Authors: Ava Lore

His Acquisition (7 page)

He was beautiful.

I took a picture.

Immediately his eyes flickered up to mine, and he smiled at me,
that devilish grin contrasting with the tiny frozen moment on the camera screen
where he sleepily licked my clit with his long, delicious tongue. Then his grin
faded as he opened his sensuous lips wide and sucked my entire pussy into his
mouth, labia and all. The pull of his lips sent my head spinning. My legs
curled, my heels finding his back and digging in as my hips bucked off the
floor and into his face. He seemed to be encouraged by this reaction, and he
chuckled, my pussy still in his mouth. The vibrations sent my eyes rolling back
in my head and I twisted, my thighs clamping down on his head to hold him in
place. I didn't ever want him to move.

His hands, trapped between his head and my legs, slipped out,
circling around my thighs and then down to my ass. There they spread out,
massaging, squeezing, and I moaned as he dug his fingers in and then pulled his
head away from my pussy with a loud
smack,
the suction releasing in one
great pop that echoed around the empty studio. Then he returned and sucked my
clit back into his mouth before pulling away, again and again. The soft, wet
sounds of his mouth on my pussy clicked and clacked against the walls, until
the whole room was full of the echoes of his mouth lavishing attention on my
intimate places.

In the pit of my belly, I felt my climax begin to coil, like a
snake about to strike, but abruptly he pulled his head away and dropped me.
Rearing back on his knees, he knelt between my thighs, and through the haze of
my thwarted orgasm I saw his erection—huge, my god—straining against the fabric
of his pants. He must have been wearing no underwear, because it bounced freely
with his movement. Precum stained the tip dark.

Then he reached out and took the camera from my hands.

I blinked at him stupidly.

Carelessly he reached down and threw the white satin over me,
half-covering my body, and, apprehension building, I reached down to cover
myself entirely as he suddenly snapped off a series of photos.

“Don't hide from me,” he said, his voice hoarse with need. “You
are amazing.”

I licked my lips. “I don't do porn.”

He lowered the camera and reached down between my legs again,
his hot, rough fingers finding my pussy and stroking into my slick channel,
harsh and without control, which just made me wetter and hotter. “No,” he said
as my hips thrust up into his hand and he shot another photograph, “you aren't
doing porn. You will see.”

“Don't take pictures of me—
ah—
like this!”

“You inspire me,” was all he said. He slipped his finger out and
shoved his thumb inside me, sliding his creamy index finger down the crack of
my ass where it curled over my puckered entrance, pushing and retreating,
pushing and retreating. My body quivered around his hand, my back arching. The
white satin tangled around me, twisting me up. I managed to trap myself in it
like a butterfly tangled in a spiderweb. Relentlessly his fingers pushed their
way inside me, stroking and stirring, and above me the camera clicked and
whirred, capturing every moment.

I should have been ashamed. I had certainly been raised to feel
that way. But I didn't. My climax, previously denied, began to build again,
mounting harder this time, faster, higher. He played me like an instrument, and
I let him. The satin slid against my skin, looping and tightening, my breath
coming hot and fast. The cool air on my body, the dazzling lights, the darkness
of the backdrop burning against my eyes as my back arched like a bow pulled
taut—all of it exposed me to him, to the unforgiving lens of his camera.

Yet I trusted him to make it beautiful, to transcend it.

You were alive.

Maybe he
was
crazy. But if I was alive, I wanted to feel
like it.

His harsh breathing cut through my haze, scraping over my ears
as he moved over me, placing a foot by my shoulder and staring directly down at
my face. Closer and closer the camera came, and I forced myself to be still as
he stroked me, so the shots wouldn't come out blurry. Below the waist, my hips
bucked, thrusting into him as he fucked me with his hand. I tried to touch
myself, but my arms were caught in the satin, and I could only close my eyes
and give myself over to him.

My pussy clenched, drenching his hand, and my climax was coming,
just on the edge.

“I'm—” I started to say, but the clatter of something heavy hitting
the floor startled me and I turned my head just in time to see the camera
skitter away over the dark black cloth covering the floorboards as Malcolm Ward
suddenly crouched down and slipped an arm under me. I became weightless as he
lifted me, clutching me hard to him, and I, tangled and twisted as I was, could
only lay limp in his embrace as his mouth found my throat. Then his fingers
gave me a little push, and I was tumbling over the edge of my climax, pleasure
rushing up to meet me.

Great shudders raced through my body and I curled up, my legs
clamping around his arm as I came. The waves of my orgasm threatened to sweep
me away, suck me into an undertow I could not escape from. More than anything I
wished it were his hips I were clinging to instead of his arm, and as his hand
drew my orgasm out of me, his mouth traced gentle, soft patterns over the
fragile skin of my throat, a sharp contrast to the violence of his fingers in
my ass and pussy. I writhed as he brought his index finger and thumb together inside
me, only the thinnest of inner walls separating them. I was stretched wide,
aching, and when at last the ripples subsided I collapsed in his grasp, all the
tension of my body flowing away like water down a hill.

Our ragged gasps mingled together in the studio, his breath
coiling in the hollow of my throat, and mine bouncing off the walls. His
forehead was sheened in sweat and I remembered my own curiosity as to what it
would taste like. Turning my head, I let my tongue slip along his brow, tasting
him.

Salty, sweet. Dark.
Good.

Then my body jolted as he jerked away from me. I inhaled sharply
at the expression on his face.

He looked... confused. As though he had no idea what had just
happened, even though his fingers were still buried inside my body. The smell
of sweat and my juices hung in the previously cool, stale air, and his wide,
dark eyes searched my face as if he were looking for some clue that might be
hidden there, something that would tell him what to do next.

Personally, I'd thought we were going to fuck. But that look on
his face told me that things were not quite as simple as that.

“Oh,” he said suddenly, and then, as quickly as he could without
injuring me, he set me down and pulled his fingers from my cunt and ass. The
swift loss sent a tremor of remembered pleasure through my body and I jerked in
my twisted satin bonds. I was caught where I lay, but he retreated from me,
leaving me to work my way out on my own. He stood at the edge of the black
backdrop and watched, as though he had had no part in my predicament. Sitting
up, I struggled out of the tangled white satin, then stood up. The sweat on my
skin was drying and cooling rapidly, and I started to shiver.

I stood, naked, in the middle of his studio, and he stared at me
as though he had never seen me before.

Well,
I thought to myself,
that's what you get for
trying to fuck a crazy guy.

I tossed my tangled hair back and met his stare head on, daring
him to say something. But he just took another step back.

“I'll call you tomorrow,” he said. “Will you see yourself out?”

My jaw clenched, but he backed away again, and I was suddenly
reminded of my mother's old cat, who, after a lifetime spent in our house could
never tolerate people and never wanted to be touched or spoken to. An abused
cat. That's what he was reminding me of.

Wow. Sexy.

What the fuck was wrong with me?

“Yeah,” I said. “I'll see myself out. No problem.”

“Okay then,” he replied, and with that he turned and walked out
of the studio, his footsteps thundering on the stairs until he stepped off on
one of the floors below. His camera lay on the floor and I thought, briefly, of
going over and stealing the SD card, but some artistic camaraderie stopped me.
I hadn't stopped him from taking those pictures. They could still be wonderful.
And he certainly didn't need money from porno pics.

I left it where it lay, got dressed and gathered my things, then
descended the stairs, my knees still weak from the delicious orgasm he'd given
me. When I finally walked down the steps to the sidewalk in front of the
house, I paused and looked up.

A curtain on the third floor twitched and then was still.

I walked to the subway station, one thought echoing in my head:

What the
fuck
just happened?

* * *

To be continued in
His Canvas (The Billionaire’s Muse
#2)!

About the Author

Ava Lore was raised by wombats and
lives to corrupt the innocent. When she's not writing erotic romance, she
spends her time thinking about writing erotic romance and drinking enough iced
coffee to kill a musk ox.

Discover more titles by
Ava
Lore at AllRomanceeBooks.com
.

You can email Ava Lore at
[email protected]
or catch up
with her at
authoravalore.com
. She
yearns for your approval and always loves to hear from fans. Want more BBW?
More Billionaires? More aliens? More menage? Something entirely different? Let
her know!

Other Titles by Ava Lore

Maddy
Takes a Memo (BBW Billionaire Menage Erotic Romance)

Maddy
Calls a Meeting (BBW Billionaire Menage Erotic Romance)

Maddy
Shifts the Paradigm (BBW Billionaire Menage Erotic Romance)

The Billionaire's Wife (A BDSM Erotic Romance):

Bartered
Proposal: The Billionaire's Wife, Part 1

Bartered
Seduction: The Billionaire's Wife, Part 2

Bartered
Bride: The Billionaire's Wife, Part 3

Bartered
Desire: The Billionaire’s Wife, Part 4

Bartered
Submission: The Billionaire’s Wife, Part 5

Bartered
Passion: The Billionaire’s Wife, Part 6

Bartered
Pain: The Billionaire’s Wife, Part 7