My inner muscles clenched around Mason’s fingers, in front as well as behind. He was hard again. He hummed as I grasped his cock in my soapy hand. I needed this, needed his body and the reassurance of his desire for me. Especially after learning the juicy, albeit resentment-induci
ng, details about his history with Krista.
“Fuck me,” I begged. “Please, fuck me, Daddy. My ass or my pussy, wherever you want. You don’t have to come inside me. Just fuck me.”
He groaned into my ear, picking up the pace with his fingers. I grappled for something to hold onto, but the tile was too slick, so I used his shoulder. He withdrew his fingers from my pussy and turned me to face him him, trapping his erection between us. We kissed, wet and sloppy.
I could practically taste his desperation.
Grasping his shaft, I guided his cock between my legs. He rocked forward, gliding against me.
This was it. He was finally going to fuck me.
He slid his fingers out of my backside and angled his cock back against my belly. The sigh that seeped from his chest had to have left him hollow.
“Not yet,” he said.
He may as well have been standing on my chest.
“Why not?” I asked, my voice barely a squeak above the rushing water.
He cradled my face.
“We don’t have time, sweetheart.”
Liar, I thought. We’d had the past three weeks, plus the rest of our lives, and at least an hour till dinner. We had all the time in the world.
I wilted as he kissed my forehead and detached the shower massager from its post on the wall. My skin humped with goosebumps as he rinsed the soap from me, then from himself.
I didn’t find the will to speak again until he’d finished toweling me off.
“Are you going to respond to her text?” I asked.
“No.” He wrapped the towel around my shoulders and then motioned for me to sit on the edge of the tub so he could comb my hair. I sighed, soothed by the gentle pick and swoosh through the strands.
I left him in the bathroom to finish getting ready. My first week in New York, Mason had asked his housekeeper to move his winter clothes into storage to make room for my things. I’d convinced him to continue his work on the painting regardless of whether he intended to ever show it. After a few sessions, he presented me with a credit card with my name on it and said, “Modeling for me is work. You deserve to be compensated.”
I used the money to buy myself clothes I could wear to parties and gallery openings. Gauzy shirts and backless dresses, garments that would make it easy for him to touch me whenever he wanted. Tonight, I opted for a slinky deep-violet dress with an asymmetrical hem, black lace-trimmed panties and no bra.
Standing at the full-length mirror, I knew I’d made the right choice when Mason’s hands came around to softly pinch my nipples through the fabric.
Our eyes met in the glass, his gaze hot enough to warm my cheeks.
“If I haven’t ripped this dress off you by dessert, it’ll be a miracle.”
Chapter Twelve
Mason kissed me one last time as our black car pulled up to the restaurant. Once inside the dimly lit bistro, I recognized his agent Michelle and her husband Kurt seated at a large leather-lined booth beside an artist couple I met my first week in New York.
“You’re looking very charming this evening,” Kurt said to me as I slid into the booth, his gaze centered on my nipples.
Tension rolled off of Mason like distant thunder as he pulled me close. I lived for these intimate moments: his arm curved around my waist at gallery openings; his hand pressed to the small of my back at his artist friends’ summer homes. Caresses that in isolation would seem perfectly innocuous to anyone watching—so much so that the men we encountered didn’t think twice about hitting on me.
“When people see us together they don’t see a couple,” Mason had lamented on our way back from a party last weekend. “They see me and they see my daughter. I’ve caught their mouths watering and watched their cocks perk up at the sight of you. And short of playing the overprotective-father card, there’s not a goddamn thing I can do about it.”
His gaze narrowed at Kurt across the table.
“How astute of you to notice,” he growled.