Gilded Lily(24)

Why did Adam have to be the one to find the paintings? God, what could he be thinking? Why did she even care?

She nestled farther into the blankets. He wasn’t anyone to her, so it shouldn’t concern her if he was horrified. Lily shifted again, then sat up. Adam’s feelings were important. The way he looked at the paintings and the marks on her back touched something deep inside that she hadn’t felt in a very long time. A nauseating wave rumbled through her stomach.

She leaped from the bed and ran to the bathroom to kneel at the toilet. The cramp in her gut was going to do a reverse-engines on the wonderful meal Adam had made for her. Fortunately, the feeling began to subside, and she was able to stand up.

The well of tears threatening to fall cascaded over her cheeks. She turned her hand over. The sensation of Adam’s strong hand holding hers eased a sense of calm over her tense body. His scarred hand. Lily cared deeply for Adam. The tender sensation made her more nervous than ever. Tony had been the only man in her life since Keith. Not for lack of trying on Tony’s part. Over the last year he’d brought several men to the house in an attempt to get Lily to reengage with other men.

She knew Tony was busy. He didn’t have enough hours in the day to keep his practice going, Renee happy, and his needy sub satisfied. It was too much. The canyon she felt growing between them made her want to curl up in bed and hug a pillow. She never imagined her life going in this direction. After Keith forced her to leave, the idea of a life where she’d be able to be open and truthful with not only herself but a partner who was willing to accept her was a dream.

Tony had made that wish a reality, letting her explore her needs and learn how to control them and find pleasure in the truth. He was a wise and loving trainer, but that time was slowly passing, and Lily wasn’t quite sure how to let him go. The need to hold on to her safety net was being overshadowed by the desire to test her new independence. As the days floated by, work was starting to lose its spark, food seemed blander, and the evenings lasted forever, finally giving way to restless sleep. Decisions had to be made. A precipice was being crossed, and she had to figure out this journey on her own. The fear had to be put aside to give way to growth. Tony’s instruction was absolute. He always looked out for her best interests, and she trusted him above all others. He had become not just a teacher, but a cherished part of her life. The time was approaching to use the lessons he’d so passionately made sure she understood.

Lily crawled back into bed, trying not to look over at the empty window seat. After a while, her lids grew heavy, and she drifted asleep to dream of the whip.

A deliciously sinful strap—wielded by Adam.



ADAM ROLLED OVER and kicked the sheet off the bed. He turned on the bedside lamp. The dim light hit the wall where the paintings were still lined up. Why had Nick painted Lily like that? Why the hell in blue? He liked all the canvases, but found the one with her tied to the tree his favorite. What had Nick been thinking about when he painted? Had he seen her like that?

Adam stirred his legs and flipped over onto his stomach. He scrunched the pillow, punched it to make a dent for his head, and he lay on his side so he could see the paintings. He needed to see her face.

Didn’t work. His groin still felt tight. Restrained. He cocked his knee to the side and pressed his hips into the mattress. Damn, he needed something soft underneath him. He pressed again and focused on the brush strokes that created Lily’s pretty face. Full, pouty lips. Big tits…okay, so he wanted to fuck those tits more than anything right now.

The pressure building in his dick was downright painful. He flipped back over with an umph.

No sooner had he gotten the white boxer briefs tugged down to his thighs than the shaft bobbed against his abdomen, leaving a smear of precum. He gripped his cock tighter than usual. He looked to the painting with Lily in the outside bathtub.

Nick had painted her as if he were looking straight at her, her legs spread on either side of the tub and her hands gripping the edges. Adam stroked his shaft, taking no time to feel the veins popping out along the length. He analyzed the painting and remembered what he’d seen earlier in the afternoon. Had Nick ever seen Lily in the garden the way he had? Fuck, what a sight.

Soon, the frantic need, the tightening pull, took over, and he stroked faster. Keeping his eyes on the painting and on the tortured expression on Lily’s face, he wondered what she could be thinking. Did she long to be touched by a secret lover? Were those marks on her shoulders made out of anger or lust? He recalled a few scenes he’d watched at the club where the dom had flogged his sub until he left similar marks. Were Lily’s etched into her soft skin from scene play?