The Artist's Touch (The Gentlemen's Guild Book 1) Read online

  Ellie moaned, knowing she’d lost the battle.

  “That’s my girl,” he whispered, knowing that she’d given in to his seductive spell. “Put your fingers on yourself and remember how my tongue toyed with your delectable clit.” She moaned again, deeper this time, as she began to rub over the sensitive bud, her eyes closed as she remembered holding his head between her legs while he teased her to the brink of insanity.

  “Beautiful, Ellie,” he praised her, his voice getting harder and hoarser as his own pleasure was building, even though he was doing nothing on his end to fulfill it. “Now, put a finger inside of yourself and remember my tongue inside of you, slipping easily inside that hot, tight treasure of yours to taste you.” She groaned, her body easily on the edge of orgasm with his instructions. “So goddamn beautiful. Christ, you have to know how much I wish I was inside of you right now. Soon, sweetheart,” he promised, whether it was more for her or himself, she was too distracted to be sure. “Now, take those drenched fingers of yours back onto that sweet, swollen nub and make yourself come, just like my mouth did.” Her finger moved, beginning to rub frantically over the bundle of nerves that was screaming for release. “I want to hear you scream, Ellie,” he said harshly, “I want to hear you scream just like you did for my mouth last night. I want you to come so hard that I can taste you from here.”

  His name flew from her lips like water bursting through a dam as her orgasm flooded through her. He kept whispering soothingly to her as her body came back down from its electrified elevation, slowly bringing her relaxed body back to Earth.

  “You were saying?” he asked, his soft joke barely registering in her questionably coherent mind.

  “I was?” she murmured, no longer caring about anything that she’d been saying or doing.

  Tristan chuckled. “You are exquisitely adorable and now, it’s time for you to go to bed.”

  “Oh, that’s right, I was saying…” Recognition dawned on her.

  “Yes, you were, siren. Come over tomorrow when I’m done with work, like around six or so? I have something else that I want to show you,” his voice rasped with unfulfilled desire and anticipation.

  “Something else?” she murmured, intrigued. “So many things to show me, Mr. Black.”

  “Don’t worry, siren, you’re going to show me something in return,” he promised.

  “And what would that be?” her question genuine with wonder as butterflies soared in her stomach; a million possibilities floating through her mind, all ending in ecstasy.

  “Trust me. You know you always like my surprises.”

  It was true.

  “You know you’re always telling me how ‘unpredictable’ I am, maybe you shouldn’t be so confident,” she managed to tease him even as her eyes struggled to stay open.

  “Go to bed, Ellie,” he laughed.

  “Aren’t you going to say ‘goodnight’?”

  “I’d rather think that I showed you a ‘goodnight.’ Much better than just saying it, don’t you think?”

  “Mmm…very much better,” she agreed on a yawn.

  “Goodnight, Ellie.”

  “Goodnight, Tristan.”

  She fell asleep right on the couch, her dreams just as sweet as her ‘goodnight.’

  Chapter 26

  Her neck cramped as her eight AM alarm going off jarred Ellie from her deep sleep. Reaching up to rub the inflamed muscle, she pried her eyes apart, slowly remembering why every other muscle in her body was protesting any sort of movement – she’d fallen asleep on the couch last night after hanging up with Tristan. At around two in the morning, she’d woken up because her foot had fallen completely asleep from the way that she’d been sitting which prompted her to awkwardly hobble into her bedroom and crash into her own bed, sleep overtaking her again. Now, the harsh buzzing welcomed in the new day, complete with its own list of worries and anticipations.

  Shutting off the alarm, she saw a new message from Tristan sent at six o’clock this morning.

  What an early bird.

  Opening up the message, she read:

  - Good morning, sunshine. I hope you had a ‘goodnight’ ;) Don’t forget – six o’clock tonight, you are mine.

  A shiver rolled through her at his possessive tone, leaving a glowing warmth in its wake; the warmth of belonging, of being wanted and needed, it was life to her desperately fading soul.

  ~ Can’t wait, she replied, letting her phone drop onto the bed beside her, smiling to herself as she stretched out her aching limbs.

  Leaving her phone buried in the covers, Ellie got out of bed and hopped in the shower, letting the water scald her skin in the hopes that the warmth would relax her muscles, and the steam would clear her mind. She tried to focus on Tristan for as long as she could, replaying the events of the other night over again in her head until her body became as hot as the shower stream. Thoughts of that night gradually drifted in to memories of the following morning, and in the midst of the burning water, she felt cold. Turning off the shower, and the spigot of those downward thoughts, she stepped out into the cold air.

  Toweling dry, she threw on her robe and padded into the kitchen, pouring herself a generous bowl of cereal with coconut milk. Taking her time, she savored every bite, trying to tuck away and remember each flavor for when the chemo decided to take away her sense of taste. Again. This time, she was prepared. Last time, she had a meltdown the day she went to eat her lunch, and realized that she could no longer taste it. The memory was scarred into her; it had been a tomato and mozzarella salad with a balsamic dressing, yet she’d tasted nothing. She’d cried for hours on her father, wondering if she’d even regain her taste back, trying to go through and remember the exact flavors of all of her favorite foods, and realizing that she couldn’t. That was why trying new foods was such an experience for her; when her treatment had finally stopped, and her taste buds returned, every meal was like trying a new food – even things like pizza or a cheeseburger and she didn’t take it for granted; she savored and assessed every bite, trying to catalog it.

  Just in case.

  Maybe that’s why Tristan was so fascinated when he had her try new things – because she was so focused on the event. It wasn’t just a simple thing for her; it was something that could be lost and shouldn’t be taken for granted. Drinking the last of the milk from her bowl, she rinsed it in the sink and turned back towards her bedroom door to face the immediate tasks of the day.

  Just breathe, Ellie, and go one step at a time.

  Rummaging through the comforter, she uncovered her phone. Almost eleven o’clock already. She tapped into her recent calls, scrolling to find the number for Dr. Sion’s office. She should have called at eight when the opened, but calling then made her feel like she was desperate. Desperate for details, a diagnosis, or death, she wasn’t quite sure. Ellie stared at the screen, putting off what she needed to do for just a few more seconds – as if it would make some sort of difference.

  “Hello, Dr. Sion’s office, this is Marge speaking, how can I help you?” the familiar nurse answered.

  “Hi, Marge. It’s Elsa Carter. Dr. Sion left me a voicemail the other night saying that she’s waiting for more results from my bloodwork to come back today but that she wanted me to call and get in the schedule this week.”

  “Oh, hi Elsa, yes, of course. One moment here while I pull up your chart.” There was a pause and Ellie heard the tapping and clicking of the woman’s fingers on a computer. “Oh…oh, yes. We definitely will want to see you this week. Your results were rushed and should be back today, so would tomorrow morning work?”

  Ellie tried to not let the nurse’s sadly, shocked ‘ohs’ get to her. “That’s fine.”

  “Does ten o’clock work?”

  “Sure, I’ll see you then. Thank you.”

  “Of course, thanks for calling. See you tomorrow, Elsa.” Click.

  Ellie was frozen until the beeping of the dead line summoned her back to action. Letting the phone drop from her face, s
he quickly brushed the moisture that had collected in her eyes, and opened up her closet.

  One day at a time.

  Her deep breathing coincided with her mantra recycling over and over again in her head. She had until six o’clock and she had to get out of here.

  Throwing on her typical jeans, t-shirt, and blazer, she tossed her hair up in a messy bun and practically ran out of her apartment. She needed to be publically alone – a solitary figure wandering amidst the lively world existing around her. First, she walked to her dad’s, even though he was at the office right now; Ellie had a key and she wanted to grab some of the leftovers from dinner last night that she’d forgotten to take home with her. His apartment was spacious – much more spacious than hers and far more typical of the income level that he possessed. It was also much roomier than one person needed. She remembered being surprised when he’d moved in here after she had left for college. She’d always chalked it up to him wanting more space to maybe start dating again – something she would have been thrilled to have seen for him, he’d been alone for so long. Years passed though and nothing happened.

  Not nothing – she got sick.

  Guilt rolled through her. He’d never admit it and she’d never ask, but her illness the last time had taken its toll. Ellie opened the refrigerator, looking for the leftovers and letting the icy air freeze her thoughts mid-time-travel. Pulling out the to-go containers, she turned to leave when something caught her eye by the dining room table. She hadn’t noticed it before, but then again, she rarely went into the dining room; they always ate on the couch, relaxed and talking.

  Walking over to the giant brown-paper covered mass, she set the carton down on the tabletop to run her hands over the edge of the large rectangular package. Why she was drawn to it, she had no clue. Maybe it was her mind’s subconscious attempt to focus on anything, wonder about anything else besides whether or not her cancer had returned.

  It was definitely a piece of art, which was weird for her dad to have. He wasn’t really the artsy type. Carefully releasing the tape that fastened the cardboard-like covering over the artwork, she peeled back the paper layers to reveal a drawing. A portrait.

  A very good portrait.

  Whomever had done this was an incredible artist, although not better than Tristan; but Ellie admitted to herself that she might be just a little biased. She didn’t recognize the woman even though there was something very familiar about her. Her first thought was that maybe this was someone her dad knew – maybe he was finally seeing someone! She would have thought he would have said something to her though… then again, he had no idea about Tristan. Ellie bit her lip.

  She looks so familiar, especially her smile.

  Ellie stared at the face in front of her, trying to place it. Maybe it was someone who worked at the firm, that would explain why it she felt like she must have met the woman before. The woman’s serenely calm and small, satisfied smile comforted Ellie.

  It’s ok, everything is going to be just fine. It was as though she could hear the words coming out of the painting the expressiveness conveyed by the artist was astounding. She just stared for a minute, letting the calm that exuded from the image diffuse into her anxious and agitated cells. Whomever this woman was, she deeply loved the focus of her gaze – the artist, Ellie assumed, smiling to herself wondering if Tristan ever saw her looking at him that way.

  Wrapping the frame back up, she grabbed the leftovers and headed out of her dad’s apartment. Only five more hours to go. Only five more hours to Tristan. He’d said that he had a surprise for her well, she was going to have a surprise for him. This afternoon, she was going to treat herself – hair, nails, and a new outfit. It was something that she couldn’t even remember the last time that she did; the times when her dad got her a gift certificate for some sort of spa service didn’t count. Tonight, she would knock on his door tonight feeling exactly as beautiful as he kept insisting that she was.

  Tristan stalked back through his apartment one last time, making sure everything was set up just the way that he wanted it. He’d gotten a lot of work done on Ellie’s portrait the other night after he’d gotten off the phone with her – too aroused to sleep, he’d focused his physical energy into his art; his pencil touching every curve of her that his fingers wished he was feeling. Now, it was almost done and he wanted her to see it.

  Finally, deciding that everything was just where he wanted it, Tristan walked back into the kitchen to get out the meat and cheese platters that he’d had prepared earlier. He didn’t want to do a huge meal, and he hoped she didn’t mind. Instead, he picked up the most expensive bottle of Cabernet he could find along with a selection of finely cured meats and fresh cheeses. He might have gone a little overboard – his entire island was covered in the hors d’oeuvres buffet that was supposed to be a ‘light meal’. Grabbing two wine glasses from the cupboard, he popped open the bottle and generously filled both, recorking the bottle just as he heard her familiar knock on the door; the sound putting every fiber of his body on alert, his blood pumping just a little faster, and his pants fitting just a little tighter.

  Walking over to the door, still holding her glass, he eagerly removed the first barrier between them.

  Holy fucking Christ.

  His jaw dropped, having no words to respond. He blinked a few times to make sure he wasn’t imagining it, but sure enough, it was still Ellie. Except it wasn’t just her, or the normally gorgeous version of her. Her hair fell in long, sculpted curls around her; the red flickering in the dim light of the hall. Her outfit – black heels, tight black jeans, and a low-cut, V-neck, navy halter that looked like it was painted onto her. The soft swells of her breasts emphasized with the neckline and he could easily see as her nipples peaked underneath his gaze. To top it all off, she’d done her makeup to accentuate the vibrant green eyes that were staring at him with an intoxicating mix of desire and amusement.

  “Hello, Tristan,” she said, her voice low and seductive. He watched her lips move over his name, tempted to just yank her in here and fuck her against the door.

  “Hello, Unpredictable Ellie,” he rasped, his mouth dry even though he was drooling at the sight of her.

  She confidently walked in through the open door, stopping in front of him to take the wine glass that he’d forgotten he was holding. “I take it this is for me.” She laughed huskily.

  Oh, siren, you have no idea.

  Letting her take the stem, he used his hand to grab her wrist. His eyes glowed gold as his other hand raised up to trail his finger lightly down her chest, in between the mounds of her breasts.

  “I take it this is for me,” he returned as his knuckles grazed over her sensitive flesh. Her shiver was his answer just before she took a sip of the wine that he’d offered her.

  “I believe I was promised surprises last night,” she teased, her lips toying with the edge of the glass.

  “Oh, you’re going to get more than that, sweetheart,” his whispered as he pulled her to him, his lips claiming hers.

  God, he’d missed her.

  Even though he wanted nothing more than to shove himself so deeply inside of her right now, he kissed her tenderly, tasting her sweetness mixed with the dryness of the wine. Sweet and dry. Fire and ice. Willing and defiant.

  His Ellie was an enigma.

  Reluctantly, he released her mouth. The sparks between them threatened to set all of his plans for the evening ablaze.

  “Are you hungry?” he whispered, his face still inches from hers, as he stared into her verdantly, vibrant gaze.

  “Mmhmm,” she moaned, nodding slightly with the soft sound.

  “Good,” he replied, a grin breaking out over his face as he stepped back from her and led the way into the kitchen and the spread of food awaiting them.

  Ellie’s eyes widened over the rim of the wine glass as she saw all of the meats and cheeses that were arranged on the island. “Wow,” she murmured, “I’m not sure I’m that hungry.” She laughed teasingly, even t
hough her mouth had begun to water.

  “It’ll go down easily, trust me; there always seems to be room for more cheese,” he grinned as he offered her a small plate, prompting her to take her pick of the choices in front of her.

  She looked over all of the options for a second before her gaze returned to his. “You know I have no idea what I’m looking at right – unless I missed any cleverly-disguised string cheese or bologna. You know what I like,” her tone deepened suggestively on the request, handing her plate back to him.

  “I do,” he responded in turn, his eyes shining like gold foil underneath the light. “So, what did you do today?” he asked as he began to pick selectively among the options, placing specific meats and cheeses together on her plate. Focused on the task in front of him, he missed her subtle wince and the way her eyelids fluttered closed.

  “Well, you’re looking at most of it,” she laughed. “It really does take an entire day to get me to look like this.” A little bit of humor to mask the hurt goes a long way.

  Tristan glared at her for attempting to demean herself, even if it was just a joke. “Keep talking like that and I’ll undo all of your hard work in minutes.”

  “You promise?”

  “I promise you’ll look even more gorgeous afterwards, too.” He picked up a fork and handed her the plate filled with food.

  She rolled her eyes, not giving him the satisfaction of agreeing to that. “This looks amazing,” she said as she picked up the cracker closest to her, tasting her first sample of the meal.

  Tristan had started to fill his own plate, but stopped to watch her face as she took in the complex flavors of the prosciutto and Parmigiano Reggiano. He wondered if he would ever understand why she was so mesmerizing to him. It wasn’t just with trying food either, every time she experienced something new her whole body demanded that she experience it to the fullest; every touch, taste, and feeling had to be acknowledged and recorded as if it needed to be reproduced or recalled later. It was similar to how he was as an artist; he had to capture every nuance, every sensation and record it so accurately that when the image was viewed later, it would evoke the exact same response. She was an artist of emotions.