Page 10 of Inheritance
“You shouldn’t let what happened with Henry destroy something you’re passionate about. Don’t let him take that from you.”
I took the drink from his outstretched arm and sipped, using the time to think. He was right, but that didn’t really matter.
“If you think about it, you being an artist is what brought us together to begin with, and I would hate to see you drop something you’re so good at, something you love, in order to keep unpleasant memories and emotions suppressed.” He said, deep and soft.
He looked into the distance thoughtfully, set his drink down, and regarded me, one eyebrow slightly raised.
“I think what you need is exposure therapy, along with being paid what you’re worth. Your talent was...” He circled his hand in the air, searching for the word. “Undervalued, in that town.”
“You’re in New York now. Things are different here. And that’s not just a fact about the city. It applies to you. To your skills.”
He stepped closer, his voice dropping with intent. The smell of him, the weight of his presence, wrapped around my senses as he tucked a stray hair behind my ear.
“The people here have a more refined taste for art.”
He shook his head softly, a small smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.
“They aren’t just tourists looking for a keepsake. You’re an amazing artist, and that’s a beautiful part of who you are. It’s something I love about you.”
I looked up at him, smiling as my lashes fluttered away the tears that hadn’t fully formed. My voice came out soft, teasing.
“Why are you saying this to me? I’m already yours, aren’t I?”
He smiled. But the seriousness in his gaze didn’t waver. He pulled me closer, tilted my chin up, and kissed me. Slow and purposeful.
“Yes, you are mine.”
And just like that, my fears and doubts dissolved. For one suspended moment, I didn’t have to question if I belonged.
I did.
He kissed me deeper, his hand sliding into my hair as he guided me backward, slow and unyielding, until the backs of my knees touched the edge of the daybed. He eased me down, his mouth never leaving mine, until I was lying back against the cushions, breathless.
His lips moved to my throat, dragging softly along the skin, making me shiver. He murmured something low I couldn’t catch, but it didn’t matter, the sensation of his voice on my neck was more than enough.
He didn’t rush. Every touch was deliberate. He kissed down my chest, lifting my shirt just enough to brush his mouth against the skin beneath. When I gasped, I felt him smile. Then he kept going—lower, slower—trailing heat down my stomach. His hands slid beneath the fabric, working my shirt higher as his mouth followed the path back up.
He kissed beneath my breasts, his stubble grazing, breath hot. His hands worked at the button on my jeans. It came free, and he kissed his way down as he pulled them off, exposing me to the cool air—and to him.
He lowered his mouth slowly, reverently, kissing the inside of my thigh with maddening restraint. Then I felt his tongue—soft, then firm—a slow stroke that made my hips jerk.
He held me steady, his hands sliding beneath my thighs, lifting me into him as he licked me with purposeful precision. Over and over. Deep and slow. My fingers curled into the cushions, my body arching against his mouth, his name slipping past my lips before I even realized I was moaning it.
He didn’t stop. His tongue moved in unhurried strokes, savoring every gasp he pulled from me. He explored me like he had all the time in the world, alternating gentle licks with firmer pressure, the pace maddening in how perfectly it stayed just beneath the edge of too much.
His mouth slid lower, then back up again, teasing me with a flick that made my back arch. I whimpered, trying to hold still, but my body had a mind of its own. He dragged his tongue in slow circles, then flattened it and pressed in deep, groaning low like the taste of me satisfied something feral in him.
He shifted one hand, slipping it beneath my thigh to open me wider, his fingers digging in just enough to anchor me in place. His other hand splayed across my stomach, holding me down as I writhed beneath him, my heels digging into the cushions.
He licked softly, then harder, a rhythm that had me unraveling fast. I squeezed my eyes shut, legs trembling.
Pleasure hit before I could brace for it. It crashed through me in waves—hot, uncontrollable, raw. I cried out, my fingers buried in his hair, hips jerking against his mouth.
Still, he didn’t stop. Slower now, but just as precise. He didn’t let me come down gently—he drew out the aftershocks, lapping at the what he’d coaxed from me until I whimpered again, this time from the edge of overstimulation.
Only then did he lift his head, eyes dark and unreadable.
He kissed the inside of my thigh one last time—slow, possessive—then came back up, dragging his mouth over me like he’d claimed me permanently.
