“Well?” he asked, impatient, drumming his fingers on the table.
“Oils,” she squeaked out. “And clay.”
“Fine,” he said, and turning to his computer, seemed to forget all about her. Reese could only sit and stare as he clicked at the screen. After a minute, he looked at her out of the corner of his eye.
“That’s all, Ms. Sherman,” he said, waving at her dismissively. Shell shocked, Reese got to her feet and began to cross the room.
“Ms. Sherman,” she heard him bark from behind her, and she turned, sure that he was about to laugh in her face and tell her she was fired, after all. Instead, she saw that he was holding out the paper with the address. “Forgetting something?”
She returned on tiptoe, and taking the paper from him, their fingers grazed slightly. She felt the hair on her arm stand up at the electric reaction in her body, his eyes trapping hers in their deep wells, her throat dry and hands suddenly clammy.
“I’m quite the patron of the arts, you’ll find,” he said.
“Thank you,” Reese squeaked, unable to even recognize that strained voice as her own. “Thank you…so much.”
When she closed the door to Mr. Callion’s office behind her, she was breathless and ecstatic. It was too good to be true! She couldn’t believe it!
It is too good to be true, some voice deep down inside of her said, and her mood dimmed slightly. What is he going to ask of you in return? You know there’s no such thing as a free lunch.
Her stomach dropped slightly. She thought of how Mr. Callion’s eyes roamed over her body, how he looked at her like a wild animal might look at their prey, how the slight brushing of their fingers against each other shot shocks up her arm, how his voice made her stomach do cartwheels…
She looked down at the address, written in tight script. She recognized the street, it wasn’t far from her home. She wondered if she might arrive there only to find it wasn’t a studio at all, but some sort of dungeon, where he would perform unspeakable acts on her young, ripe flesh…
Oh, she thought, when that idea raised a flush to her cheeks and – surprisingly – a tingling excitement to her sex. Looking up and around, as though there were someone else there who might be able to pick up on her reaction, she folded the paper quickly, slipping it into the pocket of her pencil skirt and hurrying back to her desk.
All that work could wait until tomorrow. It couldn’t, really, but there was no way she was staying in that office, knowing he was so close, and that they were alone, and that the thought of being alone with him was having a rather unladylike effect on her.
Chapter Four
Reese tongued the end of her brush, thinking about how to reconcile the balance on the canvas. She was seeing there was far too much heavy, dark weight on the top right corner, and she wanted to offset it on the bottom left corner. But how? What could she paint at the bottom that would enliven the painting without taking away from the mood she’d tried to set with the dark reds and purples?
She leaned back, plopping her paintbrush into the nearby glass of water. Sighing and stretching, she checked her watch. It was 4:30; she’d started painting that day at noon, and had been working on a sculpture before that, since 9am.
She had to work as much as she could on her precious weekends; it was rare that she had the energy, after a long day of running around to perform Mr. Callion’s bidding, to paint after work. For all his patronage of the arts, Mr. Callion had yet to cut her any breaks in the office. Though, she had to admit, he did seem a bit softer in his dealings with her. At least, he wasn’t quite as angry all the time.
She’d gone in after her first visit to the studio to thank him, but he’d waved her off, saying that her time was better spent working for him than thanking him.
Reese rose from her chair, grabbing her coat and planning to get some coffee from the coffee shop down the block. She took a moment to appreciate the space, which she did on a pretty much hourly basis. She had entered the first time and nearly cried. The space was wide and light-filled, with huge windows and soft floodlights. Hardwood floors and exposed brick made it seem like an artist’s haven.
Not to mention the easels, canvases, clays, paints, brushes, drop clothes, aprons, and myriad art supplies that were stocked on the far shelves. She’d been like a kid in a candy store, running her finger along the high-end oils, brushing the soft camelhair brushes against her cheek. She wasn’t sure if Mr. Callion had specifically chosen these supplies, but whoever had knew art; or, at least, knew how to get the best materials available.
The supplies alone must have cost well over $1,000, and the space could have garnered an easy $8,000 a month – on the low end. She had felt a moment of panic once more, and then felt completely undeserving. She was just a high school artist; she hadn’t earned all this, had she? And still the question plagued her: why was he doing it in the first place? He hadn’t even seen her work, just taking her on her word that she was good.
But the lure of the space and the fancy supplies had been unbearable, and she just had to get started right away, admiring the durable, smooth application of her oils, the deft treatment on the canvas of the brushes, the pliability and smoothness of the clay. Her heart was full to its brim, everything she could have ever wanted right at her fingertips. She would put up with any amount of Mr. Callion’s ire at work out of gratitude. Hell, there were lots of things she would do…out of gratitude, sure, but out of something else, too.
Ever since her mind had toyed with the possibility of Mr. Callion luring her to some sex den, she hadn’t been able to shake the strange desire in her stomach to explore the idea further. What would a man like that do to a girl like Reese? What would those large, strong hands feel like on her flesh? Would he be gentle or – oh, God – rough? Would he bite at her skin? Would he control her flesh the way he tried to control her behavior in the office? Would he demand so much of her, if she were naked and vulnerable, at his disposal?
And why on earth did those thoughts incite such a torrent in her veins? Why did her stomach clench tighter the more she imagined it? Why was it that the darker her fantasy, the more she felt herself wishing it wasn’t a fantasy at all?
Plenty of artistic people have had deviant sex lives, she reasoned to herself, albeit uneasily. Anais Nin and Henry Miller, for sure…and who knows what Frida and Diego got up to? Never mind Dali…
But she was starting to see her own thoughts show up in her work. Even the piece she was working on now was clear evidence of her torn and blistered mind; the painting was of two lovers entwined, but violently so, darkness and sin smoldering under the oils.
Reese glanced once more at the painting, wondering what exactly had gotten into her. Her hand was on the door. A short, sharp cry emerged from her lips as she felt herself pushed backwards as the door opened.
And there he was.
Dressed in tight black slacks and a white t-shirt, Mr. Callion looked just as powerful and commanding as he did in a suit. Reese’s breath caught in her throat as she stared up at him, still holding the door handle even though she was now pushed to the side, fresh air streaming in. His eyes landed on hers and made her stomach flip over.
“Uh,” she said, mind skipping like a record. “Hi.”
“Hello, Ms. Sherman,” he said, releasing the door. Reese also let go, and it swung closed between them. “I thought I’d come and see where my money is going. I trust you’ve found the space and materials sufficient? I haven’t had time to discuss this with you in the office.”
His eyes drifted over the room, taking in the half-finished sculpture in one corner, the stack of completed canvases along the far wall, before falling on the unfinished painting in the center.
“Everything’s been wonderful,” Reese said, her heart still racing. In his short sleeves, she had a better view of that muscled body; his biceps were taut and firm, a spattering of black hair covering his forearms. She could make out the hint of pecs under his shirt. “I mean…it’s too wonderful. Tha
nk you, again, so much.”
“It’s nothing to me,” he said distantly, walking towards the canvas. Reese blushed, realizing he was gazing upon one of the most lurid paintings she’d ever created. Of all the times for him to pop in…
“This is quite good,” he said over his shoulder. “You have an eye for color and line. And this,” he said, gesturing to the bottom corner where she’d started to balance out the canvas. “Shows some definite skill.”
“It’s not nearly finished,” Reese said softly, coming to his side.
“I can tell,” he said, leaning in further. “But it will be quite the painting when it is.”
He looked across at the rest of the paintings lining the wall.
“I see you have a knack for inverting perception,” he said. Reese cocked her head. She wondered if he was just saying mindless art terms, or if he knew what he was talking about. When he pointed to one painting that she was particularly proud of, her heart leapt.
“That one,” he said, moving closer, eyes narrowing. It was a painting of a woman with her back turned, crouched over, almost like a sprinter at the starting line. The field around her was full of waving grass; in the distance, a stag seemed to be holding eye contact with her, although you couldn’t actually tell where her own eyes were directed.
“Yes,” Reese said, breathless, following him to stand near it.
“I’d like to take that one,” he said, turning to her. “If that’s alright. It would look rather fetching in my guest bedroom.”
Reese was shocked. Of course, she wouldn’t deny him; he’d basically paid for it. But the fact that he actually wanted to put one of her paintings in his own home was amazing, and made her feel warm and proud.
“Of course,” she stuttered. “Any…any of them, they’re…they’re yours, I mean, you like…you made it all possible...”
He turned to face her, capturing her in those deep green eyes once more.
“I’ll have my driver come pick it up in a few days,” he said with a solemn nod.
“Oh,” she said. “You can just take it now if you…”
“I took the train,” he said with a slight shrug. “I wouldn’t want anything to happen to it on the way home.”
Reese had to fight back a laugh. Mr. Callion? On the subway? He was rich enough to have taken a jet plane across boroughs if he wanted to. What the hell was he doing taking a train like a peon?
“Strange that I took the train?” he asked intently. Reese’s laugh died in her throat and she nodded dumbly. “Why?”
She shrugged.
“I don’t know. I mean, my father refuses…says it’s below him to…”
“That’s ridiculous,” Mr. Callion said simply. “The world isn’t made of petroleum. And what sort of life is limited to one’s apartment and place of work? The things which happen in between are the most beautiful, don’t you think?”
Reese was taken aback. She hadn’t expected such a worldly response. But she nodded all the same, agreeing with him wholeheartedly. Once more, she saw his eyes roam up and down her body. Now, clad in a pair of dirty shorts and a paint-smeared shirt, she felt even more naked and exposed than usual. Her hair was pulled into a loose, dirty bun, her cheeks probably covered in streaks of paint. She wished that she’d known he was coming…
“I’m considered funding a scholarship,” he said, interrupting her train of thought. “An arts scholarship - full ride, for an artist who shows promise. To the school of his or her choice.”
Reese’s eyes widened. Of course, she realized, he was only telling her this because he aimed for her to apply – and probably receive – said scholarship. Or he’s just telling me because we’re having a conversation about art, she scolded herself for getting her hopes up. And besides…
Well, there her mind went again, wondering what she would have to do to pay him back for these gifts…
“That’s very generous, sir,” she said modestly, clasping her hands behind her back, where he couldn’t see how badly they were shaking.
“I imagine you would be interested?” he asked, his eyes narrowing slightly as they landed once more on her own. Her voice caught in her throat, but she managed to nod.
“Very good,” he said. “I was hoping so, Ms. Sherman. There’s something inside you that I think the art world would quite benefit from having. You have something to say. I’d like to give you the opportunity to say it.”
“Th..thank you,” Reese said, wilting under his gaze, and his praise. Maybe he is just doing this because he loves art, she thought, and the thought actually made her feel unexpectedly sad. Was she being stupid for even thinking this rich, powerful man, who could have any woman he wanted, was interested in her?
He nodded and turned, his expensive shoes making echoes on the hardwood floor. Her heart fluttered; she didn’t want him to leave. Inexplicably, she felt she needed him to stay. For just a little longer. And, she needed an answer. The limbo she’d been living in had gone on long enough. She wanted that scholarship, if it was going to be a real thing. But she needed to know – was there a hidden price tag to all his promises?
“Wait,” she said, her voice sounding thick and heavy. He stopped and turned, waiting patiently. “I…I need to ask you something.”
He nodded before crossing the room back to her, his form tall and intimidating as it towered over her, all strength and power. She felt her stomach flip again, her hair standing on end on her arms. His smell was soft, a fragrant sandalwood cologne. Taking a deep breath, she steeled all her nerves.
“Do you…do you expect something from me? In return for all…all this?” She swept her arm out, gesturing to the room and the supplies, keeping her eyes down, her cheeks burning. In the silence that followed, she could hear her own heart racing.
“No,” he said, simple yet heavy. “I don’t expect you to give me anything in return. What were you thinking?”
Reese bit her lip, hopes she didn’t know she had suddenly dashed, her shame rising like a wave. I’m so stupid, she thought.
“Um...nothing, I just…this is so much, I didn’t know if…”
He took a step closer and it was all Reese could do not to take a step back, the energy between them high and crackling.
“I want you to tell me what you thought I would expect from you,” he growled. Reese let her eyes flutter upwards to his, then felt trapped, unable to look away. She felt her thighs tense up, squeezing together, her flesh hot.
“I don’t know,” she murmured.
“Yes, you do,” he replied sternly. “Tell me.”
“I thought,” she said, her voice more like a gasp. “Maybe…maybe sex….”
The silence returned, weighted and lethal as poison. Her heart was racing again, blood pumping through her, warming her limbs.
“I wouldn’t try to buy your body,” he growled. “What kind of man do you take me for?”
Reese felt tears brimming in the corners of her eyes, ashamed of herself for making any assumptions. Of course he didn’t want her. She was just a dumb kid.
“I’m sorry,” she whispered.
“I would never want you to give me anything,” he said, his voice low. “Unless you wanted to give it.”
His last words hit her like a train. What did that mean?
“Um,” she said, biting the inside of her cheek. He took another step forward. They were close enough now that Reese could almost feel his breath as he expelled it.
“But something tells me, Ms. Sherman,” he continued, trapping her in his gaze, unrelenting in his stare. “That you may be more willing than you even realize. I’m not the only person in this room who has been caught admiring the other. You wonder about me. About being with a man like me. You can tell I’m a man who knows what he’s doing.”
Reese had stopped breathing, her mouth dropping open as he spoke, his words curling in her brain like wisps of smoke, fragrant and mysterious.
“And you want to know what it would be like,” he continued, “to feel th
e things I can make you feel.”
With that, he reached out and brushed a strand of fallen hair from her face, letting his fingers linger along her cheek, the slightest contact lighting her body on fire. Her nipples tightened, her pussy tingled. Unconsciously, she leaned her face into his hand, feeling his palm cup her skin, his soft fingers curling around her chin and holding her tight.
When he moved a step closer, their bodies were pressed together, and his other hand moved up her shirt, caressing the sensitive skin of her stomach before plunging downward, under her shorts, under her panties, to the folds of her sex. She gasped, eyes widening, as he expertly found her clit, already slightly swollen, and held it gently between two fingers, rubbing ever so slightly.
“But you should know, Ms. Sherman,” he said, his voice a dusky whisper in the large room. “I’m a man who likes things a very certain way. And if you want to find out exactly what it’s like to be pleasured beyond all reason, all thought…”
His fingers moved faster against her clit, rubbing both sides, his eyes never leaving hers, her pussy growing damp and slippery with his movements.
“You’re going to have to let me be in charge. In every…”
He rubbed faster, and Reese’s stomach flipped, her knees shaking, a great need rising in her stomach.
“single…”
She felt her pussy clenching on itself, her breasts craving his touch, her throat opening in a soundless cry, the need rising and rising…
“way.”
His thumb rolled over her clit and she exploded, her pussy releasing a flood of juices as she trembled and fell forward against him, her arms landing on his sculpted chest, her body awash in waves of pleasure. He held her tight as her orgasm waned, then pulled away, leaving her speechless and swaying. Pulling his wet fingers from her slit, he pressed them to her lips and she opened them mindlessly, sucking her own nectar from his hand while still entranced in his gaze.
“If you think you can handle that,” he growled, pulling away entirely now and turning to leave once more. “My door is always open.”
ROMANCE: THREESOME : Billionaire Brothers' Party (MFM Menage Romance) (New Adult Contemporary Threesome Short Stories) Page 5