“You’re quiet,” Pippa notes as we come to a stop in front of my gallery.
“I could say the same thing to you,” I respond, thinking about our walk here. I’d bought Gran a place close to my gallery on purpose years ago. She didn’t want to live anywhere near my penthouse, but she didn’t mind a spot closer to the gallery. It worked out in my favor anyway since I’m not home much. The building looming in front of us is more of a home to me.
From the moment I got off the phone—suddenly in a terrible mood from the conversation I had with Daly—and said goodbye to Gran, Pippa’s been quiet. But she isn’t wrong—I’ve also been quiet, too in my head about the shit Daly just piled on me to hold much of a conversation.
“So this is it.” Pippa turns to the gallery building, looking up at the iridescent structure. “Camden Hunter’s gallery. The one the rich and famous visit.”
I shake my head. “Are you making fun of my work?”
She rubs her lips together in an attempt to hide a smile. “No. I just thought it’d be bigger.”
I scoop her in my arms, all of the drama from the phone call being pushed to the back of my mind as I squeeze her sides and tickle her. “I know you didn’t just say that,” I warn, digging my fingertips into the spot that has her squealing with laughter.
She doubles over, her small hands trying to push mine away as her body shakes with laughter. “It’s kind of small,” she gets out in between fits of giggles.
I spin her body, forcing her to face me and giving her a break. Her entire face is red from laughter, her neatly curled hair sticking in her lip gloss. I push the pieces of hair from her lips, earning me a smile.
“I’ll have you know it has the most square feet of any independently owned gallery in the area.”
“Is that supposed to impress me?” she teases, standing on her tiptoes to get her lips closer to mine.
I lean down, trapping her lips with mine for a moment. She tastes like strawberries, reminding me of our earlier conversation with Gran. Her soap, her hair, her lips have always tasted like strawberries and vanilla. Now she knows why that’s driven me wild from the moment she was catapulted back into my life.
“Yeah,” I answer with our lips still pressed against each other. “It was supposed to impress you.”
“Why don’t you take me inside? I want to see this secret studio where you create magic. Now, that’s something that’ll impress me.”
I shake my head, taking her hand to lead her inside. The gallery is empty today, something I wanted on purpose. There was a private client early this morning, but Leo handled it. I wanted to be able to show Pippa something I’ve poured my heart and soul into without anyone else around.
I selfishly need her all to myself for a little while. I shared her with Gran this morning, and I’ll have to share her at the gala tonight. For the afternoon, I want it to just be the two of us.
And then there’s the looming thing I have to tell her after my phone call with Daly.
It can wait. I want to enjoy today and give myself time to figure things out. For the first time in my life, I want to share with someone what I’m truly passionate about—my art. Not other people’s art. Not my gallery. But the thing hidden in the back with the art I’ve spent hours on.
I lean against the white wall in one of the rooms of the gallery, my hands tucked in my pockets. Pippa stands right in the middle of the exhibit, her head spinning as she takes in the framed art on the walls.
“Margo did all of this?” she asks in awe, stepping closer to a piece Margo created.
“Yeah,” I answer, standing still. I like watching her here. She pays close attention to detail of everything on display. She’s an artist’s dream, completely enamored with every piece and giving them the attention they deserve.
“I can’t believe you found her. She’s so talented.”
“She found me,” I admit. “Showed up one day and convinced me to let her show me her work.”
“Is that not how it normally works?”
I bark out a laugh. “Not at all. But I’m glad it did.”
“I’ve loved seeing all of this,” Pippa begins, walking toward me. “But I want to see your space. Show me your work, Camden.”
I grab her by the hand, fighting the urge to tell her I’ll show her anything she wants if she just keeps her hand firmly planted in mine.
She’s quiet as I lead her through the back to the door I keep locked at all times. I type in the key code, holding the door open as she takes a step inside.
She gasps the moment she steps fully in. I let the door close behind us as her eyes go wide. Her perfect mouth hangs open slightly.
My skin prickles with heat, the nerves of her seeing my hard work spreading throughout my body. I feel the intense need for her to love the sculptures neatly organized on the shelves. For her to see them and think I’m talented the same way she thought Margo was.
I want to prove myself to her. And I’ve never wanted to prove myself to anyone when it comes to my art.
“Tell me what you think,” I say, my tone pleading. I’d get on my knees if she asked me, if that’s what it took to know every single one of her thoughts.
She turns toward me, her eyes finding mine. She looks at me so deeply it feels like she’s looking inside me and uncovering every single thing I keep hidden. Taking a deep breath, she gives me a timid smile. “I think you’re the most talented person I know.”
I think I’m in love with you.
My eyes go wide at the thought. It crept into my mind unexpectedly, but at the same time, it feels like something I already knew. It’s almost like my head was just accepting what my heart already knew—I’m in love with Pippa Jennings. My shortcake. Mine.
“Don’t lie to me,” I croak, my voice going hoarse with emotion. I desperately want her words to be true, but I’m riddled with self-doubt, making me believe that there’s no way she’s telling me the truth.
Pippa runs her fingers along one of my pieces. “I’m not, Camden. These are enchanting.”
“You’re enchanting.”
Her eyes immediately find mine. She continues to walk through the shelves, taking her time looking at all the pieces I store here.
“There are so many,” she mutters.
“It’s years and years’ worth of work,” I admit, my hands finding my pockets.
“They deserve to be on display.”
I lift a shoulder. She’s right. As someone who has to have an eye for art, I know they’re good. But there’s something that stops me from giving them to the world. It’s scary putting your hard work on display for other people to criticize. I don’t need the money to sell them. But eventually, I think I’d like for them to be appreciated.
I follow Pippa through the shelves after she disappears from sight. When I find her in the next row over, she’s stripped out of the sweater she was wearing.
She wears a wide smile as I give her a questioning look. “Isn’t it cold in here?”
“It’s incredibly cold,” she answers, pulling at a tie at her waist. When she gets the knot undone, the sides of her dress come all the way open, exposing her perfect body.
I swallow slowly, appreciating the view in front of me. “What are you doing?”
“Showing you my body. Maybe you’ll get inspired to carve mine into clay if I show you every inch of me.”
She playfully bites her lip, walking backward as she reaches behind her back to unclasp her bra.
“I’d first need to get a rough sketch of you so I can create a base for the piece.”
Pippa’s eyes travel to the corner of my studio space. There’s a table with supplies lined up along the top, with one chair placed next to it in case I want to sit. “It looks to me like you have a sketch pad. I bet you can find a pencil somewhere.”
She maintains eye contact as she bends over, pulling her thong down her legs until she’s completely naked in my workspace.
I’m so fucking turned on. My cock strains in my jeans, aching to be touched by her. I hadn’t shown her this part of the gallery thinking to fuck her back here, but goddamn I’d love to fuck her on top of my drafting table.
“Pippa…” Her name comes out as a warning.
“Draw me, Camden,” she suggests, knowing exactly what she’s doing by running a hand along her naked skin. Her fingers pinch her nipples as she palms her full breasts.
“I don’t enjoy drawing.”
“You just said you have to before doing anything with clay.”
“I do,” I answer, letting my eyes rake along her body. Her legs cross at her ankles, not giving me a view of her pussy. I don’t have to see her to know she’s already wet for me. It’s something I love about her, how reactive she is to me.
Pippa looks around, her eyes lighting up when she focuses on the table. Her hips swing in a sexy rhythm as she makes her way to the large wood table. I want to ask her what she’s doing, but I follow her lead, watching her with hungry eyes as she climbs up onto the table.
Fuck the sketch. I want to skip to the part when I spread her legs wide open and taste her sweet, perfect cunt.
Pippa adjusts her body on the table, keeping her eyes pinned on me the entire time.
“Sit,” she instructs, her eyes motioning to my chair. She picks up a sketch pad and a pencil from one of my utensil cups, sliding them across the table for me.
“We’ve talked about this before,” I growl, making my way to her. “You don’t tell me what to do.”
“Take charge, then,” she suggests, shifting to her knees. She runs her hands along her body, tracing the curves my fingers itch to bring to life on paper and then in clay.
“It takes time to get a sketch developed.” I take a seat, the chair groaning underneath my weight.
She pushes her thighs open, her knees gliding along the wood as she flips her hair over her shoulder. “I can be patient.”
I grab the sketch pad, placing it in my lap before I reach for the pencil she laid out. “Since when have you ever been patient, shortcake?”
Her teeth dig into her bottom lip as she fights a smile. “I can learn.” Her fingers brush along her clit. She’s showing restraint by not playing with herself in an effort to continue to taunt me.
Sighing, I open to a blank page of the book. I always hate this process of development. The moment I hold a pencil in my hand, I’m transported to the times my mother would crash my tutoring sessions. She’d hover over my assignments, watching every single pencil stroke of mine to see if I amounted to anything.
I’d mess up on purpose, not wanting to give my parents the satisfaction of knowing I was exactly who they wanted me to be.
Even in adulthood, this part is always my least favorite. I know I have talent, and I hate it. But with Pippa’s hooded eyes watching me begin, I wonder if she can make me appreciate this step of the process.
“Get to work,” she demands, letting her thighs open a little wider.
I can see all of her.
Her clit, pink and swollen with pleasure. Her arousal, already making her pussy glisten. I can even see bite marks on her inner thighs from last night.
“You’re not the one making demands,” I snap, getting comfortable in my chair.
“I kind of think I am.”
I look at her from over the sketch pad, holding her stare.
“Touch yourself,” I demand.
Her eyes go wide, her fingers skirting along the sensitive skin between her thighs. “But you’re…”
“I’m drawing you, baby. Keep yourself busy as I do so. It’s going to be a while.”
Her hips rock back and forth. I don’t know if she even realizes she’s doing it, but as she rocks forward, she lets her fingers drift over her clit.
“Just like that.” I groan, wishing it was my fingers running through her wetness. “Finger fuck yourself, baby.”
Her eyes flutter shut as she slides one of her fingers into her waiting pussy. She lets out a long moan as she picks up speed, fully leaning in to what I’m telling her to do.
“Two fingers.” My voice doesn’t leave any room for argument. It’s loud and commanding, the passion I feel for her taking control.
My right hand moves quickly along the piece of paper as I begin to lay out the base for my sketch. The point of these drawings is just so I can get the wiring right for the base. It doesn’t have to be vividly detailed, but I could be persuaded to make it as detailed as possible if I get to watch her touch herself the entire time.
When I look up, I find Pippa coaxing two fingers into her cunt, just like I told her. “Good fucking girl,” I praise, running a hand along my straining cock. I could easily toss my sketch pad to the side and replace Pippa’s hand with my tongue, but I fight the urge.
She’s sexy as hell getting herself off. I want to sit back and watch her make herself come. I’ll study every single movement of hers so I can learn new things about what brings her pleasure.
“God, look how greedily you fuck yourself. You’re shoving your fingers as far as they will go, baby. Are you missing my cock?”
“Yes.” She moans. “I’m imagining it’s you.”
“What part of me?”
Her thumb runs over her clit as her fingers push in and out of her. “Any part of you,” she answers.
“Imagine your fingers are my cock. Ride them hard, like you’d ride me.”
She bounces up and down, her tits jiggling. She does exactly as she’s told, riding her hand as if she was riding my cock.
I let her have her fun, savoring every moan that falls from her lips as I trace the curve of her spine on the paper. I want to remember her just like this. Her back arched, her thighs open, and her head thrown back in pleasure.
I already know without a doubt in my mind that I’ll be bringing this picture to life. I’ll spend countless hours forming her perfect, round breasts from clay. I’ll put in the time to create a piece that attempts to do her majestic body justice.
I take a deep breath, trying to fight my aching cock and balls. All my body wants to do is close the distance between us and shove into her soaking wet pussy.
“Are you close to coming?”
She nods up and down, her curled pieces of hair dancing along the top of the table from how far her head is thrown back.
“Come for me like a good little slut. Let me see your cum drip out of you, and then maybe I’ll fill you with mine.”
I’ve never heard her moan so loud, her fingers working faster.
I set the sketch pad down. I’ve got what I needed. I wouldn’t miss watching this for anything. Sitting forward, I let one hand work at unbuttoning my jeans while the other clutches the armrest to keep myself seated.
“Let your cum drip over the table,” I demand, my voice hoarse with lust. “That way, I can think of you every single time I’m here.”
If she hears me, she doesn’t give any indication of it. She’s too busy riding her hand, grinding her hips back and forth until her moans are loudly ringing throughout the room. I can’t resist pulling my cock free, letting my fingers wrap around my length as I stroke myself up and down.
“You’re exquisite when you come,” I muse, my voice mixing with her moans. “You with your cheeks flushed and your thighs spread open for me is the greatest masterpiece I’ve ever seen.”
“God…” she moans, her fingers still pushing in and out of her.
I click my tongue, standing up and walking to her. “God’s not here, baby. You’re not his dirty whore—you’re mine.”
Her eyes pop open as she finds me standing right in front of her. “Fuck me,” she pleads, pulling her fingers from herself. She goes to wipe them off on her thigh, but I grab her wrist before she can do it. I keep it in my grasp, guiding her wet fingers to me. We keep eye contact as I coax her cum-coated fingers into my mouth. My tongue circles them, my eyes fluttering shut with the taste of her pussy filling my mouth.
I let my teeth scrape against the pads of her fingers, earning myself another moan from her. It mixes with my own moan at tasting her. My cheeks hollow out, cleaning her fingers clean of her arousal.
“Camden,” she pleads, trying to reach out and grab my cock. “Fuck me. Right now.”
I take a step back, quickly stripping myself of my clothes. “Only because you said my name.”
She smiles, her white teeth biting her bottom lip. “Or because you’re dying to fuck me.” She gestures to my straining cock, the tip already wet with precum.
“Don’t get mouthy with me,” I demand.
“Then fuck me.”
I roughly grab at her ankle, pulling her to the edge of the table. She yelps, her hands smacking against the wood to steady herself. My arm wraps around her, spinning her so she’s on her hands and knees. With her position on the table, I’m met with a view of her soaking wet pussy and her tight asshole. I run my finger from her clit and travel up, circling the puckered hole. She moans loudly, the top of her body falling to rest on the table. With her back arched at me, I’m tempted to feast on her pussy—and her ass.
I do just that, getting her warmed up and ready all over again. My tongue swipes up and down, caressing the most intimate parts of her.
“You said you’d fuck me.” She groans, pushing her ass against my face despite her words.
“I’m going to, baby,” I say in between licks. “But one taste of your pussy and I couldn’t help but feel you come against my tongue.” With my words distracting her, I push my finger into her puckered hole, my cock twitching with the loud moan she lets out.
“You’re so fucking dirty,” I muse, my tongue flicking her clit. “My dirty girl likes her pussy licked and her ass fingered.”
“Camden,” she pleads. I push my finger deeper inside her, waiting for her to lose control and come all over again.
“I know you want me to fuck you, baby, and I will. But first, you’re going to come against my mouth. I want to taste it. After you’ve done that, you’ll have earned my cock.”
She spasms around me, her body shaking as an orgasm takes over her entire body. I don’t stop until I’m confident I’ve milked the orgasm for everything it’s worth. Once her body relaxes, I flip her over, not being gentle with her.
I pull her down the table until her ass hangs off the edge, putting her in the perfect position to take my cock. Her chest rises and falls in quick breaths as she recovers from the orgasm.
“Is this what you wanted?” I ask, running the tip of my cock through her wetness.
“Yes,” she answers, her body jolting when I begin to inch myself inside.
“Good. Now, take this cock like the dirty slut that you are.”
