Page 1 of Choosing the right Man

Prologue

Mason

She has no name. She needs no name. I circle her as she lies naked on the cold steel table before me. I draw closer, noticing the visible tremor in her stomach. I see everything. I don’t look at her face, but know she’s lying before me, trying to be perfectly still as I take in every single detail of her flawless body.

She’s a work of art on her own. But I’ll make her a masterpiece. My favorite brush is in my hand. I won’t begin until I’m ready. I’ve told her this might take all night. She’s more than willing, and by the quiver in her frame, she’s excited.

I dip my brush in the paint and the first touch of red gently flows across the center of her chest, a beautiful splash of color against ivory skin. She shakes and a soft moan escapes her parted pink lips. I smile. She’s pleasing me... not something easy to do.

I move faster as I dip my brush in shades of red, pink, cream, and blue. I circle her luscious breasts, shading them with my brush. Her back arches off the table when my feather-light touch glides over her hardened nipples.

“Don’t move,” I command.

“Sorry,” she says, her voice husky and weak. Her toes twitch.

Time has no meaning as I get lost in my art. She’s my canvas, and she’s utter perfection. I transform her body into a beautiful symphony of colors. She twitches on the table, but not enough to diminish the beauty of what I’m doing. My brush traces across her hips, into the lovely V of her thighs, and I circle her sweet folds. She gasps. My body is hard. The art is nearly finished. The pleasure can soon come.

“You’ve outdone yourself, Mason.” I don’t look up. I finish my final paint stroke as Bella walks up beside me. I feel the woman on the table tense.

“What are you doing here?” I ask.

“I brought the photographer. You’re running late,” Bella tells me. She knows better than to touch me right now. I’m mentally in another place — I’m in no way hers in this moment.

“I almost forgot,” I say, gazing down at the woman on the table. I finally look at her face. There’s been no need until now as her face doesn’t matter. It’s her body that’s the canvas. Her eyes are closed, agony on her features. I’ve played with her for hours, turned her into a work of art, a beautiful masterpiece, and she’s hurting. She needs my hands on her. She needs the brush to be put away.

I move over to a shelf and pick up a sheer scarf. I place it across her breasts, the silk muting the colors beneath. I trail the end over her stomach, across her heat.

“Bend your right knee just a little, and plant your foot on the table,” I tell her. She immediately obeys. The silk flows perfectly. My job is finished.

“Have him take the shots, and then I want both of you out,” I tell Bella. There’s a flash of hurt in her eyes, but she quickly masks it. I make this woman a lot of money. She’ll give me what I want. I won’t tolerate anything less.

“Of course,” she says. She looks at the man with the camera and we both step away while he draws closer. His camerarepeatedly flashes for the next ten minutes. He looks through the images and smiles.

“Finished,” he tells us.

“See you soon,” Bella says. I can see how badly she wants to reach up and kiss me, but that isn’t going to happen. Not now. I’m the artist right now. I’m not hers. She knows the rules. She’s known them for a very long time. She turns and leaves. I barely acknowledge the click of the studio door.

“We’re almost finished,” I tell the painted woman on the table as I move back to her, towering over her shaking body. She opens her eyes, passion blazing in her expression.

“What’s next?” she asks, her chest rapidly rising and falling, making the silk across her body flutter. I reach out and take her hand to help her sit up. She slowly slides from the table, and I have to hold her in place since her knees are trembling.

“Time for a shower,” I tell her. “This is the most beautiful part.”

She follows me into the large room with a huge shower stall. The silk scarf is sticking to her. She reaches up to take it off and I stop her.

“Not yet,” I say. I leave her standing alone while I walk inside the shower and turn it on to just the right temperature. She begins to walk in, and I stop her again. She waits. Then I move over to my camera and set it on automatic. She looks at it uneasily.

“This is only for the paint,” I tell her. She lets out a breath of relief. We both know how this will end, and she doesn’t want it caught on camera. I’m well aware she’d agree to that if I insisted. I don’t need documentation of what will happen next. I’ll enjoy her for the moment, and then I won’t think of her again. I won’t need to relive it.

I strip off my clothes; she looks down at my hard body and a moan escapes her. I smile. I know how I look. I also know how tobring pleasure to a woman. We’ll both be feeling good very soon. I don’t always crave my canvases after the art is finished, but satisfaction is a must. Painting brings out the beast within me.

I place her beneath the shower spray and tell her to stand still with her head arched. Then I step away. The water cascades down her breasts, over the top of the silk, and the paint drips from her in a mural of incredible colors. My camera captures it all. When she’s nearly back to her original pallet, I smile.

“You can stop the pose now. The camera’s finished,” I tell her, my voice low and husky.

She turns toward me, pleasure in her eyes. Then she reaches out her hand. I move forward, the warm spray consuming both of us. I push her back against the wall and finally allow my lips to touch hers.

She’s greedy as her hands slide behind my neck, holding me in place. I’ve been playing with her body for hours and she’s shaking in my arms. Her lips are urgent as she presses her lush body against mine. I’m hungry . . . so damn hungry. My body’s throbbing with the need to take her. Neither of us need much foreplay.

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