Page 171 of When Hearts Surrender

Stepping on my tiptoes, I press a kiss on his lips. “My husband is so, so talented.” I dip my tongue out and lick at the seam. “Just like his wife,” I add, before giving him a saucy wink. Fiona called me into her office yesterday with a promotion to senior designer…all on my own merit.

He growls and hauls me flushed against him. “I can show you how talented I am.” He gyrates his hips slightly, letting me feel his hardness for emphasis.

Heat unfurls between my legs and just as I’m about to ask him to show me his abilities in a supply closet, an angry voice penetrates the sexual haze.

“She was uncomfortable, you jackass.”

Our heads whip toward the entrance, where Charles is in the face of a slim man. Taylor stands next to him, scowling while rubbing her forearm.

The man holds his hands up, clearly not wanting to anger the fuming god of thunder towering over him, and scurries away.

Taylor narrows her eyes and puts her hands on her hips. “I didn’t need you to save me. I could’ve handled that myself. I’m very capable, you know.”

“Didn’t look like it from my angle. You were shivering like a leaf.”

“Oh fuck you, Charles!”

“Not in a million years, even if you were to ask me,” Charles growls as he stares Taylor down, who now has her arms crossed over her chest.

I can smell the hatred all the way from over here.

“You guys, what’s going on? Is everything okay?” Grace hurries over to them. She looks at us and gives me a wink.

I’ve got this, she mouths.Go enjoy your night.

“Well, well, well, trouble in paradise, eh?” Rex grins, bringing with him Ryland, Ethan, and Steven. Lana and Millie are giggling over what probably is some gossip of the day.

“What paradise? More like hell,” Charles mutters under his breath.

“The golden prince is ruffled by our black-hearted ballerina. I want to know all the details.” Rex waggles his brows and everyone groans.

“Should we rescue them?” I ask Maxwell.

He chuckles, his deep voice sending shivers down my body as his finger draws circles over the triangle back cutout of my dress.

“No, they’ll be fine,” he murmurs and presses a kiss right under my ear where he knows I’m most sensitive.

“Maxwell,” I moan, arching toward him. “We’re in public.”

“That’s literally the only thing preventing me from ripping that dress off your body.”

I shiver, the image of him having his way with me in public causing my pussy to clench.

“Ah, I forgot my wife is a slutty exhibitionist,” he rakes his teeth down my neck, “but no one gets to see you naked except me. But maybe we can find a room here and everyone can hear how you scream for your husband’s cock.”

I think back to that night at The Lilith and how I fell apart in his arms with an audience on the other side of the glass. We may have reenacted that a few times in the last few months. My legs turn to jelly and I would’ve melted into a puddle on the floor if it weren’t for him holding me upright.

Something flashes in my mind and the lustful haze clears.

I straighten. I completely forgot my surprise for him.

“Something wrong?” he asks, clearly sensing my mood change.

“I have something to show you.”

I lace my fingers with his and tug him toward my destination, ignoring the curious glances of my friends and family. My heels click on the marble floors as we breeze through the white walls filled with Maxwell’s art—pieces he has created over the years when he hid himself and his talent away from the rest of the world. Now, each of these paintings is sold, appreciated, and loved by others.

What’s art if not to be loved and admired?

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