Page 97 of The Painter and His Poet

“Promise me!”

“I promise. There will never be anyone else. Only you. Just you!”

He nods sharply then his mouth crashes against mine as he shoves two fingers inside of me with one firm thrust.

I come apart, an orgasm rushing outwards from my core in a shockwave of intense pleasure that makes me shudder and shake. He swallows my cry, kissing me roughly, his fingers still pumping inside of me, coated in my cum. Sterling drags out every last drop of my orgasm until I have to twist my head to the side and suck in much needed oxygen.

“And I promise that I will never look at another woman as long as I live,” he states, nipping my earlobe as he withdraws his hand and captures my jaw with his sticky fingers.

Slowly, he turns my head to face him, and through the fog of lust, and lingering pleasure, I’m rewarded with a smile so pure, so brilliantly beautiful that my heart swells with something more than lust, something more than like, something that feels close to love.

“Good,” I reply softly, accepting the gentle brush of his lips against my own before he leans over me, and presses the button that makes my seat shift upright once again.

“We should probably get going,” he says with a rueful grin, as he settles back into his seat and clips in his seatbelt.

“What about you?” I ask, my gaze dropping to his crotch and his erection.

“Our parents aren’t home tonight, so I was planning on accompanying you to your room and having my wicked way with you,” he retorts, flipping the headlights back on as he puts the car into gear.

I bite on my lip, my cheeks flushing a deeper pink at the thought. “Then I hope you’ll let me return the favour,” I say, thoughts of his thick dick shoved so far down my throat that I’m choking on it.

“The favour?” he cocks his head, grinning.

My eyes flick to his erection once again, and I lick my lips. “I haven’t tasted you yet,” I reply.

His eyes widen. “Fuck, Harlow, are you trying to make me come in my pants?”

“I’d rather you come inside of me,” I deadpan.

“Jesus-fucking-Christ,” he grumbles, gripping the steering wheel tightly. “Do wehaveto go to Bandits Bar?”

I can’t help it, I laugh. “I’m afraid I promised, and I happen to keep my promises.”

“Fine, fuck. Let’s do this.”

I settle into my seat, smiling to myself as Sterling manoeuvres the car so that we’re heading back out onto the main road, the headlamps momentarily lighting up a dirt track that cuts through a bank of tall pinewood trees. I notice that it’s wide enough for a vehicle to pass through.

“Where does that lead?” I ask, pointing in the direction of the partially hidden road.

“That leads to Craven Mount-Black’s estate,” Sterling replies.

“That’s a name straight out of a historical romance novel if ever there was one,” I reply, eyebrows hitching.

“I don’t think Craven has left his estate in years, let alone in a relationship as far as I’m aware. That man is not ‘social’. Rumour has it he prefers animals to humans.”

“Colour me intrigued,” I reply. Sterling flicks me a look, his brow hitching as I grin at him. “What?

“Actually you met his nephew, Blake.”

“Wait, Craven Mount-Black is Blake’s uncle, thetaxidermist,?” I ask, eyes wide.

“Yes, and extremely wealthy. Years ago my father once tried to do business with him, but Craven refused, and he’s been an outcast ever since. Not that I imagine he cares. Like I said, he barely leaves his estate, preferring his own company for the mostpart. Frankly, I don’t blame him. The whole billionaire circuit is fucking draining to be a part of.”

“So Blake is his only family or does Craven have any other relatives?” I ask as we head out onto the main road, towards town.

“As far as I’m aware, yes. Blake’s dad passed away a few years ago which actually makes Blake heir to the Craven-Black fortune. Ben told me that when Blake arrived in town a couple years ago Craven set him up with a job atThe Cosy Chord, and bought him a house in Princetown. Blake’s mother was so heartbroken from his father’s death that she took her own life. Craven is all the family he has left. Though I don’t think they have a particularly good relationship from what I’ve heard.”

“That’s terrible,” I reply. “Poor Blake.”

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