Page 40 of The Pearl (The Godwicks 3)

Then he licked her clitoris again. It was so swollen he didn’t even have to hold the hood back to get to the naked organ. Regan’s hips rose in tight and tiny undulations. She was coming undone, utterly undone. Her breathing grew louder, and her head writhed on the bed. She made sounds, lovely pained sounds. She didn’t ask him to stop, instead spreading her legs wider.

He licked her hard. She was long gone now. He thought about stopping—to punish her, to turn the tables. But it would have punished him more to stop licking her, kneading her pulsing little clit with his tongue as she pushed her hips up and into his mouth.

She came with a sudden jerk of her body and a loud cry. Her head rose off the bed, head and shoulders, before she fell back panting, still softly moaning. She went limp and Arthur let the pearls begin to fall out of her body, one loop dangling out a few inches. He caught the loop in his finger—the pearls were damp—and gently he pulled on them, emptying her out. Her vagina gave little gasps, little twitches. He gathered the long string of her pearls into his hands as he pulled them out of her and then she was empty. He stood and gazed down on her, her dress ruched up to her waist, her eyes closed, her body listless and spent.

Arthur pushed his cock into her dripping opening and when she didn’t stop him, he entered her with a stroke. Her cunt was open now, supple and soft against his cock. It was ecstasy to feel her body taking every inch of him without any resistance. He was bathed in heat and wetness. She lay motionless under him, insensate, eyes half-closed, letting him have her. He pounded fast, rutting on her, ashamed of his lack of self-control but not ashamed enough to stop. His thrusts were pistons firing fast and hard and it was only seconds before he started to come. He pulled out. Gripping his cock in his hand, he came on Regan’s neck. Spurts of semen landed white and wet on her glistening olive skin, on her chest, in the hollow of her throat, and each spurt harder and stronger than the last.

When he’d finished emptying himself out onto her, he looked at her, at what he’d done, he decided he’d seen no work of art in the world more magnificent than this woman wearing his come.

“I’ll clean you off,” he said. “Lay there.”

“No,” she said. “Leave it.”

He slid to his knees again and rested his head on her lower stomach. Regan slowly moved her legs, spreading them again. She sat up, still wearing his come and opened her vulva wide open for him. Her cunt was a livid red, almost purple, tender from how hard he’d used her and supple enough to spread out wide as an iris in bloom.

She touched his burning face. “Well done, Brat.”

He kissed her thigh. She dug her hands into his hair and stroked it tenderly. Then she picked up the pearls and examined them.

“I’ll clean your pearls,” he said, smiling sheepishly. “I promise.”

She put them on over her head and let them settle around her glistening neck and tits.

“No,” she said. “I think I’ll wear them just like this.”

6

Woman With a Pearl Necklace

Regan sent him to fetch their wine from her office while she cleaned herself—and, presumably, her pearls as well.

Arthur winced slightly as he took the winding staircase. His still-damp penis was tender from the rough fucking. Though it was painful, it wasn’t entirely unpleasant. His body was alive with feeling, right down to the bottoms of his naked feet on the cool, polished wood of the steps. He liked this new awareness of his body, this new sensation of having a body for a reason other than carrying his brain around town. To please Regan, that’s what his body was for—his fingers, his tongue, his hands, his lips and his cock and come—all for her. And what he’d just done to her to please her…

He couldn’t believe that had been him in her bedroom. In this place, in this private little world of theirs in The Pearl, no one could see him or mock him or judge him or laugh at him. No one but Regan. Regan, the woman whom he wanted to see him, to mock him, to judge him, to laugh at him. He would have to thank Charlie down the road for his bad decisions. Some good had finally come of them.

The penthouse was dark and quiet. When he found the door to Regan’s office, he switched on her desk lamp to see where they’d left their abandoned bottle of wine.

A heavy art book lay on the floor next to one of the bookshelves. It was open, having landed on its spine. Had he knocked it off earlier? He bent to pick it up, but stopped, when he saw it had fallen open to a painting.

His peace, his contentment, his afterglow…it all evaporated in an instant.

“Are you hungry, Brat? I can call—” Regan was standing in the doorway to her office. She had slipped on her kimono and followed him down. She looked at the book on the floor, then back at him kneeling beside it. “Were you reading? You were supposed to be getting—”

“I turned on the light, and found this book on the floor open to this page.”

Regan stepped into the office and bent down to pick up the book. She drew her hand back, gasping, as if the book had burned her.

“Arthur.” Not Brat.Arthur.

The book lay open to a full-color, full-page reproduction of a Mary Cassatt painting, a painting of a beautiful woman sitting in a box at the opera. Beautiful hair, beautiful gown.

Beautiful pearl necklace. That was the name of the painting—Woman with a Pearl Necklace.

“Is this a joke?” she asked. “It’s not very funny.”

“I was about to ask you the same question,” he said, but he could already tell she hadn’t left it out for him as some sort of prank or mind game. The confusion in her eyes was too real. Either she was scared to her bones or she was an actress worthy of both aBAFTAand an Oscar.

“Was someone watching us?” Her voice was low, scared and her eyes were wide, clouded with grey fear. “Someone had to have been watching us. How else would they know…”

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