Page 212 of King of Pain
I’m not even nervous about the art.
Not really.
It’s everything else about tonight. Therealreason I’ve got butterflies ransacking my ribcage. This night is more than my first gallery exhibit.
It’s the start of something new. A future. With him.
And there are surprises.
Plans.
Things I’ve been scheming for weeks.
So yeah. My palms are sweating.
Just as I’m about to pace lap number twenty, the bedroom door opens behind me, and I freeze.
I turn around—and stop breathing completely.
Anthony Pacini in a tux.
He’s art.
He’severything.
It takes me a second to recover from the sight.
“Jesus Christ,” I whisper, stepping toward him, heart slamming against my chest. I reach out, brush my knuckle down the lapel of his tux. The spice of his cologne surrounds me, making my head swim. “I thought it the first time I saw you and it’s even truer today. You simply take my breath away.”
Ant ducks his head for a second, smiling—shy but smug, that trademark blend only he can pull off—then he lifts his eyes to me, full of fire, and slowly drags his gaze down my body and back up again.
“Well, come on then,” he says, lifting one finger. “Give us a spin.”
I roll my eyes but oblige. I turn slowly, shift my weight onto one foot, and pop my ass out a little.
Ant whistles low.
I feel him step up behind me, the heat of him pressing into my back as he grabs a handful of my ass.
His chin drops to my shoulder and his voice drops low and dangerous in my ear. “Not so bad yourself. It’s a good thing we need to leave now, or I’d have you bent over this couch for the next hour.”
I turn around, bite my lip and raise a brow. “Later,” I say, reaching up to flick my bowtie, “when we get home, I’m going to ride that big dick of your while I’m wearing… nothing but this bowtie.”
His eyes darken, throat working as he swallows. “Yep,” he croaks. Then he grabs my hand and pulls me toward the door. “We gotta go—now—or we’re not making it out of here and you’ll miss your own opening.”
I laugh as he leans down to pet Little G, who’s sprawled near the kitchen, dozing softly.
“We’ll only be gone a few hours, buddy,” Ant tells him. “We’ll take you for a walk when we get back.”
Little G gives us a huff of a sigh and goes back to his nap.
As soon as the elevator doors close behind us, I can’t help myself.
I turn, press Ant against the mirrored wall, and kiss him hard and deep.
He groans into my mouth, hands sliding down to grab my ass.
“Hi,” he says when we finally come up for air.
