Title: Reality's Illusion
Author: Stephie Walls
Genre: Dark Angsty Romance
Release Date: January 23, 2020
Relationships are ugly, darkâdestructive.
They arenât fairy tales.
No happily ever after neatly wrapped in a shiny bow or sparkling diamond with a heartfelt engagement.
And in their end, love was nothing but a beautiful lie told to hide the ugly truth.
This is realityâs illusion.
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Emily asserted herself, testing the waters to see if Iâd let her lead when she aligned me with the bed and encouraged me to sit. She wiggled her way between my thighs and forced me to spread them wider to accommodate her frame when she returned to her knees in front of me. It didnât take her long to rectify the damage our conversation had done to my erection when she cupped my balls and stroked my cock. When my head passed those supple lips, I laid back in bliss. It was selfish and greedy, but the need to allow a woman to physically take care of me was all-consuming. My dick in her mouth removed my ability to think. It wasnât until I heard the wrapper tearing that I realized Emily planned to fuck me, not just suck me off.
A lazy smile spread across my face when I tried to sit up, but she pushed me back.
âJust enjoy, Bastian.â
And I did.
She rode me like I was a bull in a damn rodeo, but she didnât get off in eight seconds. Her pussy was tight and warm, blissful. Nearing the apex, her movements got stronger, faster; she was a goddamn pro. My face flushed as my entire body tensed, my ass clenched, and every thought in my head leftâthe lights went out in my brain. They flicked back on when the body spasms took over, and I unloaded into the condom. She didnât stop until I was motionless. My heart pounded, and by God, Iâd never felt more relaxed and sated. I also had no clue whether sheâd gotten off or just gotten me off.
Opening my eyes, I found Emily still poised on my dick. But it wasnât her face that interested me. I focused on her red tuft of hair and her bright pink, swollen pussy. I had zero desire to get to know her, to cuddle her, or even want to see her again.
It was good.
Iâd enjoyed it.
And now I just wanted to leave.
Jesus, I was a self-centered, narcissistic, prick.
When she climbed off, I assumed she went to the bathroom to clean up but was surprised when she came back with a warm washcloth. Emily removed the condom from my now-flaccid cock with practiced ease and wiped away the mess before disposing of the rubber. Out of nowhere, she reappeared with a cold bottle of water and tossed a throw over the lower half of my body before she donned a silky robe from behind the door.
She took a seat in the chair in the corner, and I tilted my head to see her from a different angle. She really was a beautiful woman.
âYouâd look gorgeous on a canvas.â
Her demure smile told me she assumed it was the compliment I had intended it to be. âDo you use models? Your work doesnât look like still life.â
âNo. I donât, but that doesnât mean I donât paint from inspiration. Have you seen my work?â I wouldnât have pegged her as the art type. That was a rather narrow-minded view of someone I knew nothing about, but she just didnât give off that vibe.
âIâve known Ferry for a long time. A person canât be involved in his life without knowing those he deems important.â She crossed her legs and put her hands in her lap. âSo yes, Iâve seen a lot of your work. Ferry speaks very highly of your talent. He thought you were great many years ago and was saddened by your sudden flight from the community.â Emily seemed to search my expression for something, or maybe she waited for an explanation she wouldnât receive. âBut my understanding is since your return, everything about both you and your painting is completely transformed. I canât wait to see your latest work at Le MusÃ©e on Friday.â
I sat up straight. âAhh, shit. Youâre a collector?â Nervously, I found my hand in my hair, pulling on it in frustration. This was not a good way to start the weekend.
âBastian, really, calm down. Iâm a woman who loves sex and art. They canât be exclusive of each other, so why pretend like they are. Weâre consenting adults. Iâm thrilled to have shared pleasure with you as your work has shared with me over the years.â
That wasnât a topic I cared to discuss, and I made a pathetic attempt to go a different direction. âWhoâs your favorite artist?â I couldnât get any more fucking elementary school than that unless I asked her about her favorite color.
Jesus, I just needed to get the fuck up and leave, go back to my own room. I didnât need to have an obligatory conversation just because weâd had sex that she initiated.
I was a socially awkward moron.
She sat forward, eager to have a conversation. âHmmâ¦Iâm really into photography, I love Ansel Adams. Kind of trite, I know, but I have a thing for clouds. His black and whites just give the sky so much depth. I get lost in them. But I love Kandinsky, Tarkay, Klimt, OâKeefe. Itâs all about color for me, and yes, I realize the idiocy since I love black and white photography. There are tons of local artists around LA I follow as well. I try to make it a point to pick up an original piece any time I go on vacation. I frame some of them, but most stay wrapped in tubes.â She twisted her fingers in front of her as if she were embarrassed by her tastes or collection. âMy trinkets from my travels.â Her left shoulder hitched in a bit of a shrug that I found adorable. She was nervous, and for the first time since weâd met, I had the upper hand.
âAre you involved in the art community for a living?â
She sat back, and a sort of sadness washed over her features. âNo. My husbandâs a very successful businessman. I donât work.â
I spat a mouthful of water across the room. âYour what?â Wiping my lips, I tried to get a hold on the situation. âDid you say your husband?â I didnât do married women, not that I did women period, but never those in a relationship of any sort.
Stephie Walls is a lover of wordsâthe more poetic the better. She lives on the outskirts of Greenville, South Carolina in her own veritable zoo with two dogs, three cats, the Mister, and Magoo (in no preferential order).
She would live on coffee, books, and Charlie Hunnam if it were possible, but since itâs not, add in some Chinese food or sushi and sheâs one happy girl.
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