The Harlowe Island 2: Falling For The Painter

MYRA

“Where are we going?” Bart asked as I tugged him off the dance floor.

“Midnight buffet,” I explained. “We gotta beat the herd.”

“Smart thinking.”

We burst into the conference room where the tables of food had been set up. I grabbed a plate, handing it to him before I picked up one for myself.

“It all looks so good!” I declared. “I don’t have enough room on my plate for everything I want.”

“Why don’t I go down one side, and you go down the other,” he suggested. “That way we’ll each have different stuff, and we can share.”

“Great idea!”

By the time our plates were loaded, the other partygoers were starting to trickle in.

“C’mon,” I whispered, grabbing a bottle of champagne and two flutes. “I know a quiet place where we can eat without having to listen to all the drunk people.”

He followed me out a side exit. “Do you need me to carry something?”

I stuck a flute in each of his suit jacket pockets and tucked the bottle under my arm. “There. We’re all set.”

“Where are we going?” he asked when I headed for the stairs.

“You’ll see.”

I grabbed a meatball from my plate, popping it in my mouth while we made our way to the far end of the hall.

“I saw that,” he laughed.

“I’m starving.”

I pushed open the door and stepped inside.

“I had no idea this was here,” he said, walking over to the floor-to-ceiling windows that looked out onto the lake.

“I don’t think many people know about it. Most folks probably figure it’s a fancy suite or something when they see the windows from outside.”

He set his plate on the coffee table before picking up the controller for the fireplace. “Voila,” he said when the flames shot up. “Gotta appreciate gas.”

We settled on the sofa. He fished the champagne glasses from his pockets and set them on the table before filling each flute.

“Happy New Year, Myra,” he said, tapping his glass to mine.

“Happy New Year, Bart.”

Our eyes locked while we sipped our champagne. The sparks were flying between us. I had no idea if it was the alcohol or what, but I was enjoying it.

We devoured the food, eating from each other’s plates like we were a couple, and not casual acquaintances who were thirty years apart in age.

“I’m stuffed,” I announced, wiping my face with a napkin.

“Me as well,” he said.

“How are your other daughters doing?”

“Chloe is in her first year at Western.”

“What is she taking?”

“She’s majoring in biology and plans to go to medical school.”

“Wow. Good for her.”

“Claire is seventeen and in grade eleven. She has no idea what she wants to do with her life, but that’s okay. She’s got lots of time. And Celeste is fifteen and angry at the world.”

“Uh-oh.”

“I think she took her mother’s death the hardest. She was thirteen. That’s a difficult age to lose your mom.”

“Poor kid,” I sighed.

“We’re working through it. It’s been a difficult couple of years, but I feel like we’ve started to resume some normalcy in our lives. It’s not the same, but it’s our new normal.”

“What about you? Are you seeing anyone?”

“No. I was married to Barbara for twenty-five years. I wouldn’t have a clue how to date.”

“I’m sure you’ll figure it out when you’re ready.”

“I don’t know that I will ever be ready.”

“You can’t spend the rest of your life alone. You’re still young.”

“You sound like Chelsea.”

“Mm,” I mumbled, draining my glass.

“You and Chelsea had some sort of falling out, but she never shared with us what happened.”

“It’s all in the past now,” I said. “There would be no point. It’s ancient history.”

“What are your plans, Myra? Are you going to go to college?”

“I’m doing my business degree online. I’m a homebody. I have no desire to leave. And this way, I can pick away at it while working in the business. That’s what we do. We’re all supposed to pick a trade.”

“How did you end up in the painting trade?”

“It’s simple and peaceful.”

“I don’t think I’ve ever heard anyone refer to painting that way,” he chuckled.

“So, Dr. Bart, when you’re not pulling babies from vaginas, what do you do for fun?”

He burst out laughing, champagne flying from his mouth and nose.

“Sorry,” I giggled, handing him a napkin.

“In the summertime, I play baseball, and I coach baseball and t-ball. I also enjoy hiking and camping.”

“What about in the winter?”

“In the winter, I restore old cars.”

“Cool.”

“What do you do when you’re not slathering paint on walls?”

“I also play baseball.”

“Yes, I’ve seen you at the diamond.”

“And I’ve seen you there,” I said, glancing over at him with a wide grin.

“What else do you do for fun?”

“In the summer, I love boating and waterskiing. Anything to do with the water. In the winter, I go ice fishing.”

“You do?”

“Why do you seem surprised by that?”

“I’m not sure.”

“I have a super cool hut. You should come check it out sometime. It’s not on the ice yet, but it will be soon. Hopefully, another week, and the ice will be thick enough.”

“I do enjoy ice fishing, but I just don’t have the time for a hut. I’d never get to use it.”

“Well, you can use mine anytime you like.”

“Thanks.”

“Can I ask you something, Bart?”

“Sure.”

I turned away to stare out at the lights twinkling on the shoreline of the lake. There were a lot of cottagers in for the holidays. “Why did you cheap out on my midnight kiss?”

I snuck a peek over at him when he didn’t answer right away. He was watching me. I thought I saw a flicker of lust there, but I could’ve been imagining it.

“I didn’t want to cheap out, Myra.”

“You didn’t?”

“No,” he confirmed, clearing his throat.

There were flames flickering in that sunroom, and they weren’t in the fireplace. I was not imagining the heat building between us.

“Then why did you?”

“Well,” he sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Your parents were there, for one thing. I wasn’t sure how they would react to me kissing their twenty-one-year-old daughter. And I didn’t know when or if your date was going to reappear.”

“He’s not my date. I didn’t come here with him.”

“And I just didn’t think it was a good idea.”

“But you wanted to give me more than just a kiss you’d give your grandma?”

“I did,” he rasped.

“There’s nobody in here but us.”

“It’s not midnight.”

“Oh well.”

“I’m too old for you, Myra.”

“All I’m asking for is a kiss, Dr. Beaverton. I didn’t ask you to marry me and father my children.”

“When you call me Dr. Beaverton, it reminds me that I’m too old to be fooling around with you, and that I brought you into this world.”

“What about when I call you Bart?” I asked in a provocative whisper.

He leaned forward, his mouth an inch from mine as his breath danced over my lips. “When you call me Bart, I want to do this,” he murmured, pressing a soft kiss to my lips.

He lingered there, teasing me with light caresses before he sucked my bottom lip, giving me a light nip.

Holy sugar!

I drew a deep breath, heat flooding every inch of my body with a simple kiss. I was going to come just from kissing him. That’s how hot it was to have his mouth on mine.

I braced my hands on his chest, my fingers sliding up to his shoulders when he came back for more, tilting his head as he feasted on my mouth.

His hands were on the move.

On my hips, sliding up my bare back, in my hair.

But nowhere naughty.

And I wanted to get naughty with the sexy doctor.

I slipped my tongue past his lips.

The low growl from the back of his throat sent a flurry of tingles from my nipples straight to my throbbing clit. His tongue thrashed against mine, his hands sliding through my hair while he held my head firmly where he wanted it.

“Was that better?” he whispered.

“Yeah,” I panted. “That was definitely not a grandma kiss.”

“No, it was not.”

“You’re a great kisser, Bart.”

“It’s been a while for me.”

I ran my thumb across his bottom lip, collecting some of my lipstick that had rubbed off on him. “I think it’s like riding a bike,” I whispered. “It comes back to you the minute you swing your leg over the seat and climb on.”

He sucked my thumb into his mouth.

I moaned softly, squirming under his hungry stare.

Our mouths crashed together.

Desperate and frenzied before we settled into a slow, deep kiss.

I clutched his shirt, holding him tight while he devoured my mouth.

His hands slid down to my ass, pulling me onto his lap. The deep slit and loose material of my dress allowed me to easily straddle him. I lowered myself, my drenched panties rubbing against the bulge behind his zipper.

He broke the kiss, a tortured groan rolling from his chest.

“What are we doing here, Myra?”

“Making out.”

“We shouldn’t be doing this.”

“Why not?” I whispered as I flicked open the first few buttons on his shirt, leaning down to press light kisses to his exposed skin. The smell of him drove me into sensory overload.

Woodsy scented aftershave, soap, and pure man.

Bart was all man. Sexy and rugged, with a light dusting of white hair spattered across his muscular chest.

And based on what I was feeling between my legs, the sexy doctor was well-endowed.

“I really can’t remember right now,” he sighed.

“Good.”

“Do you want to come back to my room?”

I lifted my head from his chest, meeting his heated stare.

Say yes!

Hurry up, before he changes his mind!

I climbed off his lap, holding out my hand.

He accepted it, rising up from the couch.

Neither of us said a word until we were inside his room with the door closed.

He locked the door and slid the chain across before turning to face me. “I haven’t been with a woman in a long time, Myra,” he confessed.

I released the rest of his shirt buttons and slid my hands over his bare abs. “You’re very sexy, Bart,” I whispered.

He lifted my hands from his chest, kissing the back of each one while he gazed into my eyes. My pulse kicked into high gear, my belly flooding with tingles when he placed my arms at my sides. He reached around, tugging the zipper down my back before sliding the wide straps over my arms. My dress fell forward, baring my breasts.

Bart was fixated on my hardening nipples, so I took over undressing myself, pushing my dress past my hips and down my thighs. His eyes dropped to my black, lacy panties, his throat working overtime.

I reached forward, pushing his suit jacket off, his shirt following behind to land at our feet.

“You’re so beautiful,” he choked out.

I dropped to my knees in front of him, reaching for his belt buckle.

He braced his hand on the table next to the door, a long, low groan erupting from his throat.

I loosened his belt, flipping open the button on his pants before I carefully lowered the zipper past his swollen cock. His pants fell to his ankles with one tug, leaving him in just his black boxer briefs. I licked my lips, glancing up at him while I hooked my fingers in the waistband and slid his underwear over his hips.

His cock sprung free, a drop of precum on the tip. Just as I suspected, Bart was big. Bigger than either of the two boys I’d been with. He kept his pubes neat and tidy.

I wrapped my fingers around the smooth, warm flesh of his shaft, giving it a little tug before I ran my tongue up the underside.

“Oh God, that feels good,” he moaned.

I took him in my mouth, teasing him when I only sucked the tip past my lips. His thighs trembled, grunts and groans and the occasional fuck rolling off his tongue as I slowly took him deeper until his cock was at the back of my throat.

“Myra,” he warned. “It’s been a long time, and if you keep doing that, our night might be over before it begins.”

I released his cock from my mouth, taking his hand as I led him to bed. “Lie down on your back,” I ordered.

“Yes, ma’am.”

I flicked on the bedside lamp and grabbed my purse, pulling out a strip of condoms and tossing them on the bed.

“You want to do this with the lights on?” he asked with a nervous laugh.

“Why not?” I asked. “I don’t have anything to hide. Would you rather do it in the dark?”

“Not at all,” he said. “I’ve never had sex with the lights on, but I’m game for anything right now.”

He watched with wide eyes, his twitching cock pointing to the ceiling while I slid my panties off.

I crawled across the king-sized bed to the center of the mattress where he was lying. “What’s the matter?” I whispered.

“Nothing,” he replied hoarsely.

“Do you like what you see, Bart?”

“Oh yeah,” he confirmed.

I leaned down, engaging him in a long, fiery kiss while he caressed my breasts, his thumbs stroking my nipples.

“Are you ready for me to rock your world?” I whispered.

“I am,” he confirmed, “but don’t you need a little more foreplay?”

I grabbed his hand, placing it between my legs. He stroked through my wetness, surprising me when he pushed a finger inside.

“What do you think? Am I ready for your cock, Dr. Bart?”

He continued fingering me, adding a second digit.

“Does me calling you Dr. Bart make you uncomfortable?” I asked, moaning when he thrust harder.

“It should, but it doesn’t. Nobody has ever called me that before in a professional capacity. And I like how it sounds coming from your mouth.”

“Talk dirty to me, Dr. Bart. Tell me what you’re gonna do to my pussy.”

“Um, well,” he said, “I’m going to, uh, put my penis inside your nice, tight vagina.”

“You’ve never done dirty talk before, have you?”

“Not really,” he admitted with a sheepish grin.

“That’s okay,” I whispered. “I’ll teach you.”

“You can do anything you like to me, Myra.”

“Anything?”

“Uh, maybe tell me before you do anything unconventional,” he chuckled.

“You’re so vanilla,” I teased.

He wrinkled his brow. “What does that mean?”

“It’s kinda the opposite of kinky.”

“So, boring?”

“Not boring, more like conventional. You just said to warn you before I did anything unconventional.”

“This is why you shouldn’t seduce old men, my dear.”

“You’re not old.”

He removed his fingers from my body, bringing them up to his mouth to suck them clean, his eyes locked on mine while he tasted my juices.

“How do I taste?”

“Like a salty peach.”

“A salty peach?”

“Yes. Just the right balance of sweet and salty.”

“Interesting.” I leaned down, thrusting my tongue past his lips to get a taste. “You’re right. I am sweet and salty.”

“You’ve never tasted yourself before?”

“No.”

“And you call me vanilla,” he teased.

“Are you ready for me to rock your world, Dr. Bart?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“We’re gonna work on your dirty talk later, mister,” I advised, tapping the end of his nose.

“Okay,” he agreed.

I grabbed a condom, ripping the package open with my teeth.

“Uh, Myra, maybe.” His voice trailed off, whatever he was about to say forgotten when I started rolling the condom down his cock.

I straddled him, rubbing myself over his cock, spreading my juices before I lined him up. He braced his hands on my hips, our eyes locked together when I lowered myself slowly.

He waited patiently while I impaled myself on him.

Thank goodness I was as wet as I was.

It was a tight fit.

He let out a strangled groan when I bottomed out. I started moving. He thrust upward. Our flesh slapped together while I bounced up and down.

I leaned my body forward, my breasts hanging in his face. He captured one, drawing the nipple into his mouth. I reached between my legs, stroking my clit. The dual stimulation pushed me over the edge. I paused my thrusts, resting my hands on his chest while my lower body shook with powerful tremors.

Bart flipped me onto my back, bracing himself above me before he slid back in, filling me with slow, deep thrusts. He lowered his mouth to mine, our tongues tangling while we settled into the kind of sex he was probably more accustomed to.

I didn’t even know he came until he stopped moving and collapsed onto my chest. The other guys I’d been with always made a grand production, pounding me hard in the final sprint, grunting like fools. But not Dr. Bart. He came quietly and peacefully.

It was different.

He pushed up, pulling his cock slowly from my body.

“You should hold the.” My voice trailed off when his dick popped out with the condom hanging from the end. “Base.”

“Shit,” he muttered. “It’s been a long time since I wore a condom.”

“It’s okay. I’m on the pill.”

“That’s a relief,” he chuckled as he climbed off the bed and disappeared into the bathroom.

I made a mental note to make sure I took my pill the day before, and if I forgot, which I did tend to do quite often, I would just take two. Problem solved.

Would Bart expect me to leave and go back to my own room?

I had no idea what the norm was for one-night stands in the dark ages.

Stop it.

He’s only fifty-one.

And that was some pretty good sex.

I reached for my purse when I heard my phone ringing. It was Audrey. I probably should’ve sent her a text so she wouldn’t wonder where I was.

“Hi, sis,” I said. “I’m fine. You don’t have to worry about me.”

“Dad had a heart attack, Myra.”

“What?!” I cried, jumping from the bed. I stumbled across the room, my feet getting tangled up in Bart’s trousers while I searched for my panties.

“He’s on his way to the hospital. Where are you?”

“Uh, still at the party?”

“Try again. We searched down there for you when you didn’t respond to our texts.”

“I didn’t hear my phone go off.”

“We’re leaving for the hospital in ten minutes.”

“I’ll meet you in the lobby.”

I had my dress halfway up to my waist when Bart emerged from the bathroom.

“Planning a quick getaway?” he asked.

“My dad had a heart attack,” I explained.

“Oh no, Myra. I’m so sorry.”

“He’s on his way to the hospital. I have to go. I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be sorry,” he said. “What can I do to help?”

“If you could find my panties, that would be great.”

I finished pulling my dress on, tucking my boobs inside the built-in cups. Bart grabbed his boxers and slid them on, gathering up the rest of his clothes while he searched for my missing underwear.

“I don’t see them,” he said, lifting the sheet. “They must be here somewhere.”

“I have to go. I don’t have time to look for them.”

“Text me,” he said. “Let me know how your dad is.”

“I don’t have your number.”

He picked up my phone from the table where I dropped it after I hung up with Audrey. “Is it okay if I put myself in your contacts?”

“Sure.” I waited until he was finished, shoving my phone in my purse when he handed it to me. “Thanks.”

“Thanks for tonight,” he said softly.

“It was fun. I’m sorry I have to leave.”

“Me too, Myra.”

“See you around, Dr. Bart.”

“See ya.”

I stepped forward, giving him a quick kiss on the lips. “Practice that dirty talk,” I whispered.

“Yes, ma’am.”