The Met was a glorious museum, crowded, sophisticated, and stuffed to the gills with masterpieces. Winnie and West had a pleasant light lunch at one of its cafés, enjoying their conversation and their view of an elegant sculpture court. When they were finished, West led her upstairs to the European painting galleries.

“These are beautiful!” she exclaimed as he pulled her through a wing of Spanish portraits. “Wait, West, let’s stop!”

“We can look at these later,” he said meaningfully, tightening his grip on her hand. “I want to show you something. Something that will help answer that question you asked me earlier.”

It was twelve thirty on a Thursday, and most of the visiting tourists had chosen other galleries to look at. The hall they eventually stopped in was deserted. Winnie pressed herself close to West and put her arms around his hard, warm waist since no one was there to be offended by their PDA.

“Here,” he said.

“What’s this?” she breathed, facing a wall of tall Renaissance paintings.

“Look at these, Winnie,” he said seriously. “These are works by Titian. You ask why I went through a matchmaking agency instead of picking a girl off the street or out of a cocktail party? Because I’m discerning. Because I have the same eye for beauty that this master did. Not every woman is lovely in the way I require.”

She gazed at the painting. It showed a beautiful, rich-bodied girl in a seventeenth-century dress, holding up a platter of fruit. She had blonde hair, a peaches-and-cream complexion, and soft, plump-looking hands. Her headband was jeweled, just like her dress, and she wore strings of pearls, a pair of gemstone earrings, and a golden ring.

“You like girls like this?” Winnie asked softly. “Big girls?”

“Mmm-hmm,” West purred into her hair. “Very much. And I want to dress you in as much gold and as many jewels as her.”

Winnie bit her bottom lip, overwhelmed. He really likes girls like this? Like me? “I–I don’t need gold or jewels.”

“I know you don’t,” he said, putting a powerful arm around her shoulders. “I love that about you. Here, look at this one, Winnie.”

He guided her toward another painting, this one of a reclining Venus with a body like butter. She was also blonde and rosy-cheeked, and the only thing she wore was jewelry. An admirer sat at the foot of her bed.

“She’s prettier than me,” Winnie whispered modestly.

“No. You’re prettier than her,” West answered thickly. “She isn’t half as lovely as you, even if she is a Titian.”

“West . . .” She wasn’t sure what to say. “Are you serious? This is what you like? This is what you want?”

“Absolutely,” he growled, and he actually nipped her ear. Her knees buckled. “You’re the most beautiful girl I’ve ever seen, Winnie. I want you.”

Suddenly, she was hot everywhere. Everywhere. He wants me. He turned her to face him and gave her a rough, possessive kiss, a kiss so passionate that she thought she would melt onto the floor. He obviously didn’t care who saw.

“West,” she managed against his mouth, and then he was kissing her again and again, deep, dominant kisses that wiped her mind blank. Her arms went around his neck, and she crushed herself against him, kissing back.

He was hard—hard!—and she ground her hips against his encouragingly. All she wanted now was for him to take her, to show her just how badly he wanted her. His white-pine-and-liqueur taste was flooding her mouth, and she was drunk on it, drunk on him. She’d never wanted a man as badly as she did at this moment, so badly that she was ready to lie down on the floor and—

Abruptly, horribly, he stopped. She made a needy sound, but he took her chin and turned it toward the elderly couple with audio guides who had just entered the gallery. Breathing hard, she remembered slowly where they were, a busy museum.

“Oh,” she said breathlessly. “That’s . . . that’s right. We’re in public.”

“Let’s go home,” he said in a dark, thick voice. His eyes were a hot, demanding gold, and it was very clear what he wanted. “Right now.”

She nodded, and he took her hand and pulled her out of the gallery.

West slammed the bedroom door closed, then tangled his hands in her hair, kissing her like fire. His stubble stung her face as his firm, demanding mouth devoured hers, driving all thought from her mind. She was nothing but her body, and her body had already turned into butter.

He pressed her toward and then onto the bed, ripping off his jacket. “I need you, Winnie,” he growled, and she believed it. She could see the tent in his Armani pants, see the size of his straining manhood. It made her pussy ache with need—sweet, terrible need.

“West, wait,” she begged, as hard as that was to say.

“Wait?” he echoed, his voice rough with desire. The gold in his eyes was blazing. “Do you want me to stop, darling?” She could see the effort that would cost him.

“No! No, just let me . . . let me,” she whined, reaching for his shirt. She wanted to unbutton it. She wanted to undress him.

“Ah,” he said, understanding. “Go ahead, baby.”

She tried to open his shirt slowly, but it was too much of a challenge. The fabric was hot against her knuckles, the buttons were cold against her fingers, and his skin was closer than it had ever been. Every inch of chest she revealed put more hair-shaded muscle on display, and halfway down, she lost patience, almost ripping the last few closures open.

He chuckled huskily. “Impatient, Tam?”

“I need to see you,” she breathed, her fingers working the button of his pants.

“What is it you want to see?” he teased, his voice a low burr.

She slid to her knees, then looked up at him, her blue eyes locked on his gold ones. “Your cock,” she admitted.

“Say it again.”

“Your cock,” she repeated in a melting voice. “Your big cock, West.”

“Good girl,” he growled. “Free it, then. Admire it.”

She unzipped him, carefully pulling down the band of his stretching boxers. And then—

There it was. His beautiful cock. She had dreamed of this moment, the moment when his manhood was right in front of her face, waiting for her kiss, her tongue. It was as gorgeous as she’d imagined, big, weighty, blood-darkened, chased with hard, throbbing veins. Eight inches, at least.

“West,” she gasped, overwhelmed. It was the perfect cock.

“Kiss it, Winnie,” he ordered.

She did. A kiss on the side, a kiss on the pre-come-slickened head, sweet, light little kisses. Love kisses. His cock jerked in her hand, and he groaned.

“Good,” he groaned, his hard hips starting to work. “More.”

She covered his shaft with kisses, eager, soft-lipped kisses that had him gripping her hair. She even pressed a few to his heavy balls.

“More,” he demanded. “Kiss with passion, Winnie.”

Her underwear flooded, her pussy swollen beyond all reason, she did. She gave his cock passionate, open-mouthed kisses, French kissing the head for all she was worth.

“Suck,” he ordered.

So she did.

She held the base of his cock and licked the fat, spongy head, making him groan, making his hard hips thrust forward. A few more licks, cat-delicate, and then she couldn’t resist. She swallowed as much of his cock as she could. It filled her mouth with heat.

For a few luxurious moments, she just sucked—the sounds he was making had her pussy drooling—and then she started to slide her mouth up and down his dick, mimicking the primeval rhythm of sex.

His hand had fisted in her hair, tightly. He didn’t relax his grip until she pulled away to lick at his heavy balls, nipping them. When she ran her tongue back up the underside of his cock to its swollen head, he was so hard his dick might as well have been carved from hot marble.

“Winnie,” he growled. “Continue until I tell you to stop.”

She didn’t want to stop. She was jacking the length she couldn’t suck, swallowing the precome he was leaking, humming with pleasure—when he tangled a hand in her hair and drew her away from his manhood.

“Enough,” he said, his voice all gravel.

Her mouth and chin were wet, smeared with saliva. For a second, as she looked up at him, she thought he meant enough entirely, that he wanted to end this, even send her away.

But no. He was just starting with her. She could see it.

She licked her lips.

His hand unknotted from her hair, and then, snakebite-fast, he gripped her under the arms and pulled her to her feet, setting her on the bed. She lay there, breathing hard, her legs opening instinctively.

He kissed her, roughly, hungrily, his arms going around her. She kissed back, wrapping her legs around his waist even though the silk of her panties still hid her cunt from him. He worked his hips against hers anyway, slowly, reflexively. She thought she would die from the pleasure of just feeling his hardness rub up and down her covered lips.

“West,” she gasped. “West. Please. Please, I need—”

“What?” he growled, biting her ear. “Tell me what you need, Tam.”

“West—”

“Tell me.”

“Fuck me,” she breathed, her head rolling back as he nipped at her neck, her jaw. “Please, fuck me. Fuck me. Fuck me. Just fuck me, please!”

There was a dangerous ripple of pleasure in her pussy. If she wasn’t careful, she’d come like this. She had to get him inside before that happened, needed to feel him filling her, bringing her to climax. She wriggled her hips desperately. Her foggy mind couldn’t quite remember how to get her dress off, how to offer him her pussy.

He ripped her dress open, tearing it like wet paper, then ripped apart her underwear. She’d never seen a man do that. Freed, her pussy pouted open, pink and swollen. She spread her legs, almost as far as she could.

He put a hand on her burning cunt. “Good girl,” he purred. “Good girl.”

She moaned, impatient, too far gone for words. If he would at least slide a finger in, she—

Ahh. He did, slowly, one, then two, stretching her easily. She was soaked, wetter than she’d ever been. She was ready now.

She pumped her hips against his hand, encouraging more penetration, but he pulled his hand away, making her whine.

“You can’t wait, can you, Winnie?”

“No,” she whined. “Please, West.” The sweet ache in her cunt was unbearable. She needed this man so much she thought she would go insane. “Please.”

“Give yourself to me, Tam.” He kissed her roughly. “Say you’re mine.”

Her pulse throbbed in her throat. “I’m yours!” she gasped. It was a relief to say. She needed to say it. “Take me!”

He smiled, an arrogant smile. He was handsomer than any man she’d ever seen.

“I will.”

He gripped her hip in one hand, himself in the other, and pressed the head of his cock inside her. She gripped the sheets, her hands fisting. He fed her the entire length, easily, even though she had always been tight, and then he was inside her, and without further ceremony, they were fucking, rutting away.

His strength was savage. He hammered her. She kept gasping and arching her back, driving her hips against his, sometimes gripping his arms and sometimes throwing her hands over her head. It was amazing—primordial. He pounded her with abandon, groaning, glazed with sweat, his eyes glassy with pleasure.

He paused mid-stroke. She couldn’t tell how long they’d been at it. All she knew was that she needed more, more, more. He bent over her to suck her breast, bite its nipple. She mewled.

“Don’t stop,” she breathed, her skin hot all over.

“I set the pace, Winnie,” he whispered, kissing her.

Then he was fucking her again, one hand buried in her hair, the other bracing himself, and he was roughly kissing her mouth, her cheek. Her feet were locked behind him, and she was nothing but the pleasure of this moment.

She fastened her arms around his neck, pasted herself against him, and he drove deeper than ever. It was hard to bite back a scream of delight.

He’d managed to pull away from her, was piledriving her. Her tits were jiggling violently. Her whole body was. She clawed for purchase on his side, drew blood on his muscled ribs, and cried out.

This is the best the best sex the best sex ever the best—

And then she was coming violently, crashingly.

Hugging herself, she rose her hips off the bed, forcing him as deep as she could. He was still fucking her vigorously. Her pussy clenched on his pistoning cock, drenched it with her orgasm.

And then she was gasping like a beached fish, limp as wet rope. The remains of her dress were sopping wet around her, the sheets sopping wet under her. She kept her legs spread, her eyes closed. He hadn’t finished, and she offered her body for his pleasure.

“Good girl,” he groaned.

And then he finished inside her, unable to hold back a yell of release. The ecstasy on his face thrilled her. She smiled, watching him—feeling him—come. Her cunt was flooded with his seed, which sent off a wave of fresh, hungry pulses. She almost came again.

He pulled out of her, panting, his clothes damp. She rolled onto her stomach and lowered her head, struggling for breath. One of his hands settled on her ass, squeezed a pert, buttery cheek. His come oozed from her pussy, beading on her clit, then smearing on the coverlet.

Hardly aware of it, she’d been rolling her hips, hungry for more, and then he was inside her again.

She cried out with delight. What kind of man was he? How could he? Every man she’d ever known needed a nap after sex.

Not West. His hands squeezed her hips almost to bruising as he stroked in and out of her. It was delicious, dirty, animal. Her head came down, her hands balled in the sheets. The primitive rhythm continued until, blissfully, she came again—her second orgasm was always faster than her first—and he filled her cunt again, smothering it with the heat of his seed.

He squeezed her ass, hard. “Did you like that, Tam?” His voice was raw, thirsty.

She nodded, unable to speak.

He seized the back seam of her dress and ripped the rest of the garment clean off. It was like the fabric was nothing to him. A piece of paper.

“Let me see you,” he ordered.

She slid off the bed and stood, facing him. The look on his face as he took in her naked, sweat-drenched body was worth all the money in the world to her.

“You’re a beautiful woman,” he said, gesturing her into his arms. “Was that good for you?”

“Yes.” She crawled into the bed, peeled his sweat-wet clothing off, and got him undressed too. “You’re the best I’ve ever had.”

He laughed. “You know how to flatter a man.”

“I’m serious.” She lay on top of him, listening to his heart hit his ribs under her cheek. “That was amazing, West.”

“Good,” he said, stroking her wet hair. “Amazing is what you deserve, darling.”