Caution: Wet Paint
#erotic romance #menage #bisexual #multicultural
Love defies boundaries as three passionate lovers, torn apart by circumstances, are reunited once again.
Artists Arturo Cipriano and Prince Samir Zahi first met four years ago and discovered shared passion, both in art and in bed. Yet it wasn’t until these men found their muse—their perfect woman—in the form of Clara Simms, that their world became complete and their shared flame burned the brightest. But eventually, Samir was recalled to his war-torn country, separated from his lovers and his passions. For three long years, Arturo and Clara had tried to go on without him, but nothing was quite the same.
But now Samir returns, and no reunion has ever been as blistering. This time, will their love triangle last, or will it once again be torn asunder?
Clara Simms had taken a dare four years ago and had posed nude for an art class while she was in college. How could she ever have thought it would lead to the most devastating and passionate love affair she would ever have? With two men who had loved each other as much as they seemed to have loved her. At the time. Neither she nor Arturo were ever the same after Samir’s disappearance. How could something so right have gone so wrong? It wasn’t that she didn’t still love Arturo, nor that he didn’t have feelings for her. But with Samir gone, something had changed.
The painting brought it all back, a dam burst with memories, images of passion, the feel of artistic expression, the rampant desire that would not allow her to rest.
Too many times she’d woken up in absolute agony, remembering her loss, only to discover the spot next to her empty, Arturo sitting in a corner of the darkened room, smoking a cigarette, and gazing at a blank canvas. Understanding had not made it any easier. Samir had been so much a part of both of them.
Arturo still painted, but some of that passion was missing, and it often left him frustrated and difficult to be around. It’s one of the reasons they still kept their separate apartments. She remembered the night he had walked out, and the agony in his expression as he’d looked at her. Even that memory still caused her pain. And loneliness.
She worked, she lived, she breathed, but she somehow felt distanced, living on the fringes of life. Arturo still painted, but he never used her as the model she was created to be for two men who, together, should have taken the art world by storm. That intimacy was missing and there wasn’t a day that passed that she didn’t yearn to reclaim it.
She so missed the intimacy of that summer three years ago. Clara couldn’t bring herself to return to the site of her complete surrender. Not just of her body, but of her soul. They had owned her, bound her to them. Molded her into something more than she had been, a living piece of art who could not survive without them.
And yet, much to her surprise, she had survived without Samir, as had Arturo. And done well enough. Clara Simms, the daughter of an oil baron, didn’t need to work. There was plenty of money to do whatever she liked. An only child of globetrotting parents, raised by nannies, she had never wanted for anything. Material, that is. She had never felt loved. Until Arturo and Samir.
Money truly could not buy happiness, or love. But she’d learned that too much time on her hands was not a good thing. She’d found a job, went to it religiously every day. And then home every night. Well, almost every night.
“So you know him, Clara? Does he have anything at your gallery? I want to see more. It’s as though I can’t get enough. I want to climb right inside. Do you know who the model was?”
It was a personal thing. Not to be shared. The relationship she had with Arturo and Samir was not for public consumption. Few would have understood it anyway. Even Clara’s best friend.
“No, we don’t have anything at the gallery that was done by the two of them. This is the first piece I’ve seen in years. I wonder who’s handling the work?”
Maggie, her friend since they’d both attended St. Mary’s private school, looked at her in surprise. She worked as a buyer at the exclusive store next door to this one. Every Friday, they met for lunch. “Now you’ve shocked me. I thought you knew every artist there was to know in this town.”
That was the worst part. She’d spent years trying to track down what had happened to Samir with absolutely no success. She wanted to know he was safe and happy. That he had wanted to go. Arturo had refused to talk about what had happened when Samir left.
Heat threaded through her as memory took over. Her nipples screwed into tight beads. She remembered that first encounter. Both Arturo and Samir had been seniors, sharing an apartment at that point in their lives. Just like her, both had been living on generous allowances from their families…although she doubted their families knew of their intimate relationship. At least at the time. Clara so belied her name. A puritan name for a not particularly puritan heart once she got to know them.
Hard, naked bodies pressed her between them. Hands sweeping across her skin. Touching her. Fingertips brushing across her lips, her nipples.
Oh, God, she didn’t want to remember. Not now. Her whole body ached.
Through the whole session, while she posed, she’d flirted silently with the two hot-looking, black-eyed young artists on the left side of the room. By the time the session was over, her body was burning up, her pussy soaking wet. And she knew there was something more going on with the two men than strictly modeling. But she’d not known how tightly woven together the art and the sex would be.
And then panic shoved all other thought out of her head. Did Arturo know the paintings had resurfaced?
“I have to go, Maggie. I’m sorry.”
“But we haven’t had lunch yet.”
“I know, I know. But I forgot an appointment. I’ll catch up with you later.” Clara fled from the department store. She had to get to Arturo.