Nova

With the Grammy Awards just a few days away, the anticipation was palpable as we boarded the sleek private jet that would whisk us away to the City of Angels. Artis had gone all out, renting an exclusive mansion for our stay in LA. As the jet ascended into the sky, leaving New Jersey behind, I felt excitement and nerves flutter in my stomach.

This was my first time in the city where dreams were made and shattered, and I was here with the man who held the power to elevate my career to unprecedented heights. The jet's interior was a testament to luxury, with plush leather seats, a fully stocked bar, and a panoramic view of the clouds below that made me feel like I was floating on a cloud.

Artis took my hand as we stepped off the jet, his warm grip a reassurance. His confidence was contagious, and as we approached the chauffeur-driven car waiting to take us to our temporary abode, I found myself standing a little taller. The LA sun kissed my skin, and the sweet scent of palm trees and ocean breeze filled my lungs.

The mansion was nestled in the heart of Beverly Hills, a sprawling estate that made me feel like a celebrity from the moment we pulled through the gates. The ivory stucco walls and red-tiled roof gleamed in the sun, surrounded by lush greenery that created a private oasis amidst the urban sprawl. As we walked up the grand staircase to the entrance, my heels echoed through the open-plan living space, hinting at the opulence within.

Inside, the mansion was a contemporary model; it seemed to be made of glass.

The entryway was vast, with high ceilings that seemed to touch the sky. The walls were adorned with original art pieces that whispered of wealth and sophistication. The floor was polished white marble that reflected the light from the crystal chandeliers hanging above us, casting a warm, welcoming glow.

Each room flowed seamlessly into the next, creating an open space that felt more like an architectural dream than a mere house. The living room boasted floor-to-ceiling windows that framed the breathtaking view of the city below, the skyline glittering like diamonds scattered across the horizon. The furniture was sleek and minimalist yet incredibly comfortable, inviting us to embrace it.

Our suite was a sanctuary of luxury. It had a California king-sized bed that looked like it could swallow us whole, dressed in the finest Egyptian cotton sheets. The bathroom had a jacuzzi tub and a shower large enough for a small party. Artis had thought of everything, even stocking it with my favorite scented candles and bath oils.

I couldn't help but feel a sense of wonder as we explored the mansion. It was like we had been transported into a world where every detail was meticulously designed to cater to our desires, a place where reality and fantasy intertwined in a dizzying dance of opulence. Each corner held a new discovery, from the state-of-the-art recording studio hidden away in the basement to the rooftop terrace with its own infinity pool that seemingly melted into the clouds.

That night, we hosted a small, intimate gathering of industry friends and colleagues, a pre-Grammy celebration of sorts. The mansion buzzed with laughter and the clinking of champagne flutes, the air thick with ambition, the scent of success, and very strong weed smoke. Artis played the gracious host, his charisma lighting up the room while I mingled and networked, feeling more and more like I belonged in this star-studded world. Despite the glamour and glitz, our eyes kept finding each other, our secret smiles speaking volumes about what was to come after everyone had left.

On the morning of the Grammys, I enjoyed the sun, topless, sipping water from the poolside.

Artis sauntered over, his eyes gleaming with mischief, and handed me a luxurious robe with a knowing smile. "I've got a surprise for you," he murmured, his voice a velvet caress that sent a shiver down my spine. He leaned down, taking both of my nipples in his mouth, kneading my tits gently. His touch sent a jolt of electricity through me, making me gasp and arch into his embrace. He knew exactly how to set my body alight with anticipation.

The cool fabric caressed my skin as I slipped into the robe, hinting at the awaited pampering session. Inside, a glam squad had transformed one of the mansion's grand salons into a veritable fashion runway. Racks upon racks of designer gowns lined the walls, each more stunning than the last. The smell of hairspray and makeup filled the air, blending with the faint scent of fresh flowers that had been artfully arranged in vases throughout the room. The buzz of excitement was palpable, a symphony of clicks and murmurs as the stylists bustled around, eager to get to work.

The team descended upon me, their skilled hands working their magic. They painted my face with expert strokes, transforming me into a vision of fierce and elegant beauty. Each dress I tried on was more exquisite than the last, its fabrics whispering sweet nothings against my skin as I twirled in front of the floor-length mirrors.

But it was the black sheer Saint Laurent gown that truly captivated me. It clung to my curves, the low plunges in the front and back revealing just enough to hint at the treasures beneath, while the intricately beaded appliqués provided a sophisticated veil of modesty.

The makeup artist, a legend in her own right, took a step back to admire her handiwork. "Perfection," she murmured, her eyes sparkling with satisfaction. My eyes were smoldering pools of desire, lined with kohl that made them appear infinitely deep. A bright crimson matte lipstick painted my mouth, a bold declaration that I was ready to conquer the world—or at least the Grammy Awards.

My signature sleek top knot had been carefully crafted, and my hair pulled taut to elongate my neck and showcase the absence of any necklace. Instead, I opted for diamond chandelier earrings that sparkled with every tilt of my head, their brilliance dancing in the light like a thousand tiny stars.

With my look complete, I slipped into a pair of sky-high Tom Ford heels that made me feel like I could walk on air.

Artis emerged from the bedroom, looking like a king ready to claim his throne. His black suede Tom Ford tuxedo fit him like a glove, hugging his broad shoulders and muscular frame like a second skin.

The red-bottom Chelsea boots added an edgy flair to his ensemble, a silent nod to his rebellious spirit and the boldness of our love. He had opted for no tie, a deliberate choice that showcased the glittering cascade of diamond chains around his neck, each link a testament to his success and power in the industry. His diamond stud earrings twinkled as he moved, a silent declaration of his wealth and status.

His long, thick dreads had been neatly retwisted and trimmed, the tips brushing against his elbows, symbolizing his authenticity in a world that often valued conformity over originality. The most striking feature, however, was his diamond-encrusted grill, the fangs gleaming in the soft glow of the chandelier, a reminder of the fierce passion that simmered just beneath the surface of his calm demeanor.

"Shit, baby," I breathed, my heart fluttering in my chest as I took in the vision of him. His smile was dazzling, a perfect harmony of arrogance and charm that never failed to make my knees wobble. He sauntered over to me, his every step exuding confidence and sex appeal. His eyes roamed over my body, lingering on the curves that the dress so artfully highlighted, and I felt a flush of heat rise to my cheeks.

"You look like you need your pussy sucked in that dress, baby," he murmured, his voice a low rumble that sent a delicious shiver down my spine. He took my hand, gently raising it to his lips and kissing my knuckles. He twirled me in a full circle. "Tonight, the world will see what I've known all along—that you're the most beautiful woman in the room." He stands there complimenting me, looking every inch a king coming forward to claim his bride.

The Grammy red carpet was a frenzy of flashing lights and screaming fans, a cacophony of sound and color that was both exhilarating and overwhelming. We emerged from the car, the heat of the lights blinding me momentarily as the paparazzi descended like vultures to a kill.

Artis's hand tightened around mine, reassuring me we were together. His confidence was like a force field, shielding me from the chaos as we glided down the crimson carpet. His long stride matched my shorter one step for step.

My heart raced as we stopped for photographs, the bulbs popping like a thousand firecrackers, capturing our love in a symphony of light. Artis twirled me, the fabric of my gown swirling around us, a whirlwind of sheer elegance. His smile was so infectious that it made me giggle, a sound that seemed to resonate throughout the entire event. The cameras adored us, flashing away as we flirted shamelessly, our connection on full display. He whispered sweet nothings and everything dirty in my ear, his breath warm and tantalizing, his words a seductive melody that only I could hear.

His whispered promises sent a delicious shiver down my spine. The heat from his breath caressed my neck as he leaned in, his lips grazing the sensitive skin behind my ear. His hands roamed over my body, his touch feather-light yet firm, leaving me craving more.

As we approached the paparazzi, Artis tightened his grip on my hand. He offered me his hand, the one with the ring. The massive rock on my finger glinted in the camera flashes, a silent declaration to the world that I was his.

With a mischievous wink, he kissed my hand, kissed the ring, and then slowly dragged his mouth along my palm and wrist. The cameras erupted into a frenzy, their shutters clicking in rapid succession, the strobe lights painting us in a symphony of white. Our love story was now front-page news, and the gleaming diamond was the exclamation point on our rekindled romance.

Once inside the opulent theater, Artis was truly in his element. He moved through the throng of celebrities and industry moguls with the ease of a shark navigating a school of fish. His killer smile and suave charm had everyone eating out of the palm of his hand, and I couldn't help but feel a sense of pride and awe as I walked by his side. He introduced me to legends and up-and-comers alike, whispering sweet nothings in my ear that made me giggle. The way he said my name, "Nova Ginn, the Greer Magician," sent a thrill through me, a reminder of the power I now wielded in his shadow.

The women in the room couldn't help but stare, their envy palpable as Artis showered me with affection and praise. Their glares only served to fuel my confidence, a silent challenge that I met with a smug smile. After all, I had the man they all desired, and I wouldn't let him go without a fight. His every touch, every whispered word, was a declaration of victory, and I reveled in it.

The night was a whirlwind of performances, award presentations, and awkward small talk, but Artis and I remained in our own little bubble of love and lust. His hand was never far from my waist, his thumb tracing lazy circles that made me squirm in my seat. Our connection was a living, breathing entity that could not be denied.

When the moment finally came, the entire room fell silent as Artis's name was announced for Record Producer of the Year. The crowd erupted into applause as he strutted up to the stage, his smile wide and proud. He took the podium with the ease of a seasoned performer, his eyes scanning the sea of faces before landing on me.

With a wink and a grin that could melt the coldest of hearts, he announced, "This one's for my muse, my heart, the Greer Magician herself, and my soon-to-be wife, Nova Ginn." I gave him a hand heart."I love you, baby," he added, his voice raw with emotion, before accepting his award.

As the applause rolled over us like a wave, I felt my own heart swell with pride and love. This was our moment—the culmination of our tumultuous journey, a public declaration of our love and commitment. I blew him a kiss, my eyes shining with unshed tears. His response was a low growl of desire that had me clenching my thighs together, a silent promise of what was to come later tonight.

"Thank you for weathering the storm with me," Artis said into the microphone, his gaze never leaving mine, "and for putting up with all my AG bullshit."

The audience chuckled, but I knew the depth of his gratitude. He had changed since I entered his life, becoming a better man for me. Most importantly, he had evolved into a better version of himself. The love in his eyes was a balm to my soul, healing all the wounds from the past.

The performances continued, with different artists paying tribute to classic love ballads, but Artis had yet to return. Then, the orchestra began to play the opening chords of "Cause I Love You" by Lenny Williams, a timeless love ballad that seemed to slow the world around us. I recognized the tune immediately, a soft smile playing on my lips as I reminisced about the first time Artis and I danced in his penthouse. As the melody grew stronger, my heart began to race, and the sudden realization that this was not just a random performance gripped me.

I watched in awe as Artis emerged from the shadows; my hand flew to my mouth. His powerful voice filled the vast auditorium. He moved with the confidence of a man who had conquered the world and knew exactly what he wanted. The crowd fell silent, their eyes drawn to the spectacle unfolding before them. As the song reached its crescendo, he descended the grand staircase that led to the audience, his gaze locked on mine. The spotlight followed him like a lover's caress, illuminating every step he took towards me.

He stood before me, his rich alto tone vibrating through my core, singing the words directly to me. The lyrics took on a new meaning at this moment, a declaration of his love, raw and unfiltered. My eyes welled with tears as I realized the depth of his feelings and the lengths he was willing to go to prove his commitment to me. The entire room had become our stage, our love story, the headliner of the evening.

The music swelled around us, a symphony of passion and longing that seemed to hold the very air hostage. His hand reached out, holding mine with a gentle yet firm grip, his thumb tracing circles on my palm as he serenaded me. I got to my feet. He sang and sang. "OOHH" "I'm glad baby- I'm glad baby -OH -OH oh baby."

Tears brimmed my eyes. I had no idea he sang and performed like this. I quickly wiped tears away, his voice resonating in the very marrow of my bones. Artis sailed back up the grand staircase to the stage as the final notes of "Cause I Love You" lingered in the air, echoing pure emotion that seemed to cling to every velvet-covered chair and crystal chandelier. The audience was on their feet. He showed out so badly. I was so proud of him.