Page 8 of Forbidden Desires

If Dominique’s prediction of how well-matched Jasmine and I were held true, then she would most certainly see more of Aanya’s work, because the other woman was presenting her sculptures in at least three more exhibits over the coming months, and those were events that I’d planned to bring a guest to.

Jasmine practically beamed up at me, her bright, genuine smile hitting me like a sucker punch to the chest. “Oh, I have to come back and see more of her work,” she said, her enthusiasm almost infectious. “Even if it’s on my own. There’s something so simplistic about the lotus design but so alluring about it, too. You can tell how passionate she is about her work when she talks about it. There’s nothing better than seeing that excitement in an artist’s face, you know?”

I nodded, understanding what she meant. “It’s one of the reasons I like this line of work. It’s therapeutic, in a way.” I smiled and inclined my head. “Shall we continue on?”

While Aanya was occupied flitting between patrons like the social butterfly that she was, I once again had Jasmine on my arm and walked her around the gallery. I introduced her to artists, art patrons, other backers, and a few of the curators who made themselves known for the event this evening.

Despite her young age, Jasmine took to each interaction with such an eager grace, slipped into intelligent conversation like it was a second skin and molded seamlessly to the atmosphere as though she was born into it. If I had not met her through Dominique, I would have assumed she was a colleague’s daughter, brought up around this work, entrenched in this life.

Which made me curious about where Jasmine had come from. Every call girl, prostitute, escort, or cam girl had a story—usually a specific reason for why they’d chosen the line of workthat they had. For some, it was desperation. Others, necessity—and those two things, desperation and necessity, were not necessarily the same.

I didn’t know Jasmine well enough to gauge what her reasons might be—but I had seen enough facets of her personality to be intrigued and to want to know more, if only to sate a bit of curiosity before it was time to part ways with her. Which was an anomaly for me, considering I didn’t usually find myself so fascinated with, and attracted to, my temporary arrangements.

Eventually, I meandered us toward the upper floors, where there was a smaller density of people. Truth be told, I should have been socializing, but I wanted to monopolize more of Jasmine’s presence than I wanted to play my role as a benefactor.

How ironic was that? Business normally consumed me and was my sole focus, but tonight I’d found myself distracted and enjoying myself in a way I never would have anticipated. Despite securing her company for just a few hours for the event, I didn’t want my time with Jasmine to end.

“How are you finding the evening so far?” I asked as I led us from the exhibits to a small balcony that looked out to the coastal side of Coral Gables.

The terrace was vacant and quiet and unlit, giving us a bit of privacy from the rest of the gallery. Jasmine leaned comfortably on the railing near the far wall, looking out toward the distant coastline. A placid, comfortable expression touched her delicate features.

“Honestly? I think I’m falling in love,” she said with a laugh—and then caught herself. “You know, I mean with all ofthis.” She gestured her hand in a sweeping motion to indicate the interior of the gallery behind us. “Do you ever realize that you’ve been missing something more than you thought you were? Or even that you missed it at all? I suppose that’s what I mean to say.”

I hummed, hiding a smile behind a drink of wine at her endearing enthusiasm. “I understand what you mean,” I said after a moment, and set my glass on a nearby table before moving closer to her. “It’s hard not to fall in love with the art, the way that it makes people feel and the way an artist connects to their creations, and in turn how it unites them with others who appreciate the same things.” It was a kinship that my mother had instilled well within me.

“That exactly,” Jasmine said, nodding eagerly before she once again tried to tamp her rising exhilaration. “Ah, like I said, it’s been a long time since I’ve been somewhere like this and it just brings back a lot of memories.”

“No need to apologize,” I said, unable to remember the last time I’d dated someone who matched my passion for the arts like she did. “I like your excitement.”

A beautiful flush spread across her face as she stared up at me. Without thought or second guessing, I reached out and gently spread my fingers across the coloring on her cheek. Her skin flared hot beneath my touch, and she leaned into my palm. A soft, almost imperceptible tip of her head into my hold.

My cock stirred. It shouldn’t have been so easy to feel the tug of desire that wrapped around me—yet there it was. Undeniable and so goddamn irresistible. That surge of lust drew my eyes to the curve of her neck, to that arousing blush on her smooth, porcelain skin.

To her red, parted damp lips.

Up to her eyes.

There was a glossy, wide-eyed glow to her gaze. An indescribable curiosity and pure need that reflected back onto me. She was temptation personified, and the tip of my tongue darted out, wetting my own lips as I watched anticipation flicker in her eyes.

Without overthinking my actions, I leaned in and dipped my head, pressing my mouth to hers, watching as her lashes fluttered closed. The softness of her lips molded to my own as if they’d been created specifically for me. I caught the sweet taste of wine against her breath and the slight, nearly imperceptible gasp that escaped her as I gently tugged on her bottom lip with my teeth.

The slight moan in the back of her throat encouraged me to deepen that kiss, and I swept my tongue inside her mouth. A low growl of satisfaction rumbled in my chest as she responded eagerly to my sensual assault, participating whole-heartedly.

I knew what an obligatory kiss was, and this wasn’t one of those bought and paid for perks. The hunger that erupted between us was mutual, the attraction starting at a slow burn and flaring into a full fledge fire that threatened to consume us both. With one hand holding her hip, I slid my palm from her cheek and around to the nape of her neck. My fingers threaded into the silken locks of her hair there, gripping just tight enough to guide her closer to me so I could feel the press of her curves against my hard body, and there was no mistaking how fucking thick my cock was for her.

Her soft little whimpers vibrated against our fused lips. Her hands explored as my mouth ravished hers, sliding up my chest and across my shoulders—at first tentative before they turned fervent, pushing into my hair and clutching the strands in her fingers as she angled her hips against mine, in a way that drove me insane with the need to bury my cock deep inside her body.

Alone and tucked away on that balcony from the eyes and ears of the patrons of the gallery, we melded together. In a haze of lust, I took one step, then another, guiding her back until she was pressed up against the wall, my body pinning her there while her soft, illicit moans filled the air around us.

Just a kiss, just a taste…that had been my intention. But it was impossible to extinguish the spark when I felt the slight part of her thighs, giving me more access between them. How warm she was. How her breasts crushed against my chest and the way her hands were now sliding inside my suit jacket and around my waist, as if to anchor me closer.

Feeling my prized restraint starting to spin out of control, I tore my mouth from hers. “Fuck.”

The slip of tongue was damn near embarrassing, yet the slight bite of her nails in my back prevented me from caring. I hissed, loving how I could feel the dig of them beneath my shirt. How her own desire could be felt so intensely…

There was no better sensation.

With a groan, I shoved my hands beneath the hem of her dress and gripped her ass, hoisting her up higher against the wall. There wasn’t a damn thing I wanted more than to remove the layers of clothing between us. I wanted to sink into her, as she was, pliant and soft and hot and wet beneath me, moaning my name as she writhed and came all over my cock.

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