Chapter 9

NINE

Saylor

"You're so getting laid tonight," Harper whispers as soon as Canyon is gone.

I sigh dramatically. "I really fucking hope so."

"You think he's good? The good-looking ones are usually…" She makes a face. "You know, selfish."

I wrinkle my nose. "God, don't say that. It's been months for me. I'm so looking forward to a man-induced orgasm."

"Maybe he'll surprise us," she says, leaning against the counter. She searches my face carefully. "Are you sure you're up for… casual sex after…"

"After someone called me a whore?" I finish her unspoken thought. "Absolutely. We were going there last night, and I fucking refuse to be victimized. I want him. He wants me. We'd already agreed to a casual night of fun. Then he got pulled into all this drama. It's horrifying, but I'm not doing anything wrong."

"No. You most certainly are not." She pauses. "But you're also human. And vulnerable."

"I am. But he was there for me last night, and it feels like we have a bond. It's hard to explain, but he could have left at any point in the evening. Standing here for nearly three hours while we sorted everything out with the police. Drinking tea with me in my living room. Rubbing my shoulders. Tucking me in, cleaning up the kitchen, and then sleeping next to me without touching me. I mean, he was gone when I woke up but he left me a note."

She smiles. "You like him. You like-like him."

I shrug. "I do. I'm sure it's going to hurt a little when he reiterates that he doesn't do relationships, which he's been up front about, but I need something, Harper. Something different. Someone different. Even if I get my heart broken, what's the point of living if we don't try all the things?"

"And you feel like you need to try to change Canyon?"

"Oh, no!" I shake my head vehemently. "I don't want to change him at all. I adore him just the way he is. At least, my current fantasy version of him. Maybe he'll suck in bed and tomorrow I'll be telling you the woeful story of his three-pump-dump."

We both burst out laughing.

"I really hope not," she says, shaking her head. "You deserve better."

"I'm going to give him the painting he loves as a thank you for last night."

"Well, make sure you give it to him before you have sex. You know, just in case it's bad."

We both start laughing again, and I've never been so grateful for her friendship.

We've only known each other about two years, having worked on some charity events together before she won the court case giving her ownership of the Phantoms. I'm so proud of her for what she's trying to do, all while rekindling her relationship with her ex-husband, whom she'd just remarried. She has a lot going on but she's one of the strongest women I've ever met.

And in the middle of it all, she dropped everything to come help me clean, organize, and paint over the vandalism on my gallery walls.

She's a real friend.

I have a lot of them, thankfully.

Two other models I know, Cheyenne and Stevie, had been here for a couple of hours too, though they had to leave because of a work commitment. Cheyenne was Ivan's fiancée, and Stevie and I had worked together for years before I'd decided to step back from modeling. Harper's assistant, Autumn, was here for a while too, but she had to go in to the office for a little while.

All in all, we'd gotten a lot done in a short time, and when the guys showed up, they pretty much helped me finish everything. I'll be able to re-open on Monday—taking a few days' breather will give me time to air out the smell of the paint and get my head on straight again.

I'm feeling okay right now, surrounded by friends and with plenty to keep me busy. Tomorrow, when I'm alone with no gallery to run or my friends rallying around me, might be different.

I climb in my car and my phone rings, and Bertie's name flashes on the screen.

I answer on speaker. "Hey, Bertie."

"What happened?" she demands. "I just saw something on the news about your gallery being burglarized."

I tell her the basics, including what had been written on the wall, and she sucks in a breath.

"Who would do such a thing?" she demands.

"I don't know," I say carefully. "But I have to ask…"

"He wouldn't!" she says immediately. Then she catches herself. "You think Russell did it?"

"I don't know. Was he upset about our date?"

"He was disappointed, but we had a talk about his misogyny. His attitude. And unwarranted arrogance. He said he was going to see a therapist, because deep down, he's not a bad kid. He's just a little broken, having been raised by my incredibly narcissistic sister. But he's lonely, and I don't think he would react this way when he knows I hold the reins of his trust fund."

"He has a trust fund?"

She laughs. "You don't think he lives the way he lives on his salary?"

"I had no idea."

"Well, let me be clear: If he was involved, he'll answer for it. I put up with a great deal because he's as close as I ever came to having a child and I'm trying to fix what his mother broke, but this isn't something I'm willing to sweep under the rug. I'll be in touch!" With that, she disconnects and leaves me feeling more discombobulated than ever.

If Russell did it, I'll be relieved but simultaneously disappointed in myself.

Could I have handled our date differently?

He was an asshole, but he didn't hurt me, so I could have shown a little more grace simply by virtue of the fact that he was Bertie's nephew.

Oh, who am I kidding?

I don't need to put up with a man's bad behavior to placate his aunt. Even if she's a friend. I'm stronger than that. And have more pride.

That's something I have to remember.

* * *

The afternoon somehow gets away from me, and I've just gotten out of the shower when I hear the doorbell. Glancing at the clock, I realize it's five fifty-eight and let out a little shriek of annoyance.

Shit!

I yank on my bathrobe and hurry to open the door for Canyon.

"Hi!" I grimace apologetically. "I'm so sorry I'm running late! I decided?—"

He doesn't let me finish, pushing his way inside while simultaneously covering my mouth with his. He kicks the door shut behind us and wraps one arm around my waist.

"This is absolutely perfect," he breathes against my mouth.

"Oh." I'm momentarily startled, but then understanding dawns and I wind my arms around his neck. "Yes. I guess it is."

He lowers his mouth to mine again, less urgently this time, but there's a hunger there that's impossible to miss. His tongue takes possession of mine as if he owns it, stroking and curling with delicious precision. I lean into it, anxious for more of his touch.

I'm hungry too.

And it has nothing to do with food.

There's probably some underlying psychological message to this, in response to that ugly word on my gallery wall, but I don't give a shit. I want him. Want this. Like I'd told Harper earlier, there's something about Canyon that makes me want to know more. If I get my heart broken, I'll survive. It won't be the first time.

"Fuck, you kiss like a dream," he growls.

"Let's take this to the bedroom," I whisper.

"Yes. Let's." He scoops me up, just like he'd done last night, and carries me down the hall, his mouth never leaving mine.

Still kissing me, he sinks onto the bed with me on his lap, and slowly unties the belt at my waist.

"You naked under there?" he asks in a raspy voice.

"And wet," I reply, trying to keep a straight face.

He chuckles. "Well, if you're not, you will be."

It seems like his hands are everywhere, doing everything but nothing at all. He's touching me, but they're more like sensual caresses. My shoulder, the curve of my hip, the tops of my thighs. Soft and gentle, but decidedly erotic. Almost as if he's pacing himself and giving us a little time to warm up to each other.

Not that I need warming up.

My skin is heated and on high alert, my body tingling with need.

Our mouths are so tightly fused together I can barely breathe, but with him touching me like this, I don't need air.

I just need him.

I don't know what's come over me, this desperate need to be claimed by him, but I can't stop it. And I don't want to.

His gentle caresses stoke a fire deep within, one that hasn't been lit in a long time.

When his fingers finally drift between my legs, softly stroking my mound, my legs open of their own volition. He accepts my invitation and gently slides one finger down my slit. Circling my clit, he continues to take his time, his tongue still pillaging mine, and I moan with need. I'm on his lap, so I can feel the steely erection against my backside, and I wiggle, anxious for more friction where I need it.

"Easy, baby. We're not in a rush."

"I need you so bad, Canyon," I admit breathlessly. "Inside me. Now ."

His sapphire eyes burn as he stares into mine and pulls a condom out of his pocket.

"Take off that robe and put this on me." His voice is edgy, bossy, and my insides clench with excitement as I take the condom from him.

I let the robe fall off my shoulders, and it slides to the floor, all while I watch him unzip his jeans. His cock springs free and my mouth waters a little. It's long and hard and thick, and I drop to my knees so I can wrap my hands around it.

"Did I say you could suck my cock?" he asks as I leaned forward.

My eyes snap up to his, and he gives me a stern smile. "Put the condom on and climb back up here. You'll suck me when I say you suck me. You said you wanted me inside you—so get back in my lap."

Sweet Jesus, my girlie parts almost explode with heat at the tone of his voice. I'm not particularly kinky, but a man who can boss me around in bed is nirvana for me.

I hurriedly roll the condom down his cock and climb onto his lap, straddling him. His hard length presses between my folds, right where I want him, and he squeezes my hips.

"Fuck me," he orders.

I'm not sure which of us groans louder as I slide down his cock, and the grip on my hips intensifies as he tries to hold me still, but I'm not having it. My hips roll and writhe, greedy for more contact, until he's fully seated.

"Jesus. Fucking. Christ." He hisses out a breath. "Stop. Moving."

"I can't," I whine in protest. "It feels too good… I'm so close…" Is that embarrassing or what? He's been inside of me all of thirty seconds and I'm ready to come.

"Not yet." He squeezes my hips so hard there will almost definitely be marks there tomorrow, but I don't care. My pussy is wet and deliciously full, and I grind against him.

"Please please please…" I whimper.

And before he can respond, I explode around him.