Page 8 of Painted in Sin

"Nonsense, I'm taking you home where you'll be able to sleep off your buzz." My hand grips hers firmly, tightening it around my elbow, and I begin walking. Isabella looks back at the table once again before falling into step with me. I know I hear her whimper softly, but she doesn't fight me and I realize this is mostly my fault. I've forced her hand. Instead of being a gentleman, I've been demanding.

Leaning in closer to her, I pat her hand and say, "It's okay to relax, Bella. I won't hurt you. I actually treasure you more than you even know." So much more, for reasons she may not like so much, and some she may find alluring.

Her silent stare is acknowledgement enough for me. I guide her to the car and open the door. She climbs in and sits, then slides across the bench. I see her falter for a moment, wobbling as she lowers onto the seat, and smile at how she attempts to seem puttogether while in reality, she's growing drunker by the second. The giggle gives it away.

Once we're shut inside the car and I've given orders to my driver to take us to her penthouse, I pull her against my side and feel the heat of her body on my ribs. One hand presses into my chest, and she tenses as my hand rises to brush hair off her face. It's the same messy bun she wore all day when dripping with paint, but somehow, in this gown, she makes it look like high fashion.

"What are you doing?" Her tongue flicks over her bottom lip, and I'm transported to that dance the night we met for the first time. She was tipsy. I was hunting for something, and I found this attraction.

"You are phenomenally beautiful, Bella." Our faces linger only inches apart, and I'm smitten. I want to pluck her ripe fruit, but I want her to want me to do it. "Thank you for being willing to help me with my painting, and for coming to dinner with me tonight."

Her eyes shift nervously, flicking away from me. When she starts to turn her head, I cup her cheek and turn her gaze back to meet mine. "I don't feel like I had a choice."

Again, it's my fault. A woman as incredible as she is deserves to make the choice to submit, especially a woman as pliable as Ms. Deluca. She seems all too eager to melt into me right now, her gaze bouncing between my eyes and my lips.

"Of course you always have a choice, and I apologize for making it seem that I wasn’t giving that to you. Did you not enjoy dinner and talking about the art?" My pinky lingers across her eyebrow, sweeping strands of hair from her eyes. They're hooded, drowning in lust and drink, waiting for something to happen.

"I did," she admits, and I smile.

"And you have a choice about what happens next too." My mind goes to the women at that club, the ones who, given the same situation, would have been on their knees already, mouths wrapped around my cock, sucking. There is something absolutely irresistible about a naive woman who in truest insecurity has no clue whom she's seated next to.

Her tongue flicks over her lip again and she shakes her head slightly. "What happens now?" she breathes.

"This," I whisper before I close the gap, claiming her lips in a scorching kiss. I know where I'd like this to go, but I won't force her—tonight, anyway. I want her begging for me, and I want it to be all her doing.

7

ISABELLA

My head spins, my body boiling under his soft touch. Victor Costa has such a way of making me forget he's the enemy, the bad guy, the one I'm supposed to be protecting myself from. Or maybe that's the alcohol, but when his lips crash against mine, I can't think straight. I kiss him back and let him disarm me.

My choice? No one should give me this choice because I know it's wrong and my better judgment has been throwing more flags than a referee at a soccer game. I just can't seem to make my body align with what my head knows is the truth. His eyes and the way he looks at me have been unnerving me all night, making me second-guess what I really want.

"Victor," I breathe, pushing his chest away.

"What?" he asks, lips smeared with my lip stain, eyes wild with lust. I know if I touched his lap, I'd feel the evidence of an erection that my core would love to feel slide into it.

"I don't know…" I'm panting, catching my breath after that searing kiss. I don't know why I stopped him or why my body feels sucked into his orbit.

"I said what happens next is your choice." Victor starts to lean away, and my chest squeezes, that feeling you get when the thing you desperately want to happen looks as if it's not going to happen. And I realize what I want is for him to keep kissing me, and not just kiss me. I want him to do more to me.

I grab his tie and pull him back, a little harder than I mean to, and his mouth crashes against mine again, knocking our teeth together, but I don't waste any time leaning into it. His hands grip my thighs, guiding me as I shift and turn until I’m straddling him in the back seat of his limo. His erection, hot and hard, presses against me, making my core ache with need.

A quiet moan escapes me as he lifts his hips, grinding against me, and I rock my hips forward in response, desperate for more contact. His hands are everywhere, one on my breast, squeezing and teasing the taut nipple through my dress, the other guiding my hand down to his fly. I smooth over the outline of his length through his slacks and hear him groan low in his chest.

"I…" I'm breathless with arousal, "I… want you."

He frees himself with practiced ease, and I moan. He's even more impressive than I thought he'd be. Eagerly, I wrap my fingers around him, pumping his hard length, while he leaves a trail of kisses along my jawline, sucking, teasing. I whimper when his tongue dips into my ear, then circles it before he bites my earlobe.

“I want to hear you beg me like the good little girl you are.” His hands work to shimmy my dress upward around my hips while Istroke him and continue to devour kiss after kiss. They’re rough, not cautious with the flimsy material. I hear it tear and whimper as I press his length against my mound and grind on it. I’m undone, so horny I don’t even care how this may look to anyone. The wine is at play, but so are the thoughts I’ve been fighting ever since that stupid dance in the gallery. How can a man this rich and this attractive even look at someone like me?

He whispers, “Mmm so wet,” before sliding my panties to the side and pushing a finger inside me, coaxing out more of my wetness, which only makes me hotter. My pussy is screaming for the attention, probably drenched and puddling, ruining these panties.

"Yes, please. Oh, fuck, yes…" I moan, arching my back as he slides a second finger into me, his thumb resting just above my clit. Sensations explode, and my mind clouds over with pleasure, blotting out the world outside the car. All I can think about is him, his touch, his hardness.

He chuckles darkly, the emeralds in his eyes flashing mischief and lust as they meet mine. "That's more like it," he growls. His fingers continue to work magic on my core, drawing breathless pants from my lips, whimpers of need. “I’m going to wreck this tight pussy, Bella. Destroy it completely. You’ll never want another man after me.”

His words inflame me further, spurring me on as I work him in my fist faster, groaning and rocking against his hand. "Yes, take me. My God, I fucking need you in me…” The words fall out of my lips unbidden but desperate. The throbbing at my center won’t stop. It won’t let me rest. My hand milks his turgid length, though somewhat haphazardly, as he presses down on my clit and bites my collarbone. His other hand paws at a tit, pulling the fabric of my gown down to bare the flesh to his greedy palm.

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