THE DARK COLLECTION: FORBIDDEN DESIRES

THE CURATOR’S DILEMMA: PART FOUR

Maya's POV

I barely slept.

Every time I closed my eyes, I saw Theodore's face, those pale gray eyes dark with desire, his voice rough in my ear, his hands on my body. I felt the phantom ache between my thighs, the sting on my ass where he'd spanked me, the memory of his c**k filling me completely.

What the hell was wrong with me?

By six in the morning, I gave up on sleep entirely. I showered, dressed carefully in a cream silk blouse and tailored navy trousers, and applied my makeup with shaking hands. I needed to look composed.

My father was already at the breakfast table when I descended the staircase. I could hear the clink of silverware, the low murmur of voices.

Two voices.

My stomach dropped.

I rounded the corner into the dining room and there he was. Theodore Cross. Sitting at my father's table like he belonged there, like he hadn't had his c**k buried inside me twelve hours ago.

He wore a charcoal suit today, a different one, perfectly pressed. His pale eyes found mine immediately, and the corner of his mouth twitched with barely suppressed amusement.

"Maya!" My father beamed from the head of the table. "There you are. Theodore stopped by to discuss the Goya exhibition. Join us."

I forced my legs to move. "Good morning, Father. Mr. Cross."

"Theodore, please." His voice was smooth as aged whiskey. "We've known each other too long for formalities."

We've done more than know each other, I thought hysterically. He's been inside me. He made me count as he spanked me, he made me scream his name.

I took my usual seat across from Theodore, which meant I had to look at him. My father sat at the head, oblivious, buttering his croissant.

"You look tired, darling," my father observed. "Did you sleep poorly?"

"I was working late," I said, reaching for the coffee pot. My hand trembled slightly. "On the—the Rembrandt analysis."

"The Rembrandt?" Theodore's eyebrows rose. "I thought that piece had been deaccessioned."

"Has it?" My father frowned. "I don't recall—"

"Just a routine review," I cut in, desperate to change the subject. "Nothing to worry about."

Theodore's eyes glinted. He knew exactly what I was doing. He knew I was lying to my father, and he was enjoying it.

"How was Tokyo?" I asked, turning to my father. "Did the negotiations go well?"

"Excellent, excellent." My father launched into a detailed account of his meetings, and I nodded along, pretending to listen.

But I couldn't focus. Every nerve in my body was attuned to Theodore. The way his fingers wrapped around his coffee cup. The way his jaw moved as he chewed. The way his leg brushed against mine under the table accidentally? Deliberately?

I couldn't tell anymore.

Under the table, I felt something. Theodore's shoe nudged my ankle. I looked up sharply, but he was gazing at my father with polite attention, his expression perfectly neutral.

His shoe moved higher. Up my calf. The leather of his Oxford was cool against my bare skin.

I sucked in a breath.

"...and so I told the Japanese delegation that we simply couldn't accept their terms," my father was saying. "The Goya is too valuable to—Maya, are you alright? You look flushed."

"I'm fine," I managed. "Just warm. The coffee is very hot."

Theodore's foot had reached my knee. I clamped my thighs together, trapping it.

"I must say, Richard, your daughter has been doing exceptional work lately," Theodore said smoothly. "Her analysis of the Dutch Golden Age collection was remarkably thorough."

My father puffed up with pride. "She gets it from me, of course. But yes, Maya has always had a good eye."

"An excellent eye," Theodore agreed. His foot was pressing against my inner thigh now, insistent. "And a keen intelligence. She reminds me of you at her age."

"Maya lacks your ruthlessness, Theodore." My father chuckled. "She's too soft-hearted. Too trusting."

Too trusting. If only he knew.

I shifted in my seat, trying to dislodge Theodore's foot without being obvious. Instead, he pushed harder, his shoe sliding higher, the seam of my trousers offering no protection from the pressure.

I bit my lip to keep from making a sound.

"Perhaps she's more ruthless than you give her credit for," Theodore mused. "People often surprise us, Richard."

The double meaning was unmistakable. I shot him a warning look, but he only smiled.

"Theodore, you must stay for dessert," my father insisted. "Martha made her famous eggs Benedict."

"I couldn't possibly impose—"

"Nonsense. You're practically family."

Family. The word made me want to laugh hysterically. I had begged him to f**k me. And now he was sitting here, breaking bread with my father, acting like nothing had happened.

Theodore's foot had found my core. He pressed against me through the fabric of my trousers, and I had to grip the edge of the table to stay upright.

"I appreciate the invitation," Theodore said, "but I really must be going. I have a meeting with the board at ten."

"So soon?" My father looked disappointed. "Well, at least let Maya walk you out."

I nearly choked on my coffee.

"An excellent idea." Theodore rose, buttoning his jacket. "Maya, would you be so kind?"

My father waved me off. "Go, go. I have calls to make anyway."

I stood on trembling legs, my face burning. Theodore held the door for me, his hand grazing the small of my back as I passed.

The touch seared through my blouse.

We walked in silence through the foyer, past the portrait of my great-grandmother.

At the front door, he turned to face me.

"Walk me to the car," he said. It wasn't a request.

"Someone might see—"

"Your father's study faces the garden. He can't see the street from there." He opened the door. "Walk with me."

I followed him down the stone steps to where his black Mercedes was parked. The morning sun was bright, too bright, and I squinted against it.

Theodore opened the passenger door. "Get in."

"I can't—"

"Get in the car, Maya."

My body obeyed before my brain could catch up. I slid into the leather seat, my heart hammering.

Theodore closed the door, walked around to the driver's side, and climbed in beside me.

The engine purred to life.

He drove without speaking, turning right onto Q Street, then left toward Rock Creek Park. The houses grew larger, more secluded. Trees arched overhead, dappling the windshield with shadow.

"Theodore—"

"Not yet."

I fell silent, my hands clasped in my lap. I could smell his cologne again, bergamot and cedar and it sent a wave of heat through me.

He pulled off the main road onto a narrow lane, overgrown with ivy. The car bounced over roots and rocks until we reached a clearing, hidden from view by dense foliage.

He killed the engine.

The silence was deafening.

"Now," he said, turning to face me. "Let's talk about last night."

"What is there to talk about? You made your position clear. I made mine clear. We—"

"We had s*x," he interrupted. "Excellent s*x. You came twice. I came once. It was enjoyable." His voice was clinical, detached. "But that's not what I want to discuss."

My cheeks burned. "Then what?"

"Your father." He leaned closer, and I pressed back against the door. "You lied to him this morning. You covered for me."

"I covered for both of us."

"Generous of you." His eyes searched mine. "But here's the thing, Maya. I need to know where your loyalties lie."

"What do you mean?"

"I mean, are you going to tell him about the forgery? About what I told you last night?" He was close enough now that I could see the flecks of gold in his gray eyes. "Are you going to tell him about us?"

I swallowed hard. "I don't know."

"Not good enough."

"Then tell me what you want me to do!"

His hand shot out, gripping my chin. "I want you to say it. Say, 'I won't tell my father anything.'"

"That's—"

"Say it."

"I won't… I won't tell my father anything."

He smiled, slow and satisfied. "Good girl."

The praise sent a shiver through me. I hated how much I craved his approval. I hated how my body responded to his command.

"Now, about the car," he murmured. "I couldn't stop thinking about you all night. About the sounds you made. The way you felt around me."

"Ohh" I hummed.

"Did you think about me, Maya?" His hand slid from my chin to my throat, applying gentle pressure. "Did you touch yourself in that big bed of yours, thinking of what I did to you?"

I should have denied it. I should have lied.

Instead, I whispered, "Yes."

"Show me."

"What?"

"I said show me." He released my throat and sat back, watching me with those predatory eyes. "Pull down your trousers and touch yourself. Show me how you thought of me."

"Theodore, we're in a car. Someone could"

"There's no one for miles." He gestured to the window.

"We're surrounded by forest. Just you and me."

My hands were shaking as I unbuttoned my trousers. I slid them down, along with my panties, exposing myself to his gaze.

"Wider," he commanded. "I want to see everything."

I spread my legs, the leather seat cool against my bare skin. I felt so exposed, so vulnerable.

Theodore watched me with that same unreadable expression, his hands resting on the steering wheel.

"Touch yourself," he said. "Show me what you did."

I reached down, my fingers finding my c**t. I was already wet, had been wet since I saw him at breakfast, since his foot pressed against me under the table.

"Faster," he ordered.

I complied, circling faster, my breath catching. It was wrong, so wrong, doing this in broad daylight in his car. But the wrongness was what made it so good.

"Look at me," he said. "I want to see your face when you come."

I met his eyes. He was completely still. "Please," I gasped. "Please, Theodore"

"Please what?"

"Please touch me. I need you to—"

"You need me to what?"

"f**k me," I begged. "Please f**k me. I need you inside me."

He moved so fast I barely registered it. He reached over and pulled me into his lap, my trousers still tangled around my ankles. I straddled him, my knees pressed against the center console.

"Take it out," he ordered.

I fumbled with his belt and zipper. His c**k sprang free, thick and hard, and I was so wet I could feel myself dripping onto his trousers.

"Put it in."

I sank down onto him, taking him to the hilt in one smooth motion. We both gasped.

"f**k," he groaned. "You're so tight. So perfect."

I started moving, riding him in the confined space of the car. My hands braced on his shoulders, his hands gripping my hips, guiding my rhythm.

"I've been thinking about this all morning," he admitted, his voice strained. "Watching you across the table, wanting to bend you over it and take you right there in front of your father."

"You wouldn't"

"Wouldn't I?" He thrust up into me, hard. "You don't know what I'd do to you, Maya. You have no idea."

His hand came down on my ass, sharp and stinging. I cried out, clenching around him.

"Did that hurt?"

"Yes."

"Good." He spanked me again, harder. "I want you to remember this."

"Yes," I gasped. "Yes, Theodore—"

He thrust up again, hitting that perfect spot inside me. "I want you to ache for me the way I ache for you."

"I do," I admitted, the words tumbling out before I could stop them. "I ache for you. I think about you constantly. I can't stop thinking about you."

"Good girl." He wrapped one arm around my waist, pulling me close. "Such a good girl for me. So perfect, so obedient."

His other hand found my c**t, rubbing in tight circles. The dual stimulation was overwhelming, his c**k filling me, his fingers circling my sensitive nub, his voice in my ear.

"Come for me," he commanded. "Come on my c**k, Maya. Let me feel you."

I shattered, crying out his name as I came undone around him. He kept thrusting, drawing out my orgasm, and when I finally went limp in his arms, he flipped me onto my back on the seat.

My legs were over his shoulders, my back arched, my blouse unbuttoned. He slammed into me, deeper than before, and I could feel myself getting close again.

"Look at me," he demanded. "Watch me f**k you."

I kept my eyes locked on his as he pounded into me. The intensity was almost too much.

"Come again," he growled. "Come for me now."

And I did, screaming his name as he drove into me one final time, emptying himself inside me. The feel of him pulsing inside me pushed me over the edge again, and I cried out as a second orgasm ripped through me.

He collapsed on top of me, his weight a welcome pressure. I could feel his heart hammering against my chest, and I could feel my own racing in response.

For a long moment, neither of us moved.

After a while he pulled out.

“You need to stop by the office early so we can discuss the painting and actions that have been put in place.” He whispered to me as he quickly got dressed.

I nodded, still catching my breath.

He dropped me off before driving away. While I was still lost in my thoughts, staring at the direction the car went, I was brought back to reality.

“Maya!” My dad shouted my name.

He never uses that tone on me, except when I did something wrong.

I turned around quickly, only to see him few steps behind me.