His Muse: A Dark Alpha Bad Boy Romance Page 5

  "Don't go."

  He gives me a look full of wonder, like he didn't expect that. I really should hate him after he did, but a sick part of me - a big part of me - wants Mason to make it all better, the damage he caused himself.

  "Don't go, please," I repeat as he hesitates. "Stay here until I fall asleep."

  He seems undecided, but finally gives me a curt nod and steps towards the armchair on the other side of the room. I whimper, needing him closer, but he doesn't acknowledge it, and I somehow know if I beg him to come into my bed, he won't do it.

  Instead, he settles in the chair and I glue my sleepy eyes to him. The jet lag is finally getting the best of me and I know I'm about to pass out. Mason's heated gaze is fixed to mine as I slowly drift to sleep.

  I don't realize he's jerking his cock as he watches me, not until I wake up alone the next morning and remember his motions in that chair.

  As I wake up the next day, the events of the previous night come trickling back and I find myself blushing as I brush my tangled mess of hair. I keep thinking about Mason, what we did in his office and how pissed my father would be if he got wind of what happened. But at the same time, I can't say I didn't like it. The feelings Mason evoked inside me are completely unheard of and I feel shy about reacting the way I did.

  But there's something else on my mind. As hard as I try to think about it, though, it keeps slipping away in favor of Mason and the punishment he doled out on me. Since no one has told me what I have to do today, I decide to take another stroll through the gardens and skip breakfast since it's already too late for that. I get dressed in a pink skirt with a white blouse on top, along with sweet little ballet flats. I fasten my favorite charm bracelet around my wrist and head out of the door.

  I keep thinking about last night and somehow manage to forget where I wanted to go. Before I know it, I've already ended up back at the secret garden I discovered the previous day. I sit down next to the locked door, my mind swimming with thoughts and something that happened here only yesterday.

  "Who are you?" My voice is shaky and I feel unsure of myself. He's handsome and about my age, and he just told me his name, but I'm too shocked to really understand.

  "Luca," he repeats, giving me a curious look. "Does that ring a bell?"

  "I..." I just stare at him. "It's me, Luca. It's Cara."

  He looks lost for a moment, but then his dark eyes start sparkling with mischief. "Cara," he repeats softly to himself, and he tucks a strand of hair behind my ear, making me look to the side, blushing wildly. "I see. And you're Mason's guest?"

  "Yes," I remind him. "I... I had no idea you would be here as well."

  "The surprise is mutual," he winks at me, and my heart pounds like crazy. I don't know what to tell him. The way he's acting makes me think he doesn't want me here, and it's odd after all the messages we'd exchanged. I still can't believe he's here, right here with me, on Mason's property.

  "But, what are you doing here?" I ask him.

  "I'm sure Mason will explain everything in due time," Luca smirks. I give him a doubtful look, inspecting him further. There is no doubt about it - he's a handsome man. But does he make me feel like I thought he would? Does he make my whole belly go aflutter with butterflies, does he make me feel like I'm about to pass out from the intensity of his gaze?

  I don't want to admit what the answer is, and I busy myself with blabbering about my home back in the States. Luca seems vaguely interested, and he chuckles a few times as I drone on and on. We start heading back towards the house together, chatting to one another.

  It doesn't feel quite like I thought it would. I don't feel... that connection I felt with him over our texts and emails, and I don't understand why. It should only be more special in person, shouldn't it? And yet, I can't seem to get rid of the awkwardness between us.

  "Am I interrupting?" A kind voice interrupts me, and I look up, startled from being so caught up in my daydream. "I'm sorry, Signorina Newton, I just wanted to check if you wanted some late breakfast." The man who drove me from the airport, I think his name is Filippe, is looking at me with an all-knowing smile.

  "Oh, no, that's okay," I tell him, jumping to my feet. "I think I'll just wait for lunch instead if that's alright with you. Where is... where are the others, Luca and..."

  Filippe looks at me funnily and grins. "They will be back soon enough. Do you want me to walk you back to the house, signorina?"

  "Oh, Cara is fine," I tell him with a smile, and he just looks at me, disregarding what I said. I step from one foot to another. "I think I'll stick around for a while. I like it here."

  Filippe looks worried for a moment, and it makes me curious. Finally, he speaks up. "I'm not sure Mr. Scott would like you being here, signorina," he tells me softly.

  "Huh?" I give him a weird look, unsure of what he's on about. "What do you mean? I didn't do anything wrong, I didn't..."

  "I know," he tells me softly, placing a hand on my shoulder and gently, but firmly, steering me away from the walled-in garden. "I just think you should talk to Mr. Scott before you come to this garden in particular."

  "Alright," I say awkwardly, throwing a look over my shoulder at the mysterious wall. I wonder why Filippe - and I guess Mason, too - don't want me hanging out here. I guess I'll just have to find out by myself.

  I talk to Filippe as we walk back towards the house, and he tells me a little bit of history about the building and the ground it was built on. I'm fascinated, and Filippe seems pleased by my interest in the property. He likes talking about it, I can tell, and I briefly wonder how long he's been working for Mason.

  The mere thought of his boss makes me blush, and Filippe gives me curious look as my words trail off into nothing and I try to hide my embarrassment. "Lunch will be ready in about thirty minutes," he tells me calmly, not showing a hint of unprofessionalism. "If you'd like, signorina, you can look at the library upstairs. It's quite the sight for sore eyes."

  "That sounds lovely," I say with a genuine smile. I've always loved a good book. "I'll be downstairs soon, then."

  He nods and disappears towards the dining room while I run up the stairs. The library's not hard to find, and it only takes me a few minutes to locate the beautiful room with tall ceilings, covered wall-to-wall in glorious books.

  "This is amazing," I mutter to myself. I head deeper inside the library and am about to burrow my head in one of the books, when I notice a door in one of the walls. I walk towards it curiously, and my hand checks the handle. It's unlocked.

  For some reason, I know I shouldn't go in there, but I can't seem to stop myself. I open the door, and I'm almost blinded by the wonderful lighting in the room.

  The whole south wall of the room is glass, and the light in the space is stunning. There are canvases strewn across the floor and leaning against the walls, some of them empty, some of them torn apart. An easel is placed in the center of the room, but I can't see the canvas on it without going around to the other side.

  Curiosity gets the better of me, and with my heart pounding, I round the corner and stand in front of the easel. The sight before me takes my breath away, and I blink several times before I can fully comprehend what I'm seeing.

  It's a painting, a beautiful one in so much vivid detail I can only imagine how much work and attention it took. A beautiful, young girl with blonde hair and orange flowers adorning her head stares off into the distance dreamily. I recognize her. I saw her in the mirror a little over two years ago at my sixteenth birthday party.

  A hand falls on my shoulder and I gasp loudly as strong, dominant fingers dig through the fabric of my blouse.

  "Disobeying again?" a deep voice asks me, and I look over my shoulder into a pair of dark eyes that will surely be the end of me.

  Seven

  Mason

  She's shivering already and I've barely got my hands on her. I don't like this recent development. She wasn't supposed to see the painting until a few weeks into her stay with me. But it is what it
is, and I need to make the best of it.

  "Well?" I ask her, raising my eyebrows. "Answer me, Cara. You know I'm stern with my punishments. Or did you forget about last night already?"

  She takes a step backwards, nearly toppling over the easel. A deep blush colors her cheeks and she's looking anywhere but into my eyes. Her hands are shaking and I put my own up as a sign that I'm not trying to hurt her here, even though she came into my atelier uninvited.

  "I didn't touch anything," she tells me in that shaky voice. I don't know why, but her fear is sexy to me. The way she trembles, the question mark at the end of every sentence she utters. It's sexy in its own right, and the desire to push her against the wall and just fucking take her is difficult to resist. I know I have to wait, though. I've been so patient so far, I can last a little while longer.

  "I know," I tell her gently. "I'm not trying to hurt you, Cara. Just calm down, okay?" She nods, but the motion is panicked and scared. I approach her slowly, like a hurt doe on the road, and even though I'm not touching her, she gasps as if my hands just seared her skin. "I'm not gonna do anything to you, nothing you don't want."

  "Okay," she manages to get out, swallowing thickly. Her eyes go to the easel and my own follow her gaze, looking at the innocent expression on her sixteen-year-old form. I painted her right after her party, starting the moment I came home and barely stopping to eat and sleep until I finished. I needed to have her on canvas, the way I remembered her from the day my obsession began. I was proud of the portrait - it was definitely one of my best. A selfish part of me hoped Cara liked it too, while another one wanted her to question me about it. And she didn't fucking disappoint.

  "Your work?" she asks, gathering up courage and pointing towards the canvas. I come to stand behind her, noticing the way goosebumps prickle her skin as I stand behind her.

  "Yes," I tell her simply. "I'm sure I don't have to remind you of the occasion." A blush creeps up her neck and she looks away, her eyes fixed on the floor. Her neck is exposed, and I want to sink my teeth into the gentle skin of her shoulder.

  "Do you like it?" Fuck. I sound uncertain, almost needy for her approval, and I am already regretting my question. She needs to see that I am above her in every way, she needs to follow my every command. And besides, I don't need her damn praise.

  She looks at me over her shoulder, her fleeting gaze connecting with mine. She looks self-assured and almost cocky as she does so, and I curse inwardly again for letting that question slip. She'll pay for that cockiness later.

  "Yes, I do," she smiles. She steps closer and admires the painting from up close. "I didn't know you were a painter."

  "A hobby," I wave my hand dismissively. "You know I work in investments, just like your father. Painting's just a hobby I picked up in Italy. Nothing special, I'm merely a student for now."

  "Looks pretty professional to me," she murmurs under her breath, and I grin to myself. A sharp fucking eye. I thought her interest in art and its history was merely a ruse to get to Italy, but it appears to be at least a little bit genuine. Cara looks at me again after inspecting a painting.

  "Yes?" I ask her, grinning under her inquisitive gaze.

  "I'm just wondering," she says softly. "But... no, I'd better not ask."

  "I'll allow a question," I tell her lazily, mostly because I want to see what she's going to ask. "But only one. Shoot, Cara. Give me your best shot."

  "Okay..." Her eyes sparkle as she looks at me again, genuine interest in those pretty blue eyes. "You have an American name, yet you live in Italy. What brought you here?"

  "A woman," I tell her simply.

  "Oh." Her small exhale sounds almost regretful, but I decide not to dwell on it. She'll find out more when the time comes, but I don't intend on getting too personal with Cara until I see fit. "And she was Italian? Do you speak Italian yourself?"

  "I said one question," I remind her with a grin, and she giggles, blushing again.

  "I'm sorry," she says, and from the strained way she utters the words, I can tell she's not used to apologizing a whole lot. "I'm just curious. Seems like you know a lot about me, and I barely know you."

  "I like it that way." I turn to leave after those words, having had enough of this exchange, when her small hand tugs on my sleeve.

  "Mason?"

  Just that, the feel of her fingers gripping my sleeve, is enough to send me into a fucking frenzy. God, I want her so fucking badly. I thought I could resist her when she finally came here, but with Luca around her, I just want to stake my claim already.

  "What is it?" I bark at her, because fuck me if I'm going to deal with my feelings right now.

  "I just... I like the painting." She has trouble getting the words out, and I turn around to face her again, crossing my arms in front of my body. She's cowering in front of me, tiny and sweet and so fucking delicious compared to my strong stature. "I just wanted to tell you, I feel honored you painted me. I love it."

  "Thank you," I tell her roughly. I approach her again and this time, she doesn't shrink away from my touch as I reach for her. "I needed to be tough on you yesterday, Cara. I want you to understand this is my house, and here, you need to play by my rules. Is that clear?"

  She hesitates, and my grip on her arm tightens. Finally, she looks up at me and nods slowly. Her eyes are crystal clear, the blue of them almost mesmerizing. She looks so different now from the first painting I made of her, and I believe it's time for the second painting. Pleased with this decision, I grunt and pull her towards me.

  She stumbles into my arms, but she doesn't shy away from my touch this time. I let my fingers roam her pretty face, down her straight and prominent cheekbones and her small chin. She parts her lips as if she expects me to touch them, but I don't. Instead, I turn around to leave.

  She lets out a small gasp, followed by a moan as she calls after me. "Mason..."

  "I have work to do," I tell her simply, and head out of the room. Before I can step out the door though, she's appeared in front of me, a little banshee in pink and white, stomping her foot on the ground angrily.

  "You can't just leave!" she tells me defiantly, and her bottom lip pouts and trembles as if she's about to start crying. "I... You can't treat me the way you did yesterday and never give me an explanation."

  I stare at her blankly, wondering where this spunky little personality came from. Her father had told me Cara definitely had a temper, but I hadn't been privy to it until now. But as she stands in front of me with her hands crossed in front of her body, it becomes clear what her father meant when he told me she can be a handful.

  "Cara," I tell her slowly, warning her. "You need to get the fuck out of my way and let me work."

  "No," she whines. "I want to know why... you touched me like that yesterday. Why you... spanked me like a little child!" She blushes and her small fists hit my chest, albeit hesitantly. "I need to know why."

  "Why?" I groan into her face, and in a second, I have her pushed against the wall, my breath oppressing against her cheek as she tries to breathe, her frightened eyes dancing over my face. "Because it makes you feel like this, Cara," I groan into her ear. "Because it makes you so fucking weak at the knees you feel like you're about to pass out. Because it makes you want me, because it makes you submissive the way I want you to be. It makes your knees shake and your mouth water and your fucking pussy flood." She moans in protest and I chuckle. "Am I wrong, Cara?"

  "Y-yes," she gets out, giving me an angry look.

  "Is that so," I say. "So if I reached between your legs now, your little pussy wouldn't be soaking through the scrap of fabric you wear as panties? You wouldn't be fucking desperate to have me inside of you, Cara?"

  "No," she says, and it comes out as a question.

  I stare at her for a long time, unsure whether I love or hate this new spunky personality of hers. "Alright," I tell her simply. "Prove it then. Prove you don't feel attracted to me."

  She gives me a pissed off look, and I can almost see the gears
in her mind running. Before I have a chance to react, the little vixen reaches for my shirt and pulls me in. I could've stopped her, but I let her do what she wants, and her hot, pouty little mouth melts against mine in a desperate, angry kiss.

  She's not skilled in kissing. She kisses so needily it makes my cock tighten impossibly hard though, and I put both hands on the wall on either side of her to stop myself from tearing her panties off. Cara bites my mouth a little too hard and I grunt as she sticks her pink tongue in my mouth, demanding my attention, demanding I return her kiss.

  The little slut stole our first kiss, and I didn't have it in me to stop her. Even though it's probably her first kiss and she doesn't know shit about what she's doing, her sinful lips on mine make my cock throb against my thigh.

  She reaches up from my chest, her fingers trembling as she fumbles with my buttons, and that's when I realize I really have to fucking stop her. If I let her go further, I really won't be able to stop myself.

  I grab her wrists and pin them above her head. She moans, a dirty little sound that makes me want to explode inside that mouth of hers. "You don't call the shots here, little girl," I tell her darkly. "You know I could fucking punish you for doing that?"

  "Yes," she moans, and it almost sounds like she's begging for it.

  I shouldn't, but I reach between her legs anyway. I slap her thighs apart and she starts breathing so hard she can barely keep herself up. I toy with the skin on the inside of her leg for a while before I slide a finger between her pussy lips, over her panties.

  "Soaked," I tell her unnecessarily, and she whimpers, thrusting her hips out at me.

  I let go of her, and she crumples to the floor in a little heap. "Get out of here, Cara," I tell her darkly, and it takes her a moment to pick herself up. For a moment, she's just a sullen teenager who's pissed at the world and then some. But the look she gives me, so broken and sad, almost makes me call her back. But this is what I have to do. I have to deal with her attitude, I have to break her down slowly but surely until she's the perfect toy. Only when that's done will I allow myself to play with her.