Sculptor: A Steamy Romance (5 page)

"I don't get in his business like that, so I don't know why they broke up, but there you have it," I say, knowing she probably sees it as finally getting a chance.

I guess that might be part of the reason I missed her crush on him—she hid it well while he was taken. That’s a pretty good sign.

"Is he talking to someone now?"

I shrug.

At any given point he could be following up on a number slipped to him.

"As far as I know, he's single and free. But I have to ask—this isn't because of all the weddings, right?”

This time, she punches me in the arm.

“No,” she says firmly, and I believe her.

But I had to ask—I don't want her using my brother because she feels desperately alone and wants a warm body next to hers just to get through the wedding season.

Then again, would my brother even mind?

He has only been in longterm relationships since the accident, but maybe a casual thing would help him feel normal.

"Come eat!" my mom shouts from the kitchen, and the two of us make a run for it.

This is definitely the one place we are all at our least elegant; my mom’s food is just too delicious to play cool.

I know my brother's not far behind us, even with the prosthetic.

S
ometimes I wish
I had never moved away from home—there’s truly no place like it—but commuting to and from college isn't exactly practical so coming home every now and then will have to do.

I'm feeling extra full and satisfied when my phone buzzes, and I stupidly think it's Derek for a moment, and my heart races in happy anticipation.

But it's just my fiancé, and he wants me to come over.

I make a sound that makes my mom go, "What is it?"

"Harold wants me to see what he's doing with the interior of our future abode," I say.

"How exciting!" Celeste says, clapping her hands a little. "Man, I can't wait to see it. Wait—I'll be allowed to come over and see you at your mansion, right?"

She looks so serious it's almost comical.

"I don't see why not!" I say. "Unless he plans to keep me holed up in there like Rapunzel!"

I expected a
little
bit of fake chuckling or something since I was just kidding, but no one humors me.

Tough crowd.

A brief silence fills the room and everyone suddenly looks way too serious.

"Anyway, I need to grab something from the attic before I go. My stuff's still there, right?"

I say it casually, but my heart is thumping wildly.

My mom has joked about getting rid of my stuff before, and I know she's not serious, but I'm still worried that what I'm about to look for won't be there.

"Of course, my girl,” she says. “All neat and tidy, patiently awaiting their new mansion home.”

Relief floods me.

I thank her for dinner, kiss my brother on the cheek, hug Celeste, then dash up the stairs.

I open the door, and it's still dusty, but it looks like my containers are all there—my entire childhood boxed up neatly.

My mom turned my old bedroom into some sort of meditation room after I left, but my brother's room is untouched—the same as he left it.

I guess it’s because he still pops by more often than I do and because I'm about to be married off.

I had a meticulous system when I boxed my stuff up, so I head for the container I know has what I'm looking for—the one with gifts to me from those closest to me.

A teddy bear from Celeste, a doll from an auntie, an old friendship bracelet from someone I’m no longer in touch with, and even stuff from my brother—an incomplete stack of playing cards, a puzzle missing some pieces.

And then, like a nesting doll, a small container within the larger one—a box of stationary. It is filled with birthday cards and holiday cards, and it has my dad's letter he meant to give me on my eighteenth birthday he didn't live to see.

And finally, the objects I came for—one crumpled, as it was when I first found it, the other, laminated.

Derek used to draw, and every now and then I'd catch him sketching something, sometimes at the kitchen table or in my brother's room.

I kept my distance from him for the most part, but I strained my eyes to see what he was working on one day as he sat in my brother's desk chair, desktop keyboard pushed aside while my brother was in the bathroom. 

I watched Derek quickly sketch something, and then he did the most baffling thing—he crumpled it and flung it.

"What's the use," he muttered before dropping his head on his arm.

I didn't stay away that time—I ran to the discarded object, appalled he could be so careless with the work of art.

I guess it’s easy to take something for granted when it comes so easy to you.

I hadn't seen what he had sketched, but I'd gotten a glimpse of his art before—I knew whatever he had drawn had to be wonderful.

I gripped the crumpled paper as I approached him, and he looked up at me.

"I was going to put it in the garbage," he said as if that was why I was upset.

"Why did you throw it away?" I asked.

"There's no point!" he said simply.

"But if you like doing it, you should keep doing it."

He gave me a smile that might as well have been a condescending pat on the head.

"You'll see when you get older," he said. "Adults can't have pipe dreams."

I got the gist of what he was saying, but it didn’t quite sound like him, so I figured someone else must have said those words to him.

"But you're really good at it!” I insisted.

"Thanks, kid," he said, then pulled the computer keyboard in front of him and turned his attention to the screen.

I knew I had been dismissed, but I kept my crumpled prize.

When my birthday came around, I got the biggest surprise—he had sketched a caricature of me as a birthday present.

That was pretty much the happiest day of my life.

I stare at it now, laminated and safe from moisture and all sorts of other damage I imagined back then: a likeness of ten-year-old me with glasses and afro puffs, looking happy as hell.

Derek apparently saw more joy in me than I felt.

I run my finger down the cartoonish image then hold the laminated paper to my chest.

I’m not sure if I'm hugging the artist or me.

Then I put the drawing away again, trying to push back the sadness threatening to take over me over so much potential lost.

With a sick mom and a disabled brother, I can't afford to get sentimental and entangled with Derek Carter.

I had to do this as a sort of goodbye, but there's no time for second thoughts.

I have a duty; I must stay strong.

I get ready to head back down the stairs then over to my future husband.

* * *

"
S
tella
, my love," Harold says as I enter the mansion he plans to make our marital home.

Bile immediately rises in me.

It was easier to produce a stiff smile and pretend before, but going along with this whole thing suddenly feels like trudging through mud.

"Hello, Harold," I say coolly, easily sliding into ice queen mode.

So far, it seems men like him love two particular extremes of women—the cool, every-hair-in-place type, and the unrefined firecrackers. One type for public, the other for private. Guess which is which!

He kisses one cheek then the other, then back again.

He's not the worst-looking billionaire—he's in his fifties, and he's not fit but he's not sloppy.

He doesn't have all the hair he might have had at one time, even with the hair plugs, but his hair isn’t totally white, so he doesn't look too grandpa-like. It's some weird color, though—like he was going for blond or red lowlights or something, but it ultimately looks unnatural.

I want to puke thinking about him leaning over me, naked, about to consummate our marriage.

Is being with a billionaire really worth it?

I remember my mother and brother.

For good measure, I look around the mansion, reminding myself of the huge space I'll get to play in.

I start cheering up at the thought that I can probably move my mom in here—having others do all the cooking and cleaning while she finally gets to relax and catch up on the books she was sure she'd never get to read in her lifetime will be heaven for her.

Imagining her lounging by a pool, reading while someone makes sure she has all the snacks and refreshments she needs makes me calm down.

I can do this.

"So you tracked down Dagor, did you?” Harold suddenly says.

I actually jump a little.

How much does he know? 

Then I realize I'm being paranoid and let out a breath—he was there when I found myself awestruck over the Dagor sculpture right in the next room, after all.

"You must tell me how to find him," I had implored him. "I want him to make something for my mother."

He said he could arrange it, but he was going away on business and would see to it when he got back. 

That was a week ago.

Now he has returned, and I guess because I haven't been hounding him about it, he figured I took care of it myself.

"I did,” I said, forming a sheepish look. “Sometimes, I'm too impatient for my own good. I just wanted to make sure I caught him before it was too late.”

"Hm," he says. "And he'll definitely have it done in time?"

"That's what he told me," I say with a slight smile.

"Hm. His plate is rather full, then. Anyway, my sweet," he says as his hand cups my face, "I've missed you."

I really don't know what he's talking about—it's not like we've been dating each other.

We did go on a few dates at first—a dinner here, a lunch there—and he has tried to get me to go on trips with him, but my gut protests.

I barely know him, so it feels weird to fly with him, as crazy as that sounds, considering we'll be married soon.

But like my virginity, I'm saving romantic travel getaways for marriage, so he agreed to wait till our honeymoon.

At that time, he’s taking me to several countries with him, and if anything gets you more familiar with someone fast, it sure as hell is rooming and traveling together.

This must be where the mansion comes in handy—so you can take a damned break from each other, technically still under one roof but possibly avoiding each other for days.

"I've been thinking," he says, pulling me close to him.

My heart speeds up, but not like it does when I'm with Derek; I'm actually scared.

"How about we go upstairs, hm?"

"What do you mean?" I ask, my voice wavering and giving away my fear.

He seems to like it.

"You're not that naive, are you?"

I can barely look in his beady eyes.

"But we've talked about this. It's my promise to myself and being engaged is not the same as being married; I must stay pure until then.“

"Darling, you know I think that's adorable, but we've been mingling in other ways. Your allowance is already set up, you've made an early withdrawal...how about I make an early deposit?"

It's amazing I don't barf on him right then.

I start trying to pull away from him, but although he's old and out-of-shape, he's strong and much bigger than me.

This is the kind of thing at the back of my mind about taking trips with him—being at his mercy.

At least here, someone can hear me scream—although as his employees, what good would that do? They’re loyal to him.

"It's just a few more weeks," I say weakly.

How embarrassing to hear myself sound like that.

I usually present myself as strong but I am pathetically exposed right now.

He pulls me tighter and thrusts against me once, his erection poking me, then he loosens his grip.

I am horrified to find my eyes stinging with tears.

"I suppose you're right," he says lightly, like nothing just went down. "I look forward to bringing you home to stay, Stella."

I swear I see a darkness in his eyes I never noticed before and it makes me shudder.

"Well, I'm glad you like the way it all turned out," he says cheerfully, indicating the interior of the mansion with a wave of his hand.

Like I ever really had a say.

But this is my out—he's dismissing me for the evening.

I nod and turn to leave, and I am surprised by a sudden smack on the ass.

I don't turn around and work as hard as I can to stop myself from breaking into a run.

Something tells me he'd love the chase.

I calmly keep walking toward my car, wondering what the hell I really got myself into.

I
t hasn’t even been
twenty-four hours since I last saw Stella and I’m losing my mind.

I felt unsettled overnight, and I’m guessing it has to do with my pent-up frustration.

I’ve had a taste of the goddess—her essence on her pussy lips, her warm mouth on my cock—and now I can’t concentrate for the life of me.

I know my need won’t ease till I see her again, but every time I do see her, I have a hard time afterward.

Blow jobs and hand jobs will soon stop easing the pressure and I’ll need more.

Maybe it’s time to switch up my music, try something else to help me focus, but for now, my cock is rock-hard, so I put everything down, whip it out, then close my eyes and imagine the goddess in my master bedroom, naked, her boobs high and proud, her skin begging for my touch.

I move my hand up and down my thick shaft as I imagine her crawling on my bed then lying on her back, spreading for me.

I suddenly remember the silky red panties she left me and stop to grab them from the canvas bag I tossed them in—the cleanest thing in my studio—to slide against my cock as I get back to the mental image, climbing over the goddess and lining our parts up.

Goddess is hot and ready for me, her pussy lips glistening with her wetness.

I rub the tip of my cock on them, teasing her and myself as I move it up and down her slick warm petals.

I know she’s a virgin, but this is a goddamned fantasy, so I place my cock at her entrance and plunge into her hard, invading her hot cunt until I’m balls-deep in her with one slide.

Then I start pushing in and out of her tight cavern, my thrusts making her glorious boobs jiggle, those crazy-making feminine sounds she makes when she’s lost in pleasure ringing through my ears.

My hand moves faster and faster over my dick as I fuck the goddess relentlessly in my head, slamming against her welcoming pussy.

She grabs me closer to her, pressing her soft boobs against my hard chest and meets my thrusts, pulling me deeper.

We grind against each other until we’re both ready to come, and my studio floor gets decorated once again with jets of my cum, some leaking on my hand while in my head I come inside the goddess, filling her with my fertilizing fluid.

As I sit there, recovering but frustrated still, I realize I’m in big trouble. We both are.

I can’t go on like this—clearly my usual rule has been inverted, and I won’t be able to get any work done until I bury myself in a warm, tight pussy—Stella’s virginal cunt.

I need the reward before the race this time.

I get ready to clean up, sad at the waste, but satisfied with the knowledge that it won’t be long now before I take what’s mine and make good use of my seed.

* * *

S
urprisingly
, that last hand job calmed me down enough that I got some work done and made significant progress on Mama Olu’s sculpture.

I finally checked out the contents of the package Stella left, read the notes, looked at a couple of the artistic representations and photos, then sketched out my own version.

It was easy as hell considering I know the woman and have a strong feel for her essence.

It is easy to translate.

I got a quickie lesson about
orishas—
goddesses in her mom’s culture—from the notes, and Stella basically wants me to make her mother into one in particular:
Yemoja.
Basically, this one is like the mother of all, and she’s associated with bodies of water.

I finish the sketch and I know it’ll take me less than a week to complete so I’ve got plenty of time.

Satisfied with my progress, I turn back to my billionaire client’s piece, but it’s not long before I am reminded of Stella and my cock starts hardening again.

I try to ignore it while I do some sanding, but no matter what I do, I can’t stop thinking about Stella and how much I need to bury my cock inside her.

I’ve reached my limit; I just can’t take it anymore.

I call her up, pleasantly surprised she answers instead of texting a response, and I ask her some bullshit about
orishas.

I truthfully tell her my progress on her mother’s gift, inviting her to meet with me to approve the sketches.

I even throw in some official shit about the paperwork.

Obviously, that’s not why I’m really calling.

I tell her I don’t want her driving up to my studio again in case someone follows her, and that I’ll text her a meeting location.

She’s a smart girl—she knows how to use Google Maps, I’m sure.

She’ll see where she’s headed is residential, and she’ll instinctually know she’s coming to my home.

By then, she’ll know what she’s getting if she actually shows up here.

It’s why I picked the damned place—Goddess should have the dignity of having her cherry popped in my king-sized bed, not in some dusty-ass studio.

That is, if we even manage to make it to my bedroom.

* * *

I
watch
Stella pull up in a gray Aston Martin, wariness on her face as her eyes take in the residence.

She knows something’s up and she actually stops walking after a few paces, like she’s about to change her mind and turn around.

Can’t have that.

I’m in nothing but cargos, but I grab the sketches and rush to the front door.

“Goddess!” I say with a wide smile as I open the door.

She stands there, staring.

“Welcome to my humble abode,” I say with a slight bow.

It takes a second, but she starts walking toward me again, looking less cautious.

"Come on in," I say, making a sweeping hand gesture backward as she nears me.

Is it possible for another person's shudder to run through you?

It must be—I can feel Stella quivering with excitement.

Her eyes keep running over my naked shoulders, my bulging arms, my hard chest, my washboard abs.

She knows what's up, all right, and she's ready for it.

"Your place is very beautiful," she says as she steps inside.

“Come on, you know what beautiful is,” I say pointedly.

She gives me a look—like she doesn't believe me, but she must know by now I’m not feeding her a line?

"Why here? Why not your studio?" she asks.

"I'm working from home today," I say thickly.

Damn it, my voice is betraying me already.

No doubt, so are my eyes.

Stella jumps a bit as I close the door behind her.

She flashes me a nervous smile.

I lead her to the living room and sit her down to go over the sketches.

Her guard drops immediately, and she is overwhelmed by what she sees, sucking in her breath, a perfectly manicured hand on her chest.

"Derek, these are amazing! How did you...?"

She stops when she sees the way I'm looking at her, I guess. It’s all I can do now.

"Derek..."

"Goddess, you know why I really called you here, don't you?"

"To approve the sketches, discuss payment..."

I shake my head.

"There's no way you're that naive. I want you, Stella, and I'm going to have you."

She moves her butt back a little, putting all of two extra inches of distance between us. At best.

"Derek, you know we can't—I'm engaged."

“That wasn't a problem when you let me lick you till you came on my face. And it wasn't an issue when you milked me the other day with your mouth. What's the difference?"

"I already told you—I'm a virgin! I promised myself I’d wait for marriage..."

"I'll be gentle, goddess," I say as I reach for her blouse and pop it open, buttons flying.

"Derek!"

I move closer to her, pulling her top all the way off, getting an eyeful of the swell of her boobs atop her black bra, salivating in anticipation of ripping that away from her too and watching the release of her lovely jugs.

My cock is already raging.

Damn, I'll try to take it easy on her—I really will. The last thing I want to do is hurt the goddess.

I grab her slender hand and place if over my stiff, bulging cock.

"You see what you do to me? It won't go away. I can't stop thinking of you, Stella. I need you. Now.”

She is still conflicted—I see the hesitation in her eyes despite how much I know she wants me. But she has probably already soaked my couch through her skirt with her juices.

Once her hand starts moving up and down my shaft, I stop wondering what else is on her mind because my brain has shorted again.

I can't think anymore—I need to bury my cock in Stella Miller, and I need to do it now.

I unhook her bra, and I'm barely aware of her intake of breath as her tits are suddenly on display, begging for my lips.

I go for one, enclosing it in my mouth and flickering my tongue over the soft flesh, her hardened nipple.

She leans back as she grabs my head, and I move to the other, licking and sucking and trying like hell not to lose complete control.

I gently push her down on the couch and work her skirt and panties off, and the sight of Stella's glistening pussy before me nearly deranges me.

I tear my pants off in record speed and I cover Stella with my naked body, planting myself between her legs so that she is open to me.

This seems to worry her again.

"Derek!" she says breathily, looking into my eyes, her own filled with both fear and desire.

"Yes, goddess?" I say as I graze her thumb with my cheek, still poised to enter her.

Then I drop my head to her neck, kissing the hot flesh there, nibbling it and making her moan. 

She arches, her bare pussy grazing my throbbing cock, and I have to take a moment to restrain myself. 

I continue kissing her neck, her shoulders, moving down her chest, her flat stomach. 

I find myself faced with her slick pussy and my mouth goes for it, kissing them as if they are the lips on her face that I suddenly realize I haven't yet touched.

I suck on her delicate folds, darting my tongue over her heated surfaces, flickering into her hidden parts.

I concentrate on her bud for a moment, and that action seems to unhinge her.

She is practically thrashing with need now, bucking and arching, moaning deliciously in the way that threatens my sanity.

I need to put us both out of our misery.

I climb back up and stare into Stella's begging eyes.

She wants to plead for it so badly, but she's biting her tongue and doing it with those gorgeous dark peepers of hers.

I'm just making sure she remembers this moment in detail—that the face of the man about to own her pussy is burned into her memory for life, that the moment she became mine in every way is crystal clear until the end. 

I line up the head of my cock with her drenched opening, and then I start pushing into her, my grateful cock getting swallowed by her tight wet cunt at last.

I ease my cock all the way inside, popping her cherry, and when I've fully buried my throbbing shaft in her snug cavern, I pause, staring into her eyes again.

She's dealing with adjusting to me filling her, but her desire is still strong, though she looks a bit shy now.

I graze her cheek with my thumb again, and then I finally—
finally
—lean down to kiss her. 

When I take her lips with mine, invading her mouth with my tongue, Stella suddenly gets even wetter, and I start moving my cock inside of her, pulling it out and pushing it back into her tight, warm depths.

I thrust into her while kissing her, one of her hands on the back of my head, the other one holding one of my arms.

I plunge into her pussy harder and faster, pulling my cock out and shoving it back in with a force that makes her soft boobs jiggle against my chest, her hardened nipples brushing against me.

The tight squeeze of her cunt and her feminine moans are killing me, and I can feel my balls drawing up.

I smash into her harder, that grip of hers about to take me for all I've got.

"Derek," she whispers, as our mouths finally pull away, her words tickling my ear canal, her lips grazing my ear and sending an electric jolt through me.

She starts meeting my thrusts, and that's that—my body tightens as my balls draw up, my ass cheeks clenching so hard I might pull a muscle as climax wrecks me.