Read Online Stone Destiny (Stone Passion #3) by A.C. Warneke - Free Book Online
Authors: A.C. Warneke
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wasn't exactly the project her art teacher assigned but there was no way she was going to share a completely nude Armand with her classmates.
In the painting, he was weary , but deep and abiding passion burned in his green gaze as he looked out of the canvas and into the eyes of his lover. The lucky woman was going to be locked up for a week with her returning hero, being pleasured to within an inch of her life.
She wasn’t sure she wanted to share the portrait with anyone. It was so personal and anyone who looked at it would know how much she loved the model. Every line, every brush stroke, was painstakingly, lovingly created, capturing only a fragment of what made Armand so magnetic, the indescribable element that was simply Armand. No one was going to believe that he existed in real life or that he was even more devastating than any painting.
Slathering some light blue paint onto her brush, she lifted her hand and paused, not wanting to finish up the background just yet. She could do that when she didn’t have a nearly naked Armand sitting a few feet away with only a few hours left of their time together. Frustrated and dejected, she no longer knew what to do. God knows she had spent the last couple of nights trying to figure out a new plan to crack Armand’s shell since it was obvious having him sitting naked in her studio wasn’t working.
She couldn’t fault her efforts: she had put her time in the studio with Armand to good use, touching him frequently, adjusting the privacy cloth and letting her hand linger on his thigh a heartbeat longer than strictly necessary, playing sensual music that boiled the blood and enhanced the mood. Every evening she felt his response to her in her bones. He watched her with eyes that glowed with greater and greater hunger and yet he kept his distance, acting as if he didn’t desire her. It was even worse after the brief encounter on the roof because it took nearly twice as long to break down the wall he erected every day. Though by the end of each night they were talking and laughing as effortlessly as old friends.
Friends. She hated that word. She didn’t want to be his damn friend. She wanted to be his everything, the way he was her everything. It was blatantly obvious that he desired her: no amount of material could hide the impressive erection that seemed to have taken up permanent residence between his hard thighs. Why was he so reluctant to give in to the passion that practically singed the flesh from her bones every time she was near him?
She knew why: she was still a virgin and he was a sex master . What chance did she really have? Innocence only went so far in a world where he had experienced everything, including innocence. Maybe she should have played coy, been the coquette, acting like a petrified virgin instead of blatantly pursuing him with everything in her arsenal. Unfortunately, it just wasn’t in her nature to go after something she wanted half-heartedly once she put her mind to it. And she had never wanted anything as much as she wanted Armand, even if she had fought her own attraction for years.
“Are you finished?” he asked, his voice breaking through her thoughts.
Heaving a sigh, she pursed her lips and took a step back and glanced between the painting and the model. There was something missing but she couldn’t quite figure out what. With a shrug of her shoulders, she returned her gaze to Armand, “For now.”
He stood up and stretched, lifting his arms over his head and arching his back. His muscles bunched and flexed and Ferris’s mouth went absurdly dry as heat enveloped her body. Twisting around until the muscles along his rib cage popped and the muscles of his abdomen contracted, he asked, “Can I see it?”
She knew he was speaking. His lips were moving and sound was coming out but she had no idea what he was saying. The sight of his hard body took up all of her senses and if he hadn’t smiled and shattered what was left of her brain
In the painting, he was weary , but deep and abiding passion burned in his green gaze as he looked out of the canvas and into the eyes of his lover. The lucky woman was going to be locked up for a week with her returning hero, being pleasured to within an inch of her life.
She wasn’t sure she wanted to share the portrait with anyone. It was so personal and anyone who looked at it would know how much she loved the model. Every line, every brush stroke, was painstakingly, lovingly created, capturing only a fragment of what made Armand so magnetic, the indescribable element that was simply Armand. No one was going to believe that he existed in real life or that he was even more devastating than any painting.
Slathering some light blue paint onto her brush, she lifted her hand and paused, not wanting to finish up the background just yet. She could do that when she didn’t have a nearly naked Armand sitting a few feet away with only a few hours left of their time together. Frustrated and dejected, she no longer knew what to do. God knows she had spent the last couple of nights trying to figure out a new plan to crack Armand’s shell since it was obvious having him sitting naked in her studio wasn’t working.
She couldn’t fault her efforts: she had put her time in the studio with Armand to good use, touching him frequently, adjusting the privacy cloth and letting her hand linger on his thigh a heartbeat longer than strictly necessary, playing sensual music that boiled the blood and enhanced the mood. Every evening she felt his response to her in her bones. He watched her with eyes that glowed with greater and greater hunger and yet he kept his distance, acting as if he didn’t desire her. It was even worse after the brief encounter on the roof because it took nearly twice as long to break down the wall he erected every day. Though by the end of each night they were talking and laughing as effortlessly as old friends.
Friends. She hated that word. She didn’t want to be his damn friend. She wanted to be his everything, the way he was her everything. It was blatantly obvious that he desired her: no amount of material could hide the impressive erection that seemed to have taken up permanent residence between his hard thighs. Why was he so reluctant to give in to the passion that practically singed the flesh from her bones every time she was near him?
She knew why: she was still a virgin and he was a sex master . What chance did she really have? Innocence only went so far in a world where he had experienced everything, including innocence. Maybe she should have played coy, been the coquette, acting like a petrified virgin instead of blatantly pursuing him with everything in her arsenal. Unfortunately, it just wasn’t in her nature to go after something she wanted half-heartedly once she put her mind to it. And she had never wanted anything as much as she wanted Armand, even if she had fought her own attraction for years.
“Are you finished?” he asked, his voice breaking through her thoughts.
Heaving a sigh, she pursed her lips and took a step back and glanced between the painting and the model. There was something missing but she couldn’t quite figure out what. With a shrug of her shoulders, she returned her gaze to Armand, “For now.”
He stood up and stretched, lifting his arms over his head and arching his back. His muscles bunched and flexed and Ferris’s mouth went absurdly dry as heat enveloped her body. Twisting around until the muscles along his rib cage popped and the muscles of his abdomen contracted, he asked, “Can I see it?”
She knew he was speaking. His lips were moving and sound was coming out but she had no idea what he was saying. The sight of his hard body took up all of her senses and if he hadn’t smiled and shattered what was left of her brain
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