Billionaire’s Artist Pet

Billionaire’s Artist Pet

“He’s coming back,” a maid titters eagerly.

I blink a few times and pause the near constant stroking of my brush. I push my rebellious curls behind my ear to listen closer.

“Relax, Alice. It will only be for a few days. You know how Mr. Crane is,” the house manager – Kai replies.

“But he is coming back? He hasn’t been home in months!” another woman giggles. “Maybe we can find a way to keep him here.”

I snort and refocus on my painting. “You don’t know him.”

I do. Sometimes I feel I know him too well. Fortunately, I won’t fall for Eli’s charm or good looks. Unfortunately, it means I fall into a different trap – one where I swear he thinks our bickering is foreplay. Why else would things have unraveled this way?

He’d stumbled into an art class I was T.A.ing our senior year of college and rather than scoff and mumble about how he could buy better art, he became obsessed with the dark experimental pieces I worked on in my free time.

Still we barely spoke until our five year reunion when I revealed I’d made a living off creating book covers and commission pieces at our five year college reunion. Eli looked at some of the personal projects I’d started and never finished while I was talking and approached me after the get together.

We made a deal. I’d live in the mother-in-law suite of his mansion and would do whatever I wanted on the walls of his home until every inch was covered. It’s a partnership that’s worked well for the last year, namely because he’s always on the go and rarely stays here for more than a week. It makes me wonder why he’s housing me for free and paying me a ridiculous amount every month just to paint for him. All he asks is I finish one wall a month and send him pictures.

Keeping that in mind, I continue working on his sitting room wall. It’s becoming a garden of poisonous plants with hints of eyes watching from the flowers and malice among the thorns. I let my emotions run with me when I paint for Eli and most of them are plenty poisonous considering our history of bickering, fighting, and the traces of temptation I feel for him.

Just like that one night in college when I was panicking over a ruined canvas and he was there, more than a little tipsy and lost in his feelings. It meant nothing. It was just a make-out session that almost ruined on a canvas I’d prepared with paint. It had become a stand out piece for my senior project.

Heat laps at my nerves and, I realize that the maids are silent. Something teases the back of my neck as all my hair stands at attention. Suddenly my flowers feel too fragile for the history Eli and I have.

“Flowers, Kara? Really?” His velvety deep voice fills the otherwise empty room. “I strike you as a man who likes flowers?”
“I remember you saying that I needed to pain what I felt,” I remind while touching up the purple bloom I’m working on. I dip my brush in matching U.V. paint and go over it again.

“You never get sweeter,” he sighs. “My maids are all happy to see me.”

“Pay me more,” I sass. “Then I’ll put on a smile for you.

“And paint in more professional clothing without making a mess,” he hints.

I finally turn to face him. I know I’m a mess. There are smears of paint over my hands, my face, in my hair, and on my thighs. I always forget my rag. It’s why I wear clothes I don’t care about.

“So sorry. If I would have known you were coming, I would have put on slacks and a button up,” I say sarcastically. “Or would you prefer a full ball gown, Prince Elias.”

“You’re the only person who would dare sass me, you know that?” He asks with a growing smile.

His blonde hair is perfectly styled. That’s his whole thing. He has rogue-ish good looks with a tempting bad-boy smirk. The light beard on his jaw makes it look sharper and his dark eyes. Black slacks, gray button up all with gold accents as if he has to prove his worth.

If I didn’t know him I’d call him mouthwatering. Since I do, I can admit he’s attractive, but there’s something about him that’s dark and sharp, something he would rather cover with fake charm and smiles.

“Kara?” He asks, waiting for a reply.

I shrug. “I don’t need to swoon for your attention. You’ve proven that.”

“You’d rather pretend I don’t give you any,” he agrees.

“And you’d rather leave this place vacant to …” Actually, I have no idea what he does when he’s not here. It’s not my concern.

I set down my palette and stretch my arms over my head. I step back from the wall. When my ass presses against the opposite wall, I see the flowers come to life, the petals curling in until they look like skulls, devils, anatomical hearts. I grin.

When I smell cedar, earth, and something warm and masculine, I know that Eli is standing next to me. He leans his head to the side. “Skulls. Much better.”

“Wouldn’t want to question your masculinity,” I snort. “Or dare think you’re soft.”

He glances at me from the corner of his eyes, then his gaze dips over my body. I have on short pink cotton shorts and a black crop top that shows my belly. I know that I have at least ten pounds more than I should. I have a little belly roll, some extra weight on my hips and ass, but I don’t dress to impress.

Not that it’s obvious from the way Eli looks at me. His face always goes stoic, but right now his eyes are heated, nearly scalding me. My thick thighs rub together and I free my dark curls. They’ve been fighting against my bun all day. I run my fingers through my hair and pick at the paint that lingers there.

“What?” I finally ask.

“Are you going to explain the library?” he asks in a no-nonsense, dark tone.

I blink a few times and meet his eyes. He’s not usually this growly with me. He teases me, riles me, dares me to get more done, but the last time he was angry with me – truly angry – was when he saw the piece we ruined together in the school gallery as my final with active bids on it.

“You covered the fake stained glass I liked so much,” he prompts, not looking away from me.

I sigh. “I was inspired.”

He takes my hand and drags me to the library he almost never uses anymore. He drags me through the rows of books until we get to the sitting area. Over the fireplace there used to be a gorgeous image of Eve wrapped around a skeleton that became a tree, offering her an apple from broken teeth. Now it’s a siren trying to coax an angel into her water and to a grave yard of skeletons.

“Why did you make a siren dainty?” He demands. “When you painted Eve she was beautiful, erotic. I wanted to keep her for myself, but that siren doesn’t measure up.”

I stare at him, not knowing what to say. I’d stupidly modeled Eve after myself, using a mirror as I did it. I thought he’d hate it because of that, but he’d just stared at it. He’d ended up staring at the painting for a full day, then this room had become his favorite for weeks. Whenever someone knew he was here, but couldn’t find him, they’d come here.  That was eight months ago. He’d never commented on the piece itself.

I assumed he just inspected all my additions throughout that month, then got bored.

“I thought you’d like the change,” I whisper.

“Bring the old one back,” he replies angrily. “I want my Eve.”

“You can’t fuck a wall,” I counter.

I feel his gaze on me despite his pissy tone. “I’m well aware.”

“And this is more appealing. A woman who looks soft and welcoming, delicate and in need of saving who will actually feast on a man, drown him, use him, and-”

“Bring back the old one exactly as it was or I will hang my favorite painting over that,” he threatens.

“Do it,” I hiss.

Eli turns to face me. I shake my head and shove his shoulder. “You tell me to paint every corner of your home and never give me direction. You’re gone more often than you’re here and now, after almost a year you have feedback?”

“Kara,” he warns.

“I’m tired. I’ve been working for you without any appreciation or feedback for thirteen months. At least my other clients get excited by my work. In fact …” I nearly tell him I want to quit.

The words are on my tongue. I can taste them, can feel my mouth starting to shape the words, but I just can’t spit it out, not when his gaze is so molten. His jaw is tight, like he’s gritting his teeth and I feel tension rolling off him and crashing into me. It’s a warning and for some reason I want to listen to it.

“I’m going to clean up and get in bed,” I huff. “Welcome home.”

“One hell of a welcome,” he sneers.

I flick him off out of habit and normally it earns me a gruff laugh, but he’s silent this time. Shaking my head, I try to ignore the crackling frustration that doesn’t ebb no matter how much distance I put between us.

 

Even in the morning, I feel the ghost of Eli’s gaze on me. It’s easier when he’s not here. Then I can focus entirely on my art. I have peace.. When he’s here, his presence fills every hallway and room. The smell of his cologne, his measured steps, his voice, all of it makes me hold my breath with a constant sense of anticipation, like I’m waiting for him to burst in and … do something.

I try to shake it off as I block out a nymph for the garden of poisonous flowers. I glance at the door and decide to push my luck. If he wants another Eve, he’ll get it. And he’ll eat every comment. Because I’ll show him what he got that first time around. I’ll give him a reason to order me to cover it.

I’ll paint myself. I won’t change my hair color, won’t alter my own face. Then he’ll fall in line. With that devious thought in mind, I grin, then close all the curtains, lock the only door into the room, turn on my lights, and strip down.

When the door is knocked on, I ignore it, saying I’m working. I don’t know how much time passes before I finish and pull on my spaghetti strap half-shirt and pajama pants. I’m exhausted, my arms are sore, but there I am on Eli’s wall, naked, artfully covered with flowers and darkness to hide only the most important bits with a devil’s tail and blazing blue eyes.

Blinking a few times, I lay on the floor to see if I like the angle and must fall asleep.

The next thing I know, I’m being lifted. I squirm. “Don’t touch.”

“Too bad. My house, my rules,” Eli grumbles before he lays me on something comfortable. “You’re too good to be sleeping on the floor.”

“You picked the lock,” I accuse.

“I have a key, Kara. It’s my house,” he disagrees, voice gentle. “You need to limit yourself to eight hour days instead of painting for more than twenty-four straight.”

“Passion can’t be stopped or interrupted. It ruins the flow,” I argue.

I rub my eyes and see Eli there wearing a t-shirt and jeans. He’s staring at the wall I just painted. His focus doesn’t waver. It looks like he’s actually holding his breath.

I sigh. “Go get a black light, Prince Eli.”

The corner of his mouth lifts. “I will, if you eat.”

I see a sandwich rather than a normal chef’s meal waiting for me. When he walks away, I realize it’s three in the morning. The chef leaves at eight p.m. … Did Eli make this for me?

That’s a stupid thought. He’s not known for doing things like that. I rub my eyes. I got about six hours of sleep, shockingly, and feel rested, but out of place.

All of this is strange. His looming presence, his determination to be in my bubble, now him doing what I ask? It’s weird and I don’t like having him in my space.

I feel like I’m vibrating out of my skin when he’s close. I feel this sense of … foreboding around him, as if he’s about to say something that neither of us can handle. He feels dangerous in a way I can’t articulate.

Eli returns with a black light and points at the sandwich. “No meat – made just for you. Eat it.”

I take a bite. It’s grilled cheese with tomato, one of my favorite snacks. He shouldn’t know that. I take another bite as I watch him plug the light in and point it at the wall before turning off the regular lamp. Every hidden detail shows. Skulls, hearts, brains, thorns, and monsters all show across the wall. There’s nothing soft or inviting about it. The ‘nymph’ is now a four armed succubus with blue skin and fangs, utterly naked with nothing to hide her.

He takes a sharp breath and turns on the lamp as well, moving it to the other side of the room to see the transition at work. The longer he works, the more nervous I feel. I just told him I want feedback, but this … this is too much.

The silence eats at me and the gulps of water I drink are so loud I’m self-conscious.

“Say something,” I whisper.

“I hate how perfectly you understand what I want, Kara,” he says, his gaze continuing to stroke over the wall. He takes a step closer to the succubus, tracing her back. “I don’t even have to tell you. Giving you direction would limit you and you … you shouldn’t be.”

“Should be limited?”

He turns to face me. “Shouldn’t exist.” I blink at him. He looks me over. “Not where I can’t reach you.”

My mouth opens and closes. “What?”

“But then I come home, get your venom and remember my place because you’re not fucking interested and it warps every thought in my head,” he says softly.

“You’re the one who needs sleep. You’re not making any sense.”

“That’s exactly what I mean. You drive me insane constantly. Since that art class in college where you toppled me. Your skills, your dedication, your passion and drive put my entire life to shame. Then I get a taste of it, of you, and you sell the evidence of it,” he growls, stepping closer to me.

I have nothing to say to that. My paper defense of us both being worked up and it not being real seems wrong now. “It was one night.”

“Oh, I’m very aware of that,” he says as I stand. The second I set my water down, he grips the nape of my neck. “It haunts me.”

“You’ve had girlfriends that gave you a whole lot more than I ever-”

“No they didn’t. For five years I tried to forget you by dating, fucking, and being a pointless figurehead for business,” he says, tugging me closer to him. “At the reunion I thought you’d be married. I thought you’d have changed and become someone boring, someone … forgettable.”

“I am, Eli,” I huff, pushing against his chest. At least, I think I’m trying to push against his chest. “I’m an artist just like plenty of other people. I do commission work, paint your walls while you travel the world, and can’t connect with people even when I try to date. No one has trouble forgetting me including your maids.”

“Then tell me how to forget you,” he commands.

“Hard when I just painted myself on your wall,” I snap. “Because I’m not giving Eve back to you.”

Eli walks me back against the other wall. He looks dangerous in the mix of lighting with monsters and darkness behind him. Like I’ve given all that darkness he hides a safe place to come out. I swallow as his body presses to mine.

“That’s why I liked Eve. This is better,” he says, his breath teasing my temple.

“This painting?” I ask.

He inclines his head once. “And pinning you against this wall like I can keep you here.”

“You … you only want me because you haven’t had me,” I whisper, hoping it’s true.

It has to be true. Otherwise this gets complicated. I harbored my crush on him in college. I beat it into submission when he hired me here and showed off a girlfriend. I tried to forget the effortless chemistry and scalding heat that sparked between us whenever we were alone. Being angry was easier.

“That’s not why I bought the painting we made and kept it hung in my bedroom,” he growls, his nose brushing mine as his hand slips up my nape and into my hair, sending shivers across my body like ripples. “It’s not why I gave you an impossible task just to keep you close.”

“Say something then, dumb ass. Don’t parade your girlfriends around and leave for weeks or months. Say something and have more than a fucking painting,” I command. “Use your words and-”

“I’m half in love with you, have been, and you either haven’t noticed or haven’t cared,” he say sharply. “Picking fights isn’t foreplay.”

I swallow as I stare up at him. He’s wrong. Considering he’s hard against my hip and refusing to let me go and every nerve in my body is bursting with fireworks, he’s very, very wrong.

“Are you tipsy or drunk?” I ask softly.

“No.”

“You were last time,” I accuse.

He leans in so I feel his lips ghost across mine. I exhale shakily and lean in to get a better feel of him. I taste and feel his answer. “I wasn’t. I lied.”

“Elias, you-”

He groans and kisses me, tugging my hair as he pins me to the wall. He licks across my bottom lip, then sucks before giving my top lip the same treatment. He pants against my mouth so I can taste him.

“You wanted it to mean nothing, so it did. I gave you that, but I still want you. Sharp and prickly, soft and warm, so focused on your art you don’t realize I watch you until I have to leave because I’ll end up doing this and ruining more of your hard work,” he says, kissing me between each sentence.

Each kiss breaks through my resistance until I’m wrapped around him. His words break every excuse in my head. All I want is him. I tug him against me. “Prove it.”

Groaning, he kisses me again. It’s not restrained, it’s not practiced, it’s pure lust in every curl of his tongue, the way his hands rip at my clothing like it’s offended him. He pulls my thigh over his hip and kisses me deeper, until I’m sure I’m going to drown in him. He’s the siren and I’m a stupid nymph about to learn a terrible lesson.

Once I’m naked in front of him, Eli groans and cups my breasts, squeezes, then turns and sucks my nipple hard. He flicks his tongue across my sensitive skin while his teeth dig into my breast. Our eyes clash as he sucks, laps, licks, and makes me tremble from that alone.

His fingers trail over my belly and he groans, switching to my other breast to tease me with his teeth and tongue – biting affection built up over years. He keeps rubbing my clit until we moan together and he thrusts his fingers inside me.

“I’m staying a month,” he snarls as his mouth moves over my belly.

“D-don’t do that for me,” I whimper.

He bites my hip and I try to cover my belly just for him to push my hand away. “I want to see all of you. I’m going to prove to you every single day that I want you. You’re not getting a damn thing done while I’m here.”

“We-we’ll see,” I manage to choke out, but sass is getting harder when all I want to do is beg for more of his touch and attention.

“I’m going to cover us both in paint and fuck you against this wall until we cover it,” he growls as he drops to his knees and turns me around.

I gasp and slap my hands against the wall as he spreads my legs and palms my ass, his mouth trailing over my thighs. I shudder. “Elias.”

He groans, then jerks my hips back, burying his face between my legs. His tongue teases my clit, then strokes all the way to my entrance again and again. He’s either naturally good at eating pussy or he’s following my moans and using them to guide every damning flick and swirl of his tongue.

He grabs my thick thigh, then shoves my leg up, so I feel like I’m humping the wall. It just gives him more access. He sucks my clit, fucks me with his tongue, proves that I’ve been settling for less than excellent my whole life. I shudder as my toes curl and a whimper grows in the back of my throat.

If I cum, I’m going to fall. I’ll fall, crush him, and all of this will be over. He won’t catch me, he’ll just walk away, satisfied that he finally bent me to his will. Hating him is safer, but his tongue, his hands gripping me, the throaty groans and pants he keeps giving me … I can’t tell him to stop. I’m greedy for the pleasure he can give me.

“Elias!” I yell as I come, pressing my cheek against the wall as I try to dig my fingernails into the paint.

He stands and swats my ass. “Fucking delicious. So perfect and plush. You’re a goddess, Kara. I don’t want a delicate siren. I don’t want some model who’s focused on pleasing everyone. I want you, your determination, your passion, your creativity, your decadence.”

He spins me in his arms and takes off his shirt. I see the painting he’s been bitching about tattooed over his chest, but that compliment is hard to focus on when he’s so muscled, so perfectly tan and build and … big.

“Show me I’m not insane,” he commands. “That you want me too.”

I slowly undo his pants with trembling fingers. Once I drop them to his ankles, I start to sink down, but he catches me, grabs a pillow from the chaise lounge he must have dragged in here, and puts it in front of him to protect my knees.

It’s small, but proves he’s thinking of me. I stare up at him as I sink down on the pillow, taking his thick, hard cock in my hand. His belly tightens and his eyes go molten again as he watches me stroke him.

Slowly, I lick across the head of his cock, then take him deeper. It’s a struggle to fit him in my mouth. If he notices, he doesn’t care. He bundles my hair in his hands and groans. “Fuck, Kara. We’ve wasted too much time. Don’t be gentle with me now. Take me how you need.”

I grip his ass and jerk him forward, working him as far down my throat as I can take while I drool over his cock. He groans and nods. “Yes, just like that.”

So I do it again and again, choking myself on him as I learn how to adjust to take more of him. I try to swallow with him in my throat, tightening my mouth around him as I suck and slurp. His cock twitches and he jerks away while panting.

“We’re not stopping with a blowjob,” he growls.

He almost effortlessly lifts me onto the chaise lounge. He lays me down and grips the curled top edge of the lounge with one hand as he stares down at me. I plant one of my feet and guide him where I want him until the head of his cock keeps slipping between my pussy lips.

“If you leave after tonight …” I don’t know how to finish the threat. I don’t know how to explain what I want or need.

“Not happening,” he says before thrusting into me.

My lips part and my hips lift to take him deeper. He presses his forehead to mine while his free arm wraps around the small of my back. We moan together as every inch of his cock pushes into me, stretching me around him.

Eli kisses the corner of my mouth, then parts my lips with his. I whimper against him and stroke his sides, touch wherever I can reach.

“Rough or gentle?” He asks.

“I don’t care, just don’t stop,” I beg.

With a growl of a sound, he kisses me hard, biting, thrusting his tongue in, dominating me in a way that feels so natural I crave more. I roll my hips against him until he sets a slow pace that convinces me this is more than sex. The second that thought flits across my mind, he pounds into me harder. He dips his head to kiss across my breasts, then hauls me onto his lap.

“Ride me. Let me enjoy this view as much as I enjoy your art,” he commands.

I obey, riding him the way I need. He’ll cum, but I want to cum first. I bounce and circle my hips, rub my own clit until he pushes my hand away to do it for me. He licks and sucks my nipples, digging his teeth in to keep me in place until my pussy tightens around his cock and I burst. I bury my face in his neck as I come apart for him, tasting ecstasy mixed with Eli’s cologne.

He puts me on my knees and has me grip the same raised, curled edge of the lounge as he fills me from behind. His hands lace through mine as he pants and groans in my ear. He purrs my name, tells me over and over how good I feel until I’m not convinced I’m awake.

“You’re getting this again in the morning before breakfast. When you’ve done enough work, I’ll come in and fuck you – wet paint and all – so you’ll take a nap. We’ll go out to eat, see museums, do it all,” he says before biting my throat.

“Eli,” I whimper.

“You’re mine and I’m going to make sure the whole world knows. You’re mine, Kara. My artist, my goddess, my girlfriend. And you’re going to cum again,” he demands before swatting my ass hard.

His hands roam my body, staking claim as he pounds into me harder and faster. My legs nearly give out and I finally come again, biting the lounge as I yell his name, moan, say ‘yes’ on repeat.

Elias snarls, low and deep, then finishes on my ass. He pants against the back of my shoulder and cups my breasts, squeezing until I shiver. He licks up my throat, turns my head and kisses me again.

“Am I clear?” he asks softly.

“Yes,” I hum. “You’ll have to … have to tell me again in the morning.”

He chuckles. “It’ll be easy, since you’re sleeping in my bed tonight.”

“Girlfriend?” I confirm anyway.

“I don’t want anyone else fucking you, dating you, or getting your time like this, Kara. Now that I don’t have to leave to keep from doing exactly this … I’ll be home a lot more,” he promises.

I shudder. “If you start a fight, you know I’ll paint all your walls white, don’t you?”

“Then I’ll just have to make you happy so we can repaint them,” he sighs. He adjusts me in his arms, picking me up and curling me against his chest while his arms flex. “Go to sleep. You can make all the demands you want in the morning.”

“I will,” I threaten.

“I can’t wait,” he answers, kissing my forehead. “I’ll say yes to everything as long as you keep agreeing to be mine.”