Page 40 of Thorn Evermore
“Sixteenth century old.”
I gasp. “No way.”
“Yes.” Thorn steps away and runs his hand down one of the four posts. “It’s one of a kind. A very rich man who was absolutely obsessed with Botticelli paid the finest artisan in Florence at the time to hand carve it. Come here.”
I step closer, peering where Thorn points.
“Every tiny detail, all done by hand. Cherubs, flowers, monuments in Florence, and Botticelli’s work.”
“My word,” I whisper, taking in the Birth of Venus carved into the footboard. “It’s incredible.”
“Yes. Lovingly restored and maintained yearly.”
“It must have cost a fortune.”
“Less than you might think.”
There’s an odd edge of danger in the delivery of that sentence that sends a spike of heat through me. Weird time to develop a bad boy kink.
“And you, my stunning man, will be your own work of art lying in these sheets. Not even Botticelli could have created a more beautiful man.”
“Thorn…” I’m torn between throwing myself on the man and running away. He can’t possibly think that. Is this what love bombing is?
“You’ll learn to believe me,” he says, almost as if he can hear my thoughts. “I’ve never met anyone like you. You’re like a…” He tilts his head, studying my face. “A box of treasures undiscovered. I want to dig through you and find everything you hide from the world.”
“You, um, certainly have a way with words.”
“That’s not all.”
He descends on me, wrapping his arms around my body and pressing his lips to mine. His warm tongue licks at the seam of my lips, coaxing them apart, and I simply melt into him. I’m not sure I’m even supporting my own weight at this point, and I don’t care. Somehow I know Thorn’s got me.
The longer he kisses me, the more I feel like I’m floating, and then I realize I am as he lifts me up and tosses me onto the bed. A surprised laugh bubbles out of me, but it falls away when I see the lusty desire all over Thorn’s face.
“It’s been a long time since I’ve wanted to indulge myself in someone the way I want to with you,” he says, shrugging off his jacket. “If I could, I’d lock you in here and spend days exploring all the ways to bring you pleasure.”
I shake my head. “Why? You don’t even know me that well.”
“Better than you think, my tasty morsel.”
Tasty morsel? Why do I like that?
Thorn slowly works the buttons on his shirt open until he reveals a broad, hairy chest. Oh, thank the pantheon of gods this man exists. Could he be more perfect?
That thought stutters in my mind.Don’t fall, Ky. This is what I always do. Headfirst, overwhelmed by the newness of it all. I need to keep a clear head. This is just two horny people enjoying each other. That’s it.
“Relax, Kyson,” Thorn says, peeling his shirt off and tossing it onto the armchair. “You can lower your guard with me. I won’t exploit it.”
I rub my forehead. “How do you always seem to know what I’m thinking?”
He only chuckles as his hands move down to the button on his jeans. “Your thoughts and emotions are all over your face. You’re worried I’m like the others, but don’t you already know I’m not?”
I open my mouth to say something, but no words come. I’m stunned speechless for a change.
“You’re wondering if by morning I’ll brush you aside,” he continues, slowly, torturously sliding his zipper down. “I won’t. Maybe…” He tilts his head as a sexy smirk spreads across his lips. “Maybe I’ll keep you forever, Kyson. Right here in this bed.”
The idea of being this man’s sex slave should send me running for the door, but Botticelli himself could rise from the dead and offer to paint me and I’d stay right where I am.
Thorn kicks his jeans off, revealing his lack of underwear. He’s nothing but muscles and hair and pure, unapologeticman. His cock, thick and veiny, hangs between thighs you could live on, making my mouth actually water.