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About the author:
Arika Stone is an erotic romance author born and raised in New York City, but she currently resides in New Jersey. An expert in the wedding industry with over twelve years of experience, Arika has seen it all: from glamorous balls to rustic, intimate affairs. Several years ago, she caught the travel bug and visited Europe but fell in love with Finland–and fell in love there too. Filled with wanderlust, she’s always dreaming of her next trip and her next story. Join her on her next adventure and get lost between reality and fiction.
What inspired you to write your book?
I also was inspired by Finnish music, some songs are moody and dark, but mostly about love and life. This is my little ode to my love affair with the country.
Here is a short sample from the book:
“Whatever you want is yours.” He leaned in for a kiss.
I pulled back, my lips grazing his. “Let’s create something together.”
“What did you have in mind?” he asked, his breath cascading onto my skin.
“I was thinking of painting. Your paints and canvasses are over there?” I sauntered across the building with him close behind. “Would you mind if we used one?”
“Not at all.”
I could feel his eyes upon me as I sorted through his materials. “What two colors should we use? I think I prefer red.” I opened a jar of thick goo, peeling a dry layer of paint off the rim.
“Depends on what we’re doing. What are we doing?” He cocked an eyebrow; he appeared amused by my actions.
“You’ll see. Now pick either yellow or blue.”
“Why only yellow or blue? Why not black?” he teased.
“Just pick one.”
“Hmm…I’m feeling more yellow than blue.”
I grabbed both cans and moved to his canvasses, laying one down on the floor. It was big enough to hold us. I turned and removed my shirt, slowly sliding it down my arms before tossing it to the side. I glanced seductively over my shoulder. “Your turn.”
He removed his shirt and headed toward me. Grazing my shoulders with his fingertips, he dove into my neck and kissed it. My body shivered in delight as his hands slid over my skin until they reached my bra, which he unsnapped masterfully. His hands brushed the straps down my arms as he moved in from behind, cupping my tits. He stroked them until he reached my nipples, tweaking them firmly.
I moaned in delight; Val knew exactly how to touch me. I turned to face him, planting a kiss on his delicious chest. My hands slithered down his chiseled abs, grasping his pants. I dropped to the floor and pulled them straight down. I stopped to lick his cock on the way up, bringing a handful of paint with me.
“Is this what you had in mind?” He grabbed my hand, and our fingers interlocked as the paint oozed out the creases. He stepped into me, easing me back until I felt a cold metal pole against my spine. He grabbed my wrists and drew them over my head, wrapping them around the pole.
After a forceful kiss, he backed away. “Stay right there. Don’t move,” he warned in his deep, sexy accent. He walked to a table, which held many of his tools. He pondered before returning with a brush in hand.
“You want to paint?” he asked.
Val cut me off, turning the tables on me. “Open your mouth.”
I did as he bade and opened my mouth. He placed the handle of a brush in it as if it was a horse bit. I was thrown by his move.
“Now,” Val said, his naked body brushing mine, “keep the brush in your mouth. And whatever you do, don’t drop it.” He kissed my ear, running his tongue along my lobe and down the underside of my jaw before biting my neck.
“Oh!” I exclaimed. My voice was muffled by the brush handle, which forced me to keep my mouth shut. His fingers traced my outstretched arms, trailing my body lightly until he reached my breasts. He licked and suckled them, tenderly biting my nipples. He pulled them forward until they were firm, erect, and begging for more.
He moved away from me again and returned to his worktable, leaving my body shivering for his touch. Returning to me with paint in hand, he took another brush and began to paint my nipples, causing irresistible tingles to ripple through my body. He moved from one breast to the other, flicking the pliable but firm bristles against my flesh. The unusual sensation practically brought me to orgasm. As I was about to peak, he stopped to refill the brush.
I threw my head back and groaned in discontent. He chuckled, aware of what had just happened. He was a master craftsman at seduction, and he was smug about it. His confidence in his fucking ability was a turn-on.
“Getting frustrated?” He drew the brush on my skin, running it the length of my stomach until he reached the top of my clit, swirling it around once before bringing it up. “You’ll have your chance to paint soon. Now keep your hands up and turn around.”
I did as he ordered. I was not in control. It felt good to relinquish power, especially to him.