Page 64 of Choosing the right Man

She grips my hardness tight with one hand as she kneels before me, her legs spreading wide. She begins stroking me, using my pre-come to lubricate my solid length. With her other hand, she reaches between her legs and begins rubbing herself, groans escaping her painted throat.

Then she closes her mouth over me and sucks hard as she hums against me. I reach down and brace myself against her dark hair, gripping it tightly in my fingers as she sucks me, pulling me deeper into her hot mouth as she squeezes my base with her tight grip.

Her other hand flutters against herself, her fingers moving faster. Her moans vibrate through my dick as she licks and sucks. My pleasure builds. I don’t hold back.

I release with an almost violent explosion, and she takes it all down her throat as she opens her mouth wide and cries out as she finds her own release. She licks the last of my pleasure off of me before opening her mouth. She stands on wobbly knees and licks her swollen lips.

I grab her and finally take her mouth, not having enough yet. I kiss her for long moments before lifting her in my arms and taking her to the shower. I strip the rest of my clothes away, and we climb in together.

We make love for the next hour before climbing back out. I carry her to the bedroom and decide we’re never leaving this house again. I don’t want to share her with the world. I want to keep her to myself forever. I won’t let her go.

I pull her close to me and love how she feels in my arms. “I love you, Chloe,” I admit.

She pulls back and looks at me before her fingers cup my cheek. “I love you too, Mason.” It’s sweet and simple. I don’t know why I haven’t said the words before. I’m glad I’ve waited though, because now nothing is holding us back. It’s just her and me with no skeletons in the closet, the way it should’ve been all along.

I fall asleep with her in my arms and realize this is the way it needs to be for the rest of our lives.

Chapter Forty-Two

Chloe

Mason and I are finally going out in public with nothing to hide, with no shame. We’re coming out of the dark, and presenting ourselves to the world. I’m excited as I put on a beautiful blue dress that hugs my curves and makes me feel sophisticated and sexy at the same time. I take extra care with my hair and makeup. Though the world doesn’t know he’s the artist at this gala event, I do, and I want him to be proud to have me on his arm.

I don’t let him see me until I’m completely finished. When I walk into the living room to join him, he smiles, smoothly walking to me. The familiar tug in my stomach at the first sight of him sends butterflies flapping. I want to scrap the entire night and go back into the bedroom and make love again and again.

“You look beautiful,” he says, bending and giving me a kiss. He pulls back before I can take it further. He gives me a wicked smile and shakes his head as he steps back. “You and I are going on a date. Even if you’re a vixen, it won’t work. I want you on my arm tonight.” I laugh. This man can keep me locked to his bed ninety-nine percent of the time. I don’t mind hiding away with him forever.

“You can’t blame a girl for trying,” I tell him. “You look too devastatingly handsome in your suit to not share anyway.” I reach up and adjust his tie.

“Are you ready to go?” he asks.

“Yes.” I take his arm, and we walk out to the garage. He holds open the door for me and I climb inside. Our first real date. I’m incredibly excited, but nervous too.

We talk as we make our way to the gallery. We arrive with crowds of people already inside, the room absolutely stunning. Mason’s artwork hangs everywhere, and I move through the room looking at the pieces that take my breath away. I’ve already seen most of them, but there are a few I haven’t. He’s grown slightly edgier over the years, a little darker in his work. I like it.

The room’s lighting is muted, making the lights on the key paintings really stand out. Tables are set and waiters are carrying appetizers and drinks to patrons. It’s a perfectly run event. I lose sight of Mason as I talk to excited people who gush about how impressed they are with the work. It fascinates me how people either love it or hate it. There aren’t a lot of in-betweens. A good two hours pass with me barely seeing Mason. When our eyes do meet, though, passion burns between us.

I run to the bathroom, and when I come back out, Mason is in one of the smaller rooms of the gallery, speaking with a petite blonde. Jealousy stirs in my gut as she laughs, throwing her head back, giving him an enticing view of her neck. She reaches out and places her perfectly manicured pink fingernails on his dark suit jacket.

Jealousy rips through me. I want to scratch the woman’s eyes out, but I take a few deep breaths, grab a glass of wine from a passing waiter, and take my time approaching them.

“Do you know the artist?” the woman croons, not even trying to hide her interest in him. The only saving grace is he looks bored talking to her.

“I believe the artist likes to keep his identity a secret,” Mason tells her.

“I hear he’s an old man who lives in the woods and doesn’t ever leave his art studio,” I say, proud of how calm I sound as I approach. I’m not used to feeling this raw jealousy. I don’t like it.

The woman turns a dismissive eye on me before focusing on Mason again. I put my arm through his, earning an assessing look from her.

“I’ve heard nothing like that,” the woman says. Mason wraps his arm around me before leaning down and kissing my lips, marking me as his. My jealousy completely evaporates. He’s mine. He’s clearly said this before. I’m starting to believe it’s true.

We both turn, clearly dismissing the woman who slinks away. I look into Mason’s eyes and want nothing more than to get him alone.

“Are you having a good time?” he asks.

“It’s been a perfect night. I don’t know how you don’t shout to the world who you are.” I reach up and run a finger along his strong jawline, then over his bottom lip. He kisses my finger sending a shiver through me.

“Old man in the woods?” he says with a chuckle.

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