Page 68 of Gilded Saint

Her fingers clutch my shirt, her thighs rub my hips, and her pussy constricts. I’m in heaven.

“You.” Thrust. “Are.” Thrust. “Exactly.” Thrust. The desk shifts. “What.” Thrust. “I.” Thrust. “Need.”

She pants her pleasure, words incoherent. Her nails dig into my back. Her heel kicks against my ass. I pound against her, feeling her tighten, knowing she’s close.

“Fuck. You feel so good.” It’s a shame I found her so late into this stint, because she’s perfection. I’ll never get enough.

Her eyes lock on to mine, and I round over her, grinding over her with each thrust.

I watch her as I move deep inside. The intensity between us is surreal.

“Fuck.”

“Harder.” Her nails dig into my shoulder.

With a cry, her pussy constricts my dick so hard I lose control.Jesus. I come so fucking hard the world goes black.

Chapter23

Willow

The agent Leo recommended provided a list of muted colors he believes will sell well, or in his words, will mesh with the London elite’s decor. Inspiration from these hues is elusive, compounded by my mind circling back to last night with Leo.

From a starry-eyed, romantic perspective, he’s gorgeous. Sexy. When I approached him in the shower that first night, I expected we could enjoy each other, and intimacy would increase the value of our nontraditional arrangement.

What I didn’t expect is the closeness intimacy would breed. I absolutely love what he can do to my body, and he’s far more skilled than Jules. Or at least, sex is better with Leo. But as much as I love the physical, it’s our time after, in the dark, where we talk and touch that I treasure. His walls fall. Well, not really. He doesn’t talk about business, and I get the sense he’s holding himself back, but he asks lots of questions. After sex, he doesn’t roll over and sleep. He wants to talk. That means something, no?

I can’t wait to meet his family—not just to meet them, but to learn more about him. And does that desire mean I’m falling for him? If I care, is that such a horrible thing? We’ll likely be together for years. Maybe over time he’ll fall for me too.

My mobile vibrates, and the name Ludovica Gagliano flashes on the screen. I welcome the break from plotting my next piece, since I’m making no progress, anyway.

“Mamma,” I say, letting genuine happiness color my greeting.

“Mia bellisima figlia, how are you, dear? Do you have a minute?”

“Of course.” I sink down into a puff chair I purchased for the studio. “I’m at a good place for a break.” She knows when I’m in the middle of something, if I don’t want to lose my pace, I won’t answer.

“Things are good?”

“They are. My agent found two galleries interested in showing my work.”

“I’m so proud of you.” There’s a hint of sadness to her words. She rarely calls during the workday, as she’s typically busy in our community. She volunteers at the local library, and she helps with the elderly.

“Is everything okay, Mamma?”

“It’s fine. I’m calling to check on my daughter, a married woman. Can I do that?”

“Of course.”

“In this time of, I believe the word is vicissitudes, this time of change, what I need to know is, are you happy? Does your husband make you happy?”

“He does.” My mother understands it’s an arrangement, but truthfully, almost all marriages in our world are arranged. In her time, arrangements were the only marriages. There were no exceptions.

“Is he a good man?”

“He is,” I answer with conviction.

“You do not regret your choice?”

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