With my fingers, I part her opening and push my cock deep into her. She gasps and moans as I bury myself up to the hilt and start pounding into her.
One of Rick's books and some papers fall on the floor, but who gives a shit. I carry on pounding into her, my balls getting tighter and tighter with each thrust.
The door to the office swings open, and Rick says "Oh, God, I'm so sorry."
His voice is a momentary distraction, and I look over with a death stare. The door snaps shut and I turn my attention back to my Skye. I don't even think she noticed.
Skye's moaning turns breathy, her body quivers in bliss. Her pussy spasms around my shaft, the heat squeezing me until I can't hold back any longer.
I grunt, my cock exploding into the condom with such force I hope it doesn't tear a hole right through it.
Sweat trickles down my back. My whole fucking body is screaming out in appreciation of Skye. For once, my body and brain are in complete agreement on what they want: Her.
Skye's quiet, her ribs rising as she sucks in big gulps of air. I pull out of her and flop back onto the chair.
"Did someone open the door?" she breaks the silence to ask.
"Who cares. Let's get out of here."
Her face turns five shades of red, causing me to laugh.
"Stop laughing, Lawson. It's embarrassing."
"For him not you. You should never be embarrassed. Besides, you're an artist, I'll just tell him you needed inspiration."
She shakes her head at me, the corners of her lips turned up.
Once we've adjusted our clothing and smoothed our hair, we make our way to the lobby. Skye sheepishly clings to me, but I don't give a fuck if the whole world knows what we just did. In fact, I want the world to know about us.
We exit the hotel, my arm around her waist. Skye's old banger is parked halfway blocking the door.
"Sorry, I hadn't intended on staying long."
"Come home with me, I don't want you out of my arms just yet." Or ever.
She looks at me and smiles. "I was hoping you'd say that."
A smile spreads across my face. This day couldn't turn out any better. I give her a squeeze.
"You know, you're going to need a safer car if you're working with me. I can't have you driving around in this piece of shit, it's not safe. The paintings might get damaged."
"The paintings, huh?"
"Will you say no if I said it was for you and not the paintings?"
"Possibly."
"Then borrow my Range Rover until you can buy a better one yourself."
"You want me to borrow your car?"
"Not really, I want you to have my car but I'm willing to settle for you borrowing it."
"Well, since it will make you happy, when do I get the keys?"
"As soon as we get to my place."
We both laugh, and I still haven't let go of her. Skye tries to pull away from me and toward her car but I hold on tight.
"Let's go in my car, we'll get something to eat on the way to my place."
"My car's here, I can't leave it."
"Don't worry, I'll have someone pick it up. And take it to the wreckers from here."
"Fine. Let me grab my stuff out of it."
Isn't it much better when you trust me? I don't think it would be a good idea to say that to her though.
Skye grabs an armful of stuff, passing most of it to me.
"Goodbye, piece of crap," she says, patting the roof.
With an armful of sweaters topped with a pair of sneakers, I lead her to my car.
"It's a Maserati day, is it?"
"Most days are."
Her lips twist in thought. "I'm never going to stop fighting for the ninety-nine percent."
"I don't expect you to," I say, grinning. Her smile beams back at me.
We dump her stuff in my car and get in. I rev the engine a few times, just for fun, and we tear out of the parking lot.
"I'm starving. For some reason I didn't manage to eat much yesterday or today," Skye says.
I look over at her and smile. "I know just the place."
We talk freely as we drive and it reconfirms everything I feel about her. She's not after me for my money. She's not interested in keeping me happy for fear of losing her free ride. All she wants is me.
And all I want is her.
"What are you doing?" she asks as I pull into the Chicken Chums parking lot.
"You're hungry, right?"
Skye bursts into a throaty laugh, "You're so awesome."
I lean over to kiss her cheek, but she turns her head and our lips connect. Skye's priceless, and she's mine. There's no way I'm ever letting go.
Epilogue
(Skye)
One year later
I'm standing in my new studio, the one I bought all by myself! And even better, I now have three artists working with me to help create my products. Lawson likes to call them my disciples.
Since accepting Lawson's offer to create paintings for his hotel lobbies, my earnings have gone through the roof. I not only have a whole range in the hotels, but they've also converted them into prints, which hang in the hotel bedrooms.
I also sell the prints to the public in a range of quality and price points, so something is affordable to most everyone.
They've been snapped up, and hang in college dorms rooms and living room walls across the country.
You can even get them on things like mugs, shower curtains and calendars.
Most lucrative of all, I do limited-edition hand-finished and signed canvas prints of each painting, which I sell for a high four figures a pop.
And the best thing of all? Every single one of my works challenges the concept of the division of wealth in the world. And thousands and thousands have sold.
My message, so core to my being, is getting out. I might not change the world, but I'm trying.
Soon after the day my mother left the voicemail, Lawson flew my parents out to California for a reunion . He even put them up in his newest hotel, so they'd see my paintings every time they went in and out of the hotel.
They loved it, though I'm not sure that was the reason he put them there. I think he was trying to reinforce to them how wrong they'd been not to support me.
Meanwhile, they told everyone who entered the lobby that their daughter was the artist, whether the people were looking at my paintings or not.
Lawson really did run that article on me. My parents provided him with enough stories of me to fill a novel, let alone three pages in a glossy magazine.
As a result, people from all over the world now commission me for private works. Which I do for a mega-large fee, provided I have the time.
It didn't take much for me to convince Lawson I was glad I lost the Kelso commission.
Kelso was so freaked by Lawson's anger and threats that he practically begged to settle a few months later. Which Lawson used to his advantage, and got far more out of Kelso than the amount he was originally willing to settle for. Sucker.
"This building is amazing, sweetie," my dad says as we enter the main area.
"I love it. It's all my design, with tons of light from the two-story windows," I say. I freaking love my studio.
"It feels very industrial."
"It's an artist studio, Dad. It's supposed to feel like a warehouse."
"If you say so, you're the expert."
I totally am the expert.
Oh, did I mention my daddy's here to walk me down the aisle?
The studio has a magnificent industrial church-like atmosphere, and I couldn't think of a better place to get married. We've cleared out all the stuff, which was no easy feat, and crammed it all into my office and back rooms for the day.
Folding chairs in neat rows are packed with people, with an aisle down the middle.
Lawson insisted on overflowing the room with flowers. He said for beauty, but really I suspect he's trying to cover the smell of paints and paint cleaners.
My dad and I are standing just around the corner, out of sight from the guests and waiting for the music to start.
I peek around the corner and spot Lawson waiting for me at the makeshift altar.
My breath hitches at the sight. Even though we've now been living together for ten months, it feels like this is the first time I'm seeing his utterly gorgeous face.
He's wearing a custom-made Italian-cut dark-gray tux with a black bow tie. I made him wear it.
Lawson protested, saying I might stand him up because I didn't want to marry a prick. I told him to fuck off, and that I wouldn't marry a man wearing a T-shirt, no matter how much I loved him. Besides, I've gotten used to the idea of spending the rest of my life with a rich prick.
Right now, my heart pounds at the knowledge we're about to be married. But I'm not the least bit nervous, only excited. I want to run down the aisle into his arms right now.
There are so many things I want to do with him right now, but we're going to have to get rid of all these guests first.
And this silk and lace wedding gown I'm wearing - although Lawson may want me to keep on what's underneath. I can't wait to see his face when he sees me look all innocent and virginal in my white lace lingerie.
I'm super excited to give Lawson my wedding present to him. I designed him a new tattoo. He's finally getting that self portrait of my tits he always teases me about. I can't wait to see his face.
The music starts: the very unoriginal Wedding March that my father requested. Apparently he's dreamed about this day since I was a baby. That's fine, my dreams have all come true, I don't mind making someone else's come true too.
"Ready, Skye?" Dad asks, offering me his arm.
"It's about time."
I take his arm and we walk down the aisle. My mother stands in the front row, dabbing her eyes with tissues.