Chapter Nine

Lake drummed her fingers on her crossed arms, sighing. She was standing outside Hunter’s imposing two-storey abode, feeling like the time had been rewound to a few days ago to when they’d first met, like they were fully-fledged strangers again. She’d pressed the intercom at least three minutes ago and hadn’t even heard a peep in response.

She had been right last night. He’d gotten what he wanted from her and no longer wanted her as a plaything. She no longer served as a mild curiosity, like Cupcakes would play with a mouse before gulping it down. He’d probably even forgotten he’d told her last night to meet him at his place at noon. She’d brought the disc of photos with her in case that had really been what he’d summonsed her for. If he ever opened the door for her.

Likely, right about now, though, he was probably in bed in the 69 position, stark-naked with that raven-haired socialite from last night, tonguing her waxed private parts and massaging her ample bosoms with his free hands while she sucked his member like it was a lollipop. They’d probably been having sex for hours. Since last night even, not stopping for a breather. Hunter seemed like the type to have an insatiable sexual appetite, a need for a constant parade of women.

Lake couldn’t help from feeling a stab of jealousy in the pit of her stomach on a par with indigestion. Nope. She’d just have to be content with the memory of her and Hunter’s bodies entwined the night before, because she doubted she was going to be treated to a sequel. With Hunter, it was likely only a one-act show, not a whole theatre season.

The only bright spot so far that day had been that the gelled-haired gallery director had rung her earlier on and informed her that all her photographs had been sold. Every single last one of them. She was a bona fide artist now. She should just forget about men and concentrate on her burgeoning art career.

With a resolute toss of her russet hair, Lake finally turned to go, marching down the steps, over with Hunter’s childish games.

Suddenly she paused. Had she imagined it? Nope, there it was—a faint whooshing noise behind her, like a door quietly being opened by remote control. She turned and, all of a sudden, a flood of warmth ripped through her, from the tip of her head to her toes. The door. He’d opened it for her. He was there! He had to be.

Lake practically skipped back up the steps, poking her head inside to the vast, hotel-like entryway with the black, man-like, metal sculpture to her right and the ultramodern, wispy, branch-like chandelier hanging from up above.

Golden-haired Scraps, his tail wagging vigorously, barreled into her almost immediately, but this time she was ready for him. Lake knelt down to scratch the canine behind the ears and pat his back. Meanwhile, she couldn’t help from looking about around her. Hunter was still nowhere to be seen.

‘Hunter?’ she called out. ‘I’m here. It’s Lake.’ Even just saying his name caused a tingle between her thighs. A hot, juicy, wet kind of tingle. Her voice echoed off the pristine, white-painted walls, but there was not a word of reply.

Suddenly though, Scraps ran toward the foot of the floating wooden staircase and barked, as if he was beckoning her over, like Lassie or some such. Lake straightened. ‘You–you want me to follow you?’ she asked incredulously.

Scraps barked again and then began bounding up the stairs. He paused midway, looking behind him, as though saying, ‘Boy, humans are no good at following commands like us canines.’ Lake remained rooted at the foot of the stairs, so the pooch barked again.

‘Okay, okay, I’m coming, I’m coming,’ Lake said, taking a few tentative steps upwards, feeling slightly ridiculous to be following a dog, as well as slightly intrusive. ‘Hunter?’ she called out again, not wanting to catch him by surprise. ‘Are you there?’

She had a sudden thought as she made her way up the steep, narrow staircase, which was walled in and gave no clue as to what she was walking up toward, except for a view of an identical patch of white wall at the other end.

What if Hunter did have the socialite in bed with him and wanted her to join them? She imagined the raven-haired woman in a sheer, black negligee, without any underwear underneath, kneeling next to Hunter on a king-size bed, with his finger rhythmically sliding in and out of her nether region while she smiled widely, encouragingly, in Lake’s direction. With Hunter’s other hand, he would wiggle his fingers at Lake, beckoning her over. ‘Come join us,’ he would say.

Intoxicated by the mere sight of him, Lake imagined herself walking over to the bed zombie-like, stripping off her mohair, cream top and stepping out of her floor-length, charcoal skirt along the way. Then, with a small moan, she would fall on all fours on the bed in front of the kneeling Hunter, putting his upstanding shaft in her mouth, sucking hard as though her life depended on it, as though she could drain him of all his manly juices. At the same time, she imagined feeling the socialite’s own finger now sliding in and out of her own wet patch but not even minding, just to get a chance to taste Hunter again.

Then, unable to bear it any longer, she would have pushed the other woman aside, forcing herself on Hunter, riding him to oblivion. Reminding him that she was all that he really needed, ample bosom or not.

Oh. She was almost at the top of the stairs now. Scraps was looking back at her from the plush, cream-carpeted landing with a questioning look in his eyes, as though saying: ‘What are you waiting for, slow coach?’ Lake pulled herself up to the final step, a tad fearfully, unsure what she was about to find around the corner. Then she stepped onto the landing. And gasped.

Her hands flew up to her red-painted lips—the red being the only reminder of last night. Well, on her body, at least. Her black-and-white photos—her nude image from all angles—now lined the walls of Hunter’s second-floor landing, like his very own home-based, mini art gallery.

How had he got them all? Had he…no, he couldn’t have…had he bought them all? So she wasn’t a successful artist really. She’d just found a man obsessed with her work. Her naked image. He was the only one, aside from Fenella, who knew she was the woman behind the collection’s mysterious figure, that she’d positioned the camera for the shots herself and posed for the photos.

Slowly she walked along the landing, her tan ballet-flat-clad feet sinking into the plush carpet, trailing her finger along the multiple, black-framed pictures. There she was lying down, naked, with a rose decorating her bellybutton and the engagement ring left encircling her right nipple. There she was with her knees hugged up to her chest, the engagement ring now abandoned a few feet from her on the floor. There she was with a rose clutched between her teeth, a thorn piercing into her bottom lip, and the ring now on her middle finger, flipping the bird.

There was a closed, white-painted door at the end of the landing, which the line of photos seemed to be leading her toward. Scraps, ambling just a few feet in front of her, kept looking back as though trying to hurry her up. Lake stopped suddenly.

There was one photo missing, she realized—the massive display piece of her sitting cross-legged, her breasts pert, with a bouquet of roses in her hands, strategically covering her downstairs region. It was the last snap she had taken in the series. He didn’t have the full set. The complete story. The entire collection.

Lake couldn’t help from feeling mildly disappointed. She hoped at least that the picture had gone to a suitable home. An art connoisseur who would relish the final moment the camera had captured.

Scraps sat outside the closed door now, his head on his paws, just looking up at Lake with chocolate, puppy-dog eyes. He begged her to take another few steps with his eyes and open that door. Finish what she’d started.

‘Okay, okay,’ she said, nodding at the dog. ‘I’m going, I’m going.’ Leaning over Scraps’s seated frame at the foot of the door, her hand closed over the gold doorknob, and she slowly swiveled it to the right, the door making a clicking sound, releasing it. Seemingly satisfied, Scraps then got to his feet and loped away from under Lake, brushing past her legs, heading in the direction of the staircase, his job seemingly done.

The door fell wide open and, once again, Lake found herself gasping. ‘Oh, God,’ she said, barely daring to breathe.

The spacious, white-walled room had glinting candles on every spare surface. Smack bang in the middle of it was an upholstered, gilt Louis XIV king-sized bed, just like Lake had imagined, strewn with red rose petals—and, thankfully, no sign of the raven-haired socialite. Above the bed…the crème de la crème…Lake’s pièce de résistance. The final piece of the puzzle. The massive picture of herself, all naked like the other photographs, but for the rose bouquet covering her lady parts.

There was no Hunter, but she knew he couldn’t be far away. So, unable to help herself, Lake flung herself on the bed on her back, lying spread-eagled, sweeping her limbs back and forth in the rose petals, as though creating a snow angel impression on the bed. He’d done all this. For her.

Tipping her head back against the silky, white bed cover, she could see the giant photo of herself hanging above his bed from upside down and felt herself suddenly tingling all over, like she’d been resuscitated back to life. Come into the summer after a long, dreary winter.

Then she heard the creak of a door softly opening near the far end of the bed. Propping herself up on her elbows, she peered toward the sound. There he was. Toned, tanned, taut…and deliciously naked, aglow in the candle-light. His hair was slicked back again, as though he’d just had a steamy shower.

‘You came,’ he said solemnly, standing in the doorway of what looked to be a white-tiled en suite.

Lake licked her bottom lip subconsciously. ‘Not quite yet,’ she murmured. He still stood a few agonizing feet away from her.

‘Take off your skirt,’ Hunter now commanded, still standing in the en suite doorway, his muscular arms unmoving at his sides, but his member betraying his intentions by now standing to attention.

Lake moaned, feeling helpless, raising herself to a kneeling position on his bed. She hooked her fingers into the waistband of her floor-length skirt and pushed it down so that it pooled at her freckled knees.

‘Now touch yourself,’ Hunter said smoothly.

‘No…I want you. Over here. With me. Please,’ Lake begged.

Hunter shook his head. ‘Do it,’ he said softly.

So Lake slid a trembling hand into her pale pink briefs and began rubbing a finger against her clitoris rhythmically, moaning softly, her eyes pinned on his. ‘Please…’ Her voice was shaking now, as much as her nether region. ‘I can’t bear it any longer. Join me. Please.’

Hunter took a few steps toward her slowly, tantalizingly, as though he was moving through thick treacle. Lake couldn’t bear it. Then he was just inches from her, his throbbing penis almost touching her, almost, achingly, inside of her. He reached forward suddenly and plunged his hand down her panties, grabbing a hold of her busy finger. He pulled it from the pink fabric and directed it toward his mouth, staring into her eyes as he sucked on it, licking off every last drop of her womanly juices. Lake felt as though she might just pass out.

Then he dropped his grip on her hand and reached to pull her mohair top over her head. At least, Lake thought, having economically-sized breasts meant you could go conveniently bra-less in some garments.

Her russet hair fell out about in waves at her shoulders again, dripping down to her pert breasts. Then, with her kneeling at the edge of the bed and him standing at its foot, Hunter put a warm, strong hand in the small of her back and pulled her to him, so that they were now deliciously skin-on-skin. Hunter’s hardened muscle—and hardened member—pressed against her.

Lake grabbed his face, pulling his bristly, strong jaw to her, and kissed his mouth with ferocity. A fire. Their tongues thrust in and out of each other’s mouths, setting off fireballs of passion with each thrust.

Then, achingly, Hunter’s lips pulled away from Lake’s momentarily, only to descend southwards as he slowly knelt down at the foot of the bed…deep south. And oh, God. Oh, God! His tongue was inside of her nether region now, deliciously probing in and out, in and out. Lake dug her fingernails into his tanned shoulders, her hips bucking against him with every stroke of his tongue.

Just as she was on the brink, just as she was ready to explode, his tongue suddenly stopped, and he peered up into her eyes again.

‘C’mon,’ he said huskily. Then he stood up, all six foot three of him, gathered her in his muscular arms, and gently deposited her in the centre of the bed so that she was on her back again, her hair splaying out behind her like a puddle of red paint.

Then he maneuvered himself above her and thrust inside of her with his manhood, Lake howling with delight. Back and forth they went. Back and forth. Lake had her arms wrapped around him, pulling him ever closer to her, wanting him deeper and deeper inside her.

And then…oh, God!…she arched her hips, a tsunami of warm bliss suddenly flooding through her, bubbling inside of her, causing her body to buck against him again. Hunter was groaning, too, from deep within the pit of his stomach. Growling as a tidal wave of pleasure reverberated through him.

Then, at last, they fell against each other side by side on the bed, panting, breathless. Looking up, all Lake could see was the massive, black-and-white photograph of her naked frame hanging above the bed-head. Hunter’s fingers snaked through hers, gripping them, as though holding on to her like a life raft as the room spun around them in a multitude of colors. This is what Heaven felt like then.

Slowly Lake propped herself up on one elbow again and turned to him, her russet hair tumbling around her. She traced a finger up and down the crease between his pectorals, where there were faint, blond tufts of hair, watching his chest rise and fall. ‘I have a question,’ she said finally.

Hunter turned to look at her, Lake feeling herself drowning in his aquamarine-blue eyes again. ‘Yes?’

‘When I first met you, why were you dressed, well…’

‘Like a hobo?’ Hunter’s perfect mouth creased into a whiter-than-white grin.

‘Well, er, yes.’ Lake now felt embarrassed to have brought it up. To possibly have ruined the moment. She could have kicked herself. Even from her lying-down angle.

Hunter didn’t seem to mind. He gently put his hand in the back of her neck and pulled her to him, kissing her, wetting her mouth, and causing her nether region to feel wet all over again, too. Then he spoke. ‘I wanted to be as mysterious to you as you were the first time I laid eyes on your image. At the framing shop.’ He traced a careful finger along her cheek. ‘When I learned more about you—from watching you from across the street—I just had a feeling you would have written me off at first glance as some sort of rich playboy. That you were feisty. And, from your photos, that you’d had your heart broken and were likely suspicious of any male attention. So I wanted to drag it out a little longer. Keep you interested. Wait for you to get to know me first before just dismissing me.’

It was all beginning to click into place, why Fenella had vaguely recognized him from his first up-the-nose online shot. She must have seen him once when visiting the picture framing shop on Lake’s behalf—perhaps a rare moment when he’d slipped from the back into the front retail space.

Lake mmm-hmmed. ‘And the photos? Why did you buy them all? Did you talk the gallery into giving you the lot for a bargain-basement price, being the gallery’s silent owner and all?’

Hunter shook his head, chuckling softly to himself. ‘No. Unfortunately, I wasn’t quick enough on the night. Quite a few buyers had already got in first. So I had to offer more. Much, much more. Yes, even as the gallery’s owner. But it was worth it. Well worth it. Because the thought of having anyone else’s eyes on your body again, after last night, just tore me apart. There was no way.’

Lake breathed out again. ‘You shouldn’t have. I can’t believe you went to all this trouble…buying my artwork, coming up with a faux online dating profile…just for me. It’s unbelievable.’

Hunter tangled his hands in her russet hair. ‘You’re one in a million, babe. You’re my inspiration. Even why I’m painting.’

‘And when you left me last night? Naked and wanting? Alone behind that curtain?’

‘I couldn’t bear being in that room any longer with all those prying eyes on your naked body. I had to get it sorted. To pay for the artworks and to make sure that they were delivered and hung at my house in time—before you arrived. To show you just how much you really meant to me. And I only just had it all finished in the nick of time. You almost left!’

‘Wow,’ Lake breathed. There was so much to take in. It was all almost too good to be true.

Hunter’s eyes were solemn again, deeply penetrating hers. ‘And I never want to be without you by my side again. In fact, I want you to move in with me.’ He gripped her hand earnestly. ‘I can have a darkroom built here and everything. If… if you’ll allow me to, of course.’

The euphoria coursed through Lake’s veins, yet she was hesitant. Having such an Adonis of a man, such a beautiful being, showering her with so much love and affection was unnerving to say the least.

‘I…I don’t know. How do I know you won’t one day change your mind and up and leave? Leave me out in the cold, like at the gallery? I couldn’t bare it!’ Lake’s heart hammered in her chest, her mouth tugging down at the corners.

Hunter nuzzled into her breasts, peering up at her through the crevice. ‘I could never leave you. What decent man could? I knew you were The One from the first moment my eyes caressed your image at the framing shop.’ He paused to lightly chuckle. A soft, velvety sound. ‘But, do me a favour, would you? Don’t give up your place before we’ve christened your old darkroom, okay?’

In an instant, Lake could tell this time things were different. He wasn’t Chase. He was Hunter, and hunt her he had. And she was willing prey. She felt exhilarated, warmth bubbling through her. It was time to pull the parachute cord and let go, see where life took her. Despite feeling drunk on love, she couldn’t resist teasing him still. ‘Christened it?’ Lake asked, her forehead wrinkling up in mock-question.

‘Yeah,’ Hunter said, a sly look shadowing his face. ‘Like this.’

Then he got to his knees and lifted her onto his lap, encouraging her legs to wind their way around his middle, inserting his member into her wet heat and thrusting deep inside her again and again.

* * * *

Staring up at the photo of her on the wall above them, Hunter enjoyed the delicious double vision he had of Lake, complemented by the feel of her real breasts jiggling against his chest and her lady parts inviting him deep within.

He now delighted in having more of this perfect, feisty woman in his life than he could ever want. She was all his.

THE END

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