Wicked Masquerade – The Sinful Duet Read Online Kenya Wright

Categories Genre: Alpha Male, Erotic Tags Authors:

Total pages in book: 74
Estimated words: 75195 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 376(@200wpm)___ 301(@250wpm)___ 251(@300wpm)

Tristan is the Bad Boy of the Art World. A tortured artist with insatiable cravings for beauty, pleasure, and the darker shades of life.

When Nova , a Psychology graduate student, enters his orbit, Tristan sweeps Nova off her feet and lures her onto an erotic journey that awakens desires she never knew existed.

Danger looms in the background.

A killer, hidden amongst the glitz and sensuality, threatens to shatter their newfound connection.
Indulge yourself with the Sinful Duet .
It's sure to leave you breathless!

*************FULL BOOK START HERE*************


True Pleasure

In my art studio—my sacred sanctuary—every passionate brush stroke that danced across the canvas, every sculpture that blossomed under my touch, was an intimate sonnet from my shattered soul, where the words bled and the sentences screamed with raw emotion.

This was my Eden.

My paradise.

Shirtless and barefoot, I stood before a virgin canvas, ready to turn her into a nasty, panty-dripping whore.

The world around me dissolved into an intimate cocoon.

I picked up the brush, dipped it in crimson red, and made love to the canvas. My biceps pumped and flexed. The brush lapped at the surface, getting it wet.


My heart pounded in my chest.

So many sensual possibilities.

I dipped the brush in black, then white, and even passionate blues, caressing every inch of the white expanse.

Ever so slow.

Ever so patient.

And, the canvas shivered.

And, I teased and drew out the desire some more.

Fuck yes.

My body hummed.

Pulling back, I grunted, dipped the tip in blushing pink, and then returned, moving my brush faster, harder.

Heat rose within the space.

I gathered other colors and let them spill and spurt onto the canvas until it was slick and dripping.

Shit. I’m going to need to fuck after this.

The tip of my cock vibrated with this intense need.

Lust raced through me.

Meanwhile, my brush shuddered and shook, and I swore the canvas moaned.

I grew rock hard, my length pushing against my pants, wanting to bust through the fabric and fuck something.


This was true pleasure.


Sensual bliss.

I had no idea how long I’d been at it.

Time did not exist when I was in the throes of rapture.

But, when my brush finally stilled, what stood before me was a pulsating hedonistic scene.


A ragged breath escaped my throat.

I put the brush up, stepped back, and admired my work.

The canvas showed a mysterious party where all the guests were enraptured in a hot orgy. Men and women were entangled in passionate, tantalizing poses. Their bodies shimmering. Ripples of arousal ran like silent whispers across their bare skin.

And, there was a sense of wild abandon and primal need.

The colors were bold and vibrant, mirroring the unleashed passion burning within my veins.

I stared at the scene before me, unable to look away.

It was so real I yearned to jump into the painting and join them.

This is a masterpiece.

It was so intoxicating, desire pulsed deep within my core.

Each curve of their bodies on the canvas called to me. So damn carnal, it fanned the embers of my own need.

My cock throbbed with so much pulsing desire that I considered ripping my clothes off and rubbing it against the canvas.

Could you truly make me cum?

Just as I reached out to touch the painting, a loud knock reverberated through my studio.

I frowned.

My cocoon of peace slipped away.

I called out, “Yes?”

My butler spoke on the other side, “Mr. Truett has arrived.”

With a heavy sigh, I ran my fingers through my hair. “Let him in, Spencer.”

The door swung open, and it was as though the studio itself took a sharp breath at the sight of the figure standing in its threshold.

I grinned.

Dominic stood there, dressed to kill in a designer suit that looked as if it were created just for him. Charcoal gray with black outlines. He was the very embodiment of sophistication and taste.

Today, he had his dark hair stylishly combed to the side.

Back when we were scrappy kids navigating the world of foster care, our counselor used to lovingly refer to us as twins.

Perhaps, that was always why they tended to place us in the same homes over and over.

We were each blessed with the same deep green eyes. No matter what age, we kept similar heights, too, that always set us apart from our peers.

As we matured, that parallel growth never stopped. Adulthood found us both surpassing six feet, our frames filling out into muscular silhouettes that reflected our dedication to the gym.

And of course, there was our mutual and very expensive addiction to designer clothes. The luxury armor served as our statement to the world that we were not just survivors, but conquerors.

And standing there in my doorway, Dominic looked every bit the victorious warrior as he held a wrapped present in his hand. The box was mid-size with black, shiny paper and a large gold bow.

I grinned. “Dom, are you going to come in or are you just going to stand there?”

“I’ll come in, when you are done checking out my new suit.”