by Grace Lowrie
‘Strip,’ she said to him.
Jumping up to stand beside me Tom did as instructed; quickly and obediently removing his clothes while she watched him and I watched her. Once he was naked, Cally gracefully rose to her feet and stood before him. Placing her fingertips on Tom’s chest, she lightly ran them down to his hip and he smiled, his erection twitching. I noted his dick was smaller than mine and had to suppress a smug smirk as I passed him a condom, but he rolled it on without complaint. Her hands shaking, Cally unwrapped her robe and let it drift to the floor to reveal a lacy red bra and a matching pair of knickers. Tom looked like a kid at Christmas. Stepping back, I positioned myself behind Cally – partly to impede my view of Tom’s overeager young body, but mainly in order to admire the perfect beauty of Cally’s ripe bottom.
‘And you, Bay – strip,’ she murmured, turning to face me.
I’d resent a command like that from anyone else and my mind instinctively baulked at it. But my body could not deny her. Having reluctantly dragged my shirt off over my head, I calmly dropped my shorts and kicked them aside, internally at war with myself.
Keeping her gaze on mine, she reached back and guided Tom’s hands up to cup her breasts from behind. I didn’t want to see his hands on her, but I could tell it was turning her on; I could see it in her eyes.
‘I want you two to kiss,’ she said, her face shining with mischief. She was enjoying this.
Narrowing my eyes I slowly but deliberately shook my head.
‘Please, just one kiss, for me…?’
I could feel Tom’s expectant gaze but I kept my eyes trained on Cally. She was testing me again. Punishing me. Glaring at her I reached past her shoulder, grabbed the back of Tom’s head and drew his mouth to mine. I kissed him hard; crushing my lips to his without mercy. It was strange; completely different to kissing a girl; rougher, baser, and not something I’d want to repeat, but the triumphant spark of delight that flared up in Cally’s eyes, the obvious flush of arousal that now suffused her features, made it worth it.
‘Wow,’ she breathed as I pushed Tom away.
Tom licked his lips, unperturbed. In my peripheral vision I watched him kiss Cally’s shoulder, gently hooking a finger under her bra strap at the same time.
‘Let me relieve you of this,’ he suggested before unclasping it. Her eyes never wavered from mine as Tom slipped the garment off her arms and then peeled her knickers down her legs. Once she was completely naked, she took my length in one palm. Her hold was surprisingly possessive and self-assured, and almost brought me to my knees.
Returning his hands to Cally’s breasts, Tom pinched her nipples and she gasped, her grip on me tightening and my cock jerking in response. Fuck, this was madness. Clenching my fists, tightening my jaw and grinding my teeth together, I fought the desperate urge to simply deck Tom and claim Cally for myself.
Chapter Forty-three
God help me, I’d never felt sexier than I did right now, standing between two gorgeous naked men. And seeing them kiss… I’d never witnessed such a potent display of masculine sexuality; it rocked me to my core. I could tell Bay wasn’t into it the way Tom was, but he’d gone ahead and done it anyway, for me, which only made me want him more, if that was even possible. Lately I wanted Bay all the time – he oozed sex appeal, naked or not. But with him at my mercy like this, and young Tom pressed up behind me, my whole body was trembling with need. If I didn’t sit down soon I was going to collapse.
Releasing my hold on Bay, I stepped out from between the two men and sat down on the edge of the bed. Two sets of hungry eyes stared down at me – one man smiling while the other glowered – and I shivered with anticipation. But I had no idea how this should go, or what to say next, and Bay understood my hesitation.
‘Kiss her,’ Bay said.
Tom looked to my face for approval and when I smiled he wasted no time dropping to his knees on the floor between my legs, cupping my face in his hands, and kissing me tenderly on the mouth. He tasted of toothpaste and aftershave; his lips soft as they coaxed mine. Draping my arms over the smooth, unblemished skin of his shoulders, I traced his back muscles with my fingers. But my gaze was drawn, inexorably, back to Bay’s as if magnetised, his black eyes burning into mine.
Dropping his hands to my waist, Tom started to shift away from my mouth, planting a soft line of kisses down my neck. As he worked his way lower I leaned back on my elbows and he kissed my breast. It felt good and I moaned. Bay stood watching; towering over us, naked, his feet firmly planted, his cock in his hand and his eyes blazing. What was he thinking? What was he feeling? How far would he let this go? All the way?
‘God, Cally, your skin tastes fantastic,’ Tom mumbled between kisses as he moved steadily down to my navel.
‘Like heaven,’ Bay rasped in agreement.
The pain in his voice as he said those two words sent a shiver right through me and I realised with sudden clarity that the person currently between Bay and I had no place being there.
As if reading my mind, Bay took a step towards me. ‘Move aside, Tom.’ The command was dangerously low and Tom stilled at once, his eyes darting to mine. Disappointment washed over his features before he gave me an accepting smile, rose to his feet and moved over to lie on the bed beside me. If either of us had ever doubted that Bay was in charge, those doubts had now been now quashed.
Ensnared in Bay’s heated gaze, I shifted further back up the mattress as he silently prowled forwards; climbing onto the bed; caging me with his arms; pinning me with his body and possessively capturing my mouth in his with a feral growl. Hesitating only long enough for me to anchor my legs around him, Bay thrust inside; claiming me at last and firmly grinding into me for good measure. I couldn’t help crying out with the sheer joy of it.
‘Fucking hell, you guys are awesome,’ Tom breathed, fisting his own cock in his hand. ‘The view from here is mind-blowing…’ Sweet Tom, with his angelic looks, free-flowing compliments and easy smiles; he was like steady sunshine, where Bay was all moonlight and shadows. And yet, it was Bay, with all his secrets and demons, that I craved and yearned for. As he took me, each deep drag and plunge, smooth and profound, and the tension and pace rose rapidly, I knew we wouldn’t be able to hold back for long.
If I was being honest, this all started out with me wanting to prove something to Bay – to show him that it was simply sex, nothing more, nothing personal between us. I suspect he had similar intentions. But now as he took me; fucked me; owned me right in another man’s face – it was personal. Whether he would admit it or not, just knowing that Bailey Madderson wanted me all to himself was a far bigger turn-on than any three-way could ever be. Closing my eyes I let Bay consume me, like only he could.
We came hard, the three of us; Tom prematurely, in the latex in his hand, and then Bay and I together, racked with a blissful sense of release. Afterwards, Bay collapsed onto the bed on the other side of me, landing heavily, like a felled tree, breathing hard.
‘Jesus that was the most erotic thing I’ve ever seen,’ Tom said. ‘You guys are made for each other,’
‘Go home, Tom.’
‘Don’t be so rude!’ I tutted, slapping Bay on the arm. ‘You’re welcome to stay for a drink, Tom…’
‘No he’s not.’ Bay glared across at Tom making him laugh.
‘It’s OK, Cally, I should be going anyway,’ he said, sitting up, disposing of his condom in a wodge of tissue and dragging on his jeans.
Once I’d slipped on my robe and seen Tom to the door, I returned to the bed where Bay was propped against the headboard smoking. Stubbing out his cigarette he loosened the sash at my waist and pulled my robe right off again.
‘Don’t you want me to leave, too?’
‘No,’ he said, tugging me down onto the bed beside him.
‘Why? Are you going to paint me?’
‘No, not tonight.’
‘Oh? Why not?’
Bay sighed, took a firm hold of my hips and hauled me on top of him so I was
straddling his lap. ‘I just want to spend the rest of the night inside you, without an audience or a fucking running commentary,’ he growled.
I laughed, thrilled at the prospect. ‘It wasn’t that bad! I think you liked it…’
‘Stop talking,’ he said, dragging my head down until my chest was pressed to his, and brushing my mouth with his own.
‘I think you were just as turned on as I was.’
‘Stop. Talking.’
‘I think you enjoyed fucking me right in Tom’s face…’ his eyes darkened, ‘… Just as much as I did.’
He kissed me and it was everything I shouldn’t want, but had been missing; coarse stubble, whisky and tobacco – dark, latent passion overlaid with stubborn control. Nothing had ever tasted so good.
Chapter Forty-four
I stared at the three lines of coke on the shelf above the cistern, the bass thundering through the walls of the men’s room, a rolled bank note poised in my hand. Did I really want to do this? I’d been clean almost three months. I’d had brief periods of sobriety before, but it was different this time. Since meeting Cally I’d actually been enjoying life in other, healthier ways; and it felt good. Tonight I was just riled up because of the letter I’d received; the condescending, jargon-filled solicitor’s letter designed to intimidate, which was essentially a “fuck you” from Ash. Wanker.
Cally was working tonight so I’d gone to the fight club and taken on the first guy stupid enough to let me. He was a hedge-fund advisor; loaded, arrogant and over-confident after twelve weeks of intensive training, but ultimately soft. I roughed him up a bit, put on a show for his mates and let him get a few blows in before I laid him out cold ten minutes in. Afterwards I bought him a pint at the bar, though I’m not sure he deserved it; he’d barely hurt me at all. One brief bout in the ring had done fuck-all to appease my anger and frustration, and they wouldn’t let me take on another fight – rules are rules.
Now I was at this gig to support Tom and his new band, but seeing them play only made me feel worse, reminded me of things I’d prefer to forget, and the mosh pit was doing nothing for me either. Would coke help?
Fuck no. I swept the powder off the shelf and into the toilet bowl before flushing it away and washing my hands, assiduously avoiding the mirrors as usual. Would Cally let me fuck her after her shift? She’d be tired and I’d have to remember to hide the bruising on my ribs or she’d start asking questions, but lately it was all I wanted to do. Being inside Cally was intense; a gift of insane pleasure far too special for the likes of me, but I was done struggling against it. The night we attempted a threesome changed everything. Seeing Cally so aroused and uninhibited; the way she carried herself with such elegance was a massive turn-on. But I was done sharing her. At the end of the day, despite my best intentions, I was a selfish bastard; a lost cause; doomed – and Cally helped me to forget.
Chapter Forty-five
‘Bailey Madderson and Guest,’ Bay muttered at the girl on the door.
She was smartly dressed in black with a serious expression and an air of authority about her. But that changed upon hearing Bay’s name and her face split into a smile of incredulous delight, her clipboard temporarily forgotten. ‘Mr Madderson! We didn’t think you’d come – it’s an honour to have you here. I’m Pritti, I work for Felix and I’m a huge admirer of your work. Please come in, and if there’s anything I can help you with please just let me know.’
‘Cheers,’ he muttered, holding the door for me as we entered.
‘Help yourself to champagne!’ she called back over her shoulder.
Bay grabbed a flute from the nearest table and quickly knocked back the liquid, downing it in one. Setting the empty aside he then picked up two full ones, and handed one to me.
‘Thank you,’ I said, trying not to laugh. I’d never seen Bay this uncomfortable before. He’d been on edge for days now, but it wasn’t tonight’s opening that was bothering him, I had a feeling it was something else… only I had no idea what.
He was wearing the same shirt and tie he’d worn for my birthday and, despite grumbling, had allowed me to run a wet comb through his hair. It was still tufty at the front, but tamer at the top, back and sides. He looked devilishly handsome and I was proud to be on his arm. But underneath the surface he was a mess. Tonight could go either way.
Four other artists in addition to Bay were being represented in this exhibition within the walls of a prestigious commercial gallery in the heart of London. The space was larger and crowded with more glamorous-looking people than I’d been expecting, but then I’d never attended a private preview before – maybe this was the norm.
Holding the centre of the floor I recognised Jasmine Reed, the actress who’d dated one of my old friends, and who had in-directly gotten me my job at the club. While she flirted shamelessly with the crowd of men around her, I briefly considered thanking her, but she’d recently been convicted of drink driving – receiving a hefty fine, a twelve month ban and escaping prison by the skin of her teeth. She wasn’t someone I wanted to introduce Bay to, so I pretended I hadn’t seen her and sipped my champagne – it tickled as it went down.
Bay led me around the edge of the first room at a surprisingly leisurely pace, perusing the artwork with quiet intensity. Beforehand I’d imagined him heading straight to his own work with little regard for the rest, but then I recalled the mountains of books tucked away in his flat and reminded myself that Bay had a genuine interest in many things, and art was just one of them. From a practical point of view he probably ought to be aware of the standard of his contemporaries anyway, though I suspected that was of little concern to Bay, or perhaps he simply trusted his agent implicitly. These pieces for example – impressionistic depictions of wild-flower meadows under blue skies – couldn’t be more different from Bay’s work in terms of tone and style, but they were artfully done, with generous depth, a clever use of perspective and pretty details. The scenes brought to mind some of the farm land around Wildham, and the flowers in the foreground reminded me of Willow’s tattoo, though these blooms were nowhere near as beautiful. All the work was for sale, but there were no prices marked and I suspected each piece was valued at thousands of pounds.
‘What do you think?’ Bay asked, nudging his shoulder gently against mine.
‘They’re lovely – uplifting.’
Bay nodded thoughtfully.
‘What do you think?’
‘They’re technically good, but there’s no truth in them; life’s not really like that.’
Abruptly he moved on to the next room, leaving me standing alone and staring at the sun-filled meadows through a film of tears. Life could be like that, couldn’t it? Not all the time, but occasionally at least? It saddened me that someone as smart, generous, and talented as Bay felt so completely removed from happiness. I wanted to help him, but what could I do? He wouldn’t let me in, not really, and in seven weeks’ time I would be leaving forever.
Catching up with Bay in the next room, we toured the rest of the exhibition in silence, without interruption, our backs to everyone else. We came to Bay’s paintings last, but they dominated the space – dramatically vibrant and compelling. Obviously I was biased and very familiar with them by now, but they looked particularly magnificent mounted on pure white walls and expertly lit from above. The ‘Trees’ series was attracting a lot of attention and I overheard comments: “a masterful use of light”, “exceptional talent”, “a unique style, unlike anything I’ve seen before”. It wasn’t just me, then. These paintings would almost certainly sell here and I’d never see them again. At this realisation I scrutinised them one last time, more closely than before.
The girl in white was harder to find in these nine pieces, Bay had omitted the ones where she featured more prominently, whether consciously or not I couldn’t be sure. As breathtakingly brilliant and well-received as the paintings were, they still emitted an undercurrent of something else; a mystery, dark and disturbing. Who was she? What did she mean t
o Bay? And why was she hiding in his garden?
‘Bay! You made it.’ An attractive red-haired guy with razor-sharp sideburns and silver-rimmed spectacles slapped Bay on the back.
‘Hey Felix. This is Cally, Cally – Felix. He did all this,’ Bay added with a sweep of his hand.
‘It’s a pleasure to meet you.’ Felix pinned me with a curious look as he warmly shook my hand.
‘You too – this is wonderful, you must be very pleased.’
‘Yeah, so far the feedback’s been really positive, but then it usually is on opening night; I’ll be interested to read what the critics come up with…’
‘I’m sure they’ll be glowing with praise,’ I said.
‘Fingers crossed,’ Felix said, with a nervous smile.
‘I’m gonna take a leak,’ Bay said abruptly, snatching the barely-touched flute from my hand and stalking off. I smiled awkwardly at Felix and he rolled his eyes.
‘Between you and me, Bay is a good friend and the most talented artist on my books, but he’s also a classic case of tortured genius and a royal pain in the butt.’ I laughed and Felix grinned conspiratorially at me. ‘I have to say though, he’s looking much better than when I last saw him at Easter, I almost didn’t recognise him.’
‘Yes, he’s… doing well, I think…’
‘And he never comes to these things, ever. How on earth did you get him here?’
‘To be honest I think he’s only here because he didn’t want me coming on my own. I doubt we’ll be staying much longer…’
‘That’s fine, don’t worry. If it’s OK with you I’ll try and introduce him to a couple of influential buyers and some people who admire his work before you go. I’ll try not to keep him from you too long.’
‘Keep him as long as he’ll let you – he’s not mine.’