep that light in her gaze, he was game.

“I’m all yours.” He spread his arms wide.

“Really?” She laughed. “All right. Give me a few minutes.” She climbed off the bed and disappeared into the closet. Seconds later she emerged with the box she’d carried into the penthouse the day she’d moved in and a green plastic tarp. With efficient movements, she soon had the wide sheet spread on the floor and tubes of paint set on the table she’d scooted over from the sitting area. “Come on over,” she said with a jerk of her head.

He rose from the bed and reached for his pants, but her mischievous grin gave him pause. “Oh, you’re not going to need those,” she drawled.

“Hell,” he muttered. “What did I just agree to?”

“Too late to back out now.” She chuckled. “Stand here in front of me, and I’ll do the rest.”

This is a first
. A wry smile curved his lips. Never had he ended up a body-paint model at the end of sex with a woman. But none of those women had been Noelle.

For the next forty minutes he stood still, allowing her to coat, draw, and dab paint over his skin, her order not to peek preventing him from glancing down. By the time she stepped back, a gleam in her blue eyes and a grin on her face, curiosity consumed him.

“Can I look now?” he demanded. When she nodded, he wasted no time surveying the work she’d created using his body as her canvas. Shock and delight rolled through him like a summer storm. “A tuxedo?” He loosed a loud bark of laughter, staring at the black jacket and pants, the white shirt with jeweled studs for buttons, and the dark bow tie. It “fit” him impeccably. “Why?”