Cake (6 page)

That was before he settled on his knees between hers and dragged her ass up to his thighs. She wrapped her thighs around his waist to stay in place.

His gaze roamed over her body with such naked greed she wanted to preen around. There wasn’t a moment when she thought about the pooch in her belly when he looked at her this way.

He spoke under his breath in Russian for a moment as he drew his hands from her breasts to her thighs over and over, his thumbs moving closer and closer to her pussy until he finally slid her labia apart and exposed the heart of her to the cool air.

“You’re beautiful. Powerful.”

Flattered, her skin heated in a blush as he slowly stroked the pad of his finger around her clit, using the hood to brush against it.

She licked her lips as he continued to slowly torture her closer to orgasm. Thank heavens his talent extended to her body as well as his canvases. She couldn’t tear her gaze away from the way his hands stroked, caressed, cupped, pinched and thrummed. Concentration lined his brow but every time he licked his lips, she gasped, she was so connected to him at that moment.

Every movement was intentional as he drew her closer and closer to climax so that, by the time it rushed through her, bringing her back to arch, her legs to tighten around his waist, she nearly sobbed with how good it was.

When she managed to open her eyes, he stared at her, a bemused smile on his lips. “I think we need some champagne and to move to my bed for the next round. What do you say?”

What else could she say but “Yes, please”?

He stood easily, bringing her to her feet as he did, but instead of moving right away he pulled her close and kissed the remaining teaspoon of wits she had left right out of her.

“Now, champagne and fucking.”

Wren figured there were few better ways of spending a Wednesday afternoon and followed so she could ogle him without interruption.

“It feels delightfully bad to swill champagne and have sex in the middle of the day. You have a pretty awesome life.” She laughed as he pushed her back to his bed and followed.

“I do have a pretty awesome life, as you say.” He popped the cork and handed her a glass, clinking his to it. “Better when it’s a lovely bicycle messenger in my bed instead of being frustrated in front of a canvas and feeling as if I’ll never create anything good again.”

She’d seen him frustrated and blocked, yes, but this was a glimpse into his vulnerability in a way he hadn’t shared before. She was touched he’d be vulnerable in front of her.

He drained his glass before she could say anything, pulling her down with him. She stretched to put her glass on his bedside table and let him bring her back to slide her body across his.

“See? I knew I was remembering right about your recovery time.” She reached down to give his cock a squeeze to underline the point.

“My cock likes you. Clearly.” He rolled his hips, thrusting into her fist.

She swung a leg and sat up, astride him. “I’m glad. Let’s see how much more it does when I’m finished.”

They settled into a bit of a routine. They both had full lives. But in between they saw each other, had great sex, talked about art and music and got to know one another on a different, new level. He remained skittish but it didn’t really bother her. She knew without a doubt that what they had, that connection, was something special. Wren wasn’t in any great hurry to name it. It was what it was and that was all right with her.

It had been a few days since she’d seen him last. She’d been busy with school stuff, working to get her film project finished and turned in. Trying to pretend she wasn’t obsessively checking her mail and making sure her phone was on and that she hadn’t missed the agent’s call.

Gregori hadn’t called and she wasn’t surprised. They saw each other regularly anyway. But she couldn’t deny the little bounce in her step as she approached his door and knocked.

She heard music and knocked one last time before letting herself in.

He didn’t look up as she came inside. He was working with the same giant canvas, but this time it was at least seventy percent full. Clearly he wasn’t stalled anymore, or if he was, he did a rather fine job of pretending he wasn’t.

A house, or the remains of one, sat in the lower left. Spots of yellow stood out against the bleached, weathered wood as it lay in a tumble. The bones of a front porch were dotted with life as plants had taken it back. A field lay fallow just beyond. The sky was gray/purple.

It should have seemed desolate. But it wasn’t. There was life there. A different sort of life, but the tendrils of the vines had taken hold on a porch rail. Birds would nest in the eaves that hadn’t collapsed. It wasn’t the sadness of an abandoned home that the painting made her feel, it was the rebirth that rang out so strongly.

He looked up, catching her there. Pleasure marked his features before he schooled himself. But she saw it.

“Incredible.”

He stepped back. “Tell me why.” A demand.

“Rebirth. Reclamation but not at the expense of anything else. There is life here. The slice of color keeps away the desolation. Your use of shadowing is judicious and it works against the sense of loss.”

He paused, clearly surprised. “Are you sure?”

“Nope. I read it in a book. I’m lying.”

He sighed, agitated, but then rolled his eyes. “It’s what I’m trying to say. But I don’t know if it’s clear.”

“It is to me. A few things for you to sign. Kelsey needs them today. She said she gave you the same documents two days ago.”

He’d apparently gone to Kelsey’s place to get things and told her he didn’t need a delivery. Whether he was avoiding her or just in the neighborhood or what she didn’t know. But she’d seen the look on his face when he’d finally realized she was there.

There was no denying he was happy to see her.

He frowned. “Always with the signing.”

“I need to get you a shirt with that on the front. But I can’t figure out how to get the frown and the accent into it.”

“You are mean to me.”

She laughed as things eased between them at last. “I don’t take your shit. Now sign that stuff.”

“I have cookies.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. I will sign and you can get the kettle on for tea. I woke up late so the black tea would be best.” He grabbed the envelope and a pen from the table and she headed into the kitchen.

She got the water started for the tea and then measured the smoky loose leaves into his teapot.

“I do love this teapot,” she said as he entered the kitchen.

“It was one my mother brought when they came here. The papers are on the table near the door.”

He grabbed a bakery box. “Coconut, chocolate and rose tea.”

“That’s a Ladurée box.”

“Yes, they have the best macarons in the world. I ordered them for my mother, who loves them. And for this other person I know. A pest who eats all my cookies and drinks my tea.”

“Oh, my god, do you mean me?” She clutched her heart for a moment, teasing as she looked over the cookies so delicately nestled in the box. She grabbed a coconut one and reveled in how freaking delicious it was.

“If the pest fits…”

The cookie was absolutely delicious. “Magic.”

“They are worth the cost of getting them shipped, no? I love the strawberry best, but they are not on the menu right now.”

Of course he’d think that. Cookies from Paris were normal for him. Part of his allure. “I’ve never been to Paris.”

He brought two tea mugs to the table and she perched in a chair, watching him move.

“A crime. Paris is a fantastic city. One of my favorites.”

“Do you ever go to Russia?” She knew he still had family there.

“We went once a year when I was younger. I haven’t gone in years, though I should. My mother wants to go back to see her brothers. I have aunts, uncles and cousins. My agent has been urging me to do a show there.”

“I’m sure they’re proud of you.”

“My family?”

“And Russia, too. They appreciate art with a great deal of zeal.”

He lifted a shoulder. “Perhaps. My mother is getting older. I can make her comfortable here, of course, but I’ve been considering a trip for Mother’s Day. My father would most likely stay back. He has no fond memories and no wishes to return.”

“There’s a story.”

He sighed. “He’s a complicated person.”

She pointed at the chair to her left. “Sit, I’m pouring tea.”

He put out sugar cubes, the awesome natural kind she’d come to associate with him before he obeyed and sat. She dropped one in to her mug and stirred slowly.

“I told you we came here when I was eleven. He was a doctor in Russia. He drove a cab here because the medical licensing is not the same. But he never complained. He says it was worth it to be done. To be away. He came up in a different Russia than the one he left and he says he didn’t like either. They had to leave most everything behind, only bringing ten boxes with them. This teapot.” He smiled. “I’ve had tea from it nearly every day of my life.” His expression darkened a moment. “She tried to break it once during an argument.”

“Prentiss.” What a bitch. No matter how angry you are, you don’t break a guy’s special link with his family history that way.

He sighed. “She was jealous.”

“Of your connection to your mother.”

“You understand things.” He didn’t appear to know whether he was upset or appreciative of that.

It wasn’t like Prentiss was mysterious. “She’s an archetype. I’m sure there’s more to her that I can’t see and don’t know. But she’s the type of person who needs to be the center of everything.”

“Exhausting.”

She countered. “Exciting at first.”

He snorted. “Everything is exciting when you’re twenty-four and have more money than you know what to do with.”

“I’ll have to take your word for that. As for the teapot and Prentiss? She didn’t break it and you’re free of her.”

“My father, I think, is bitter that he had to lose everything to start over. He feels robbed. His workplace, the hospital there, was political to the extreme. It was a constant battle for him to keep his position. In the end, I don’t think being a doctor meant more to him than being in a place where he didn’t have that sort of constant pressure. He likes it here. Lots of pretty women to flirt with.”

“Ah, that’s where you get it.”

He laughed. “He’s a master. My mother is exceptionally tolerant. But she has her limits and, while he may edge up to them, he doesn’t cross them. Anyway, she’s got a bigger heart. A greater capacity for love and forgiveness. She likes to go back to see her family. To eat the things she loved in her youth. But she wants to come home after those weeks. It’s a place she goes to visit, but she doesn’t live there.”

That was the most he’d shared with her about his family in a long time.

“Have you heard back from the agent yet?” He sipped his tea.

“Not yet. I’ve been told it can take a few weeks, even with requested material. I’m trying to be patient. It’s not my strong point.”

He smirked. “I’m shocked.”

“You’re one to talk.”

He shrugged. “I don’t have to be patient. I’ve done my time,
kotyonok
.”

Oooh, the kitten thing. Only in Russian it was way better.

She gave him a long look as she finished her tea. He looked right back.

“You have something there.” She leaned over and brushed a bit of cookie from his beard. He was warm. So full of mystery and sexuality and all the stuff she wanted to gorge herself on.

He swallowed, but those eyes stayed on hers. “About my gratification problem…”

She smiled and scooted her chair so they were thigh to thigh. “Yeah? You wanna tell me about it? Or, say, gratify us both?”

Oh, that smile he gave her. Enough to send a wildfire of heat up from her toes. Not a blush, no, they were past that. Yearning, yes. But more. She knew he wanted her. There was no need to yearn. Only to anticipate.

He leaned in and kissed her. Softly at first and then he pulled her into his lap and she opened, his tongue sweeping into her mouth.

Her taste ignited that slow burn he’d had for her since she’d left his loft five days earlier. Not that he’d been counting.

He groaned as she sucked his tongue, holding her tighter. He’d counted. Though he’d lost himself in his work much of each day and into the night. It was like fucking her had chased away that block. The image of her, on her hands and knees in his bed, her fingers tangled in his comforter as he’d thrust into her body over and over had been burned into his brain.

Like a fever.

She kissed her way over his cheek to his ear, where she grazed the lobe with her teeth before kissing the spot just behind. A full-body shiver took over as she licked there.

He pulled her shirt up and over her head and she laughed. Delight. Yes, that’s the sound that rang through his kitchen. This wasn’t…it wasn’t what he usually had with women.

Which should have made his blood run cold, but it only made him hotter for her. For what she brought to him.

He took the sweet weight of her breasts, squeezing lightly until she made a surprised sound of desire. He swallowed it, moving to allow her to pull his shirt off. He hissed, arching into her as she scored her nails against his skin.

More. He needed more of her right then. Need beat at him, nearly bringing him to his knees as he worked one-handed to get her cargo pants unbuttoned and unzipped.

She got to her knees on the chair, how he wasn’t sure, but he didn’t care about the mechanics.

“Condom,” she nearly begged as she got his jeans open and pulled his cock out.

He groaned at how good that felt. “Bathroom. Medicine cabinet.”

She was up and dashing from the room before he’d finished speaking and back before he could change his mind. Like he could. He wanted her so much his blood seemed to beat with it.

She rolled the condom on.

“Wait, are you ready?” He managed to speak though his tongue felt as if it weighed a thousand pounds.

Her answer was to slide herself down his cock, surrounding him with snug heat. The breath punched from his diaphragm as he dug his fingers into her hips.