Drawn to You: Volume 3 (9 page)

I’m just about to come when I hear him calling me. “Little one, are you close?” he moans.

“Yes,” I pant.

“Good.”

Tristan pulls out and then lies on the bed next to me.

“Come ride me, baby.”

Hearing those words are all I need. In my tipsy stupor, I climb on top of him. His hands reach up as he rolls my nipples between his index finger and his thumb. I lean back as I swivel my hips. He groans each time I lift myself and then slam back down on top of him. I smile at the shift in power. His hands grab my hips pushing me to go faster, but I stop him. He chuckles as I look down at him with a mischievous smile. I’m almost done with my teasing when I feel him lift his hips and me along with it. The sensation is nothing like I’ve ever felt before. As his finger finds my clit, I realize that, in a way, this moment is my punishment. My body is pushed to extremes, but the outcome is pure bliss.

“Tristan?” I shudder. My release is so close.

“Come for me, sweetheart.”

That’s all it takes. His words are the final piece to push me over the edge. I feel his hips meet mine in one last thrust. Beads of sweat run down my breast and to my neck. I lean forward, pressing against his chest, my pink bra still intact. Our hearts pound in unison as the two of us silently kiss. My mind races back to all of the stupid things I said to Tristan that day on the yacht. I was wrong to tell him I didn’t need him. I do.

“I love you,” I say against his lips.

“I love you too, little one.”

Emily

After several more shots of tequila with Tristan, I barely feel his hand wrapped around my waist as we exit the dorm building. A gust of wind hits me like an ice cold shower as we make our way down the sidewalk. We don’t make it very far before Tristan pulls me to the side and asks me to wait for him to pull up the car. I’m reluctant to let him out of my grasps. Tristan leans in and kisses me before running to get his car down the street. My eyelids slip closed as I lean back against the brick wall behind me and let a heavy feeling of sleep wash over me. My limbs are warm and yet numb all at once.

God, I drank too much.

I tug the bottom of my dress just as the sound of a camera shutter clicks away.
Click. Click. Click.
My eyes jolt open as I spot a paparazzo hiding behind a line of cars. My vision might be blurry, but I know he’s capturing every second of me leaning against this brownstone drunk. Of course, I’m standing in perfect view for his lens. My father is going to kill me if this ends up in the tabloids.

Click. Click. Click.

“Fuck,” I say, boiling with anger as I shove my dress down and then shield my face.

Not that it matters. I know the paparazzi all too well. Privacy isn’t a concept they seem to understand. Over the years, I’ve grown to avoid them like the plague, but it doesn’t matter where I am, they always find me. Tonight isn’t any different. I make a beeline straight for the paparazzo. My stomach turns from the amount of alcohol filtering through my system. I turn and speed walk down the sidewalk nearly twisting my ankle as I pull off my shoes.

“Nice one, princess. Someone’s going to pay a pretty penny for this,” the paparazzo says.

The balding man looks ever so familiar. He crudely stares at me over his camera lens.

“What’s wrong, princess? Is life too hard on Millionaire’s Row?”

“Fuck you,” I yell.

I’m all too tempted to throw my shoes at the paparazzo. He laughs coldly as I try in vain to walk past him.

“Seems like you’re just as much trouble as your brother.”

His words trigger my memory of the night Augie and I drove to The Somerset to pick up Nicholas.
Fuck.
This is the same asshole who was taunting my brother.

“Get out of my way.”

“Why, princess? The world loves to hate you,” he says, snapping a shot of my face. “They’re sure going to love when they see photos of you and that tall bastard you were with.”

A blur of black walks past me and slams into the paparazzo sending him flying across the sidewalk. A surprised yelp echoes throughout the city streets as I watch the paparazzo land hard on the sidewalk. His camera skids across the floor landing only a few inches from my feet. To my surprise, I spot Tristan leaning over the balding man in a huff of anger. His rises and falls with each ragged breath. Did he run here? Good God, he looks good. My eyes trace him in appreciation. Tristan’s hazel eyes quickly assess me before returning to the troll on the ground.

“Get your filthy camera away from her before I end you,” Tristan seethes.

“Fucking asshole. This is the second time I’ve had to replace my camera.”

Tristan laughs.

“Maybe stop acting like an asshole and people will quit smashing your things.”

The paparazzo angrily mutters under his breath as he looks up at me with rage. He spits a pool of blood on the ground and wipes off his clothes as he stands.

“Go ahead and break my camera, but I already have plenty of pictures to sell of your little princess. I’m sure her daddy will love to see her acting like a whore with you.”

“You fucking dick,” Tristan punches him across the jaw.

The paparazzo looks up as he spews blood from his mouth. He smiles with bloody teeth.

“You’re going to pay for that.”

“Leave,” Tristan commands.

“This is a public sidewalk.”

“I’m not asking.”

The paparazzo reluctantly leaves, but not without muttering a slew of curse words under his breath. My head spins as I watch him hobble down the street toward his car. I almost feel bad for him. Almost. Until I realize he still has a wide selection of photos of Tristan and me. Photos that could end everything before it begins.

“My father is going to have a heart attack when he sees those photos.”

Hot tears slip down my cheeks at the sinking embarrassment that overwhelms me.

“Come here,” Tristan says.

He steps forward pulling me into his embrace. His warmth surrounds me in a calm calming.

“Let me take you home.”

“Tristan, what am I going to tell my father about the photos?”

“Nothing. I’ll take care of it,” he says, walking me to his car. “No one is finding out about us until we want them to.”

Tristan

Anger ripples through me as I grip the steering wheel of my car. That little prick paparazzo is going to sell the photos to the highest bidder, and I won’t have a chance in hell to stop him. Guilt plagues me as I make my way back to the Meat Packing District. I should’ve never left Emily alone. I glance over to the petite figure sleeping on my right. She sits fast asleep against the car door frame. Her clothes and hair are in sorted disarray, along with her red high heels. Somehow, she managed to break them. I reach out and brush back golden strands from Emily’s face. She looks like an angel resting. Any man would be foolish not to see her as a great beauty.

She stirs as I caress her face in my hand.
I would
move hell and earth for you.

I bring Emily back to my studio. She hardly moves as I carry her inside. After a heavy night of drinking and sex, I’m sure I’ve exhausted her. I grin to myself. At least one can hope. My heart aches as she wraps her arms around me, hugging me closer to her chest. For the first time in a very long time, I feel like the knight in shining armor I know she deserves. Emily sprawls out across my bed leaving little room to lie down. She moans as she rubs her cheek against the cool satin sheets that I cover her with. I wish I could stay and watch her fall asleep, but I have business to attend to.

Still reeling from anger, I find myself back in Greenwich scouring the streets for the paparazzo from earlier. To my surprise, he isn’t far off from where he was first taking photos of Emily. I park my car down the street to avoid his detection.

“Hey, asshole!” I yell.

The smug old man turns toward me as he sits inside his yellow sports car. I’m sure the asshole thinks he’s going to make a fortune from Emily’s photos. I know all too well how the paparazzi ruin lives. Watching them as they did it to Nicholas and Emily was enough pain to last me a lifetime. The man turns to me and flings his cigarette on the pavement. A look of irritation crosses his face as he recognizes me. I’m sure I was the last person he thought he would be seeing.

“You again? What do you want?” he spits.

“I want the photos you took tonight.”

He laughs at me in a condescending manner. Fury burns through me as he gives me a look that clearly says ‘fuck you.’

“It’s all fair and legal. I took those photos on a public sidewalk,” he says.

I watch as he slowly steps out of his car and onto the pavement. If I didn’t know any better, I’d think he was getting ready to fight me. Sadly, I don’t think I’m going to get that opportunity.

“You did and I’m willing to pay you for them.”

The paparazzo sneers at me.

“You couldn’t afford it.”

Prick. I’m willing to bet that my fists can wipe that smile off of his face.

“I can,” I challenge.

His skeptical look tells me he isn’t buying what I’m saying. I pull a paper with an offer from my pocket and hand it to him. Several years ago, I never would’ve thought I would be standing here offering a paparazzo a small fortune for pictures. While I would love to see Stefan’s face when he finds out about Emily and me, I also know I would be hurting two other people I genuinely care for. Emily and Nicholas.

“She’s worth that much to you?”

More. So much more.

“Take it and hand over the digital copies. All of them. Don’t even think about synching them somewhere else.” I pull a copy of the contract Sebastian Wolfe drew up and emailed to me. It pays to have a friend who practices law. It took Sebastian less than five minutes to send me it. I hate the thought of owing someone a favor, but if I had to choose someone to owe something to, it would be Sebastian Wolfe.

I watch as the paparazzo purses his lips as if considering my offer. A streak of anxiety filters through me at the thought that he might not sell me the photos.

“I want more,” he says.

“Look, you greedy little prick, the offer is more than generous…”

A look of boredom encompasses his face as he looks up at me. He slowly swipes his phone and pulls up an album with a dozen or so pictures of Emily. I cringe as he zooms in on a shot of her in her ripped dress. She looks like a wild animal mauled her. The tabloids are going to eat this up. As he swipes through the screen of shots, a hopeless feeling fills my stomach. I could beat the shit out of him and take the photos, but there’s no guaranteeing he didn’t already upload them somewhere else.

“You were saying?” he smiles.

“How much?” I grimace.

“Eighty grand.”

There it is. Something I thought I would never hear.

“You’re insane,” I growl.

Last week, I sold a painting for twice that amount to a kinkster, but it wasn’t long ago that I barely had enough money to buy my bus fare. The paparazzo waits for my response with a shark-like smile. He’s more than happy to gouge me for the money. This is definitely payback for punching him in the face.

“Sign the contract, and the money is yours.”

He snaps the document from my hand and quickly signs it over without bothering to read any of the fine print Sebastian included. Wolfe would be so disappointed. He loves his fucking contracts.