“I am. Just because I don’t know two paintings doesn’t mean I don’t love art.”
“Fair enough. Tell me what you see.”
I look at the painting. It’s of a woman and a man, both wearing a cover of some sort over their heads. They seem to be kissing. “They look sad. Unsure. Maybe unaware of who they really are.” I turn to Damien, who offers me a nod of approval.
“Very good. It’s titled The Lovers. Painted by René Margritte in nineteen-twenty-eight. The meaning behind it suggests imprisonment of the couple. Possibly a lonely relationship. They may seem to be kissing, but their lips never touch. A masterpiece of sexual frustration, one might say.”
“And why the art lesson on this specific piece?” I ask.
“It’s telling you, or more like showing you, the inability to expose the true nature of your most intimate desires. Possibly companions.” He winks at me and walks off.
“Wait! You’re seriously confusing me right now. I’m not understanding all this hidden meaning crap.”
Just like before, he walks until he finds another painting to stop at. “Do you know who this is?”
“Damien,” I warn.
“Just humor me. And if you’re good, I’ll reward you with the answers you desire.”
I frown and turn to the painting. This one, I actually do recognize. “Of course, it’s Van Gogh. Who doesn’t know his work?”
Damien is quiet while admiring the painting. “He didn’t become famous until after his death. He had a hard life. Suffered from depression, mental illness. His work, though, is remarkable. Did you know he failed as an artist when he was alive? Barely sold his work. They say he went mad over the loss of love. The history books claim he only had his brother. His letters to his brother, Theo, are published. Sad, many of them. But you can feel the love he felt. Also, the loneliness in them. Vincent died in eighteen-eighty. His brother, six months later. Buried next to one another, as a matter of fact.”
I turn to Damien when he becomes quiet. I wait for him to continue, but it seems he’s lost in the way the painting of the flowers stares back at him.
“What are you trying to tell me?”
He turns to face me. His hands leave his sides to reach up and cup my face. His head dips, and his lips perfectly press against mine. I don’t expect this side of him. I wonder for a quick moment if this is all a dream. With the tantalizing scent of him surrounding me, the warmth of his mouth on mine, I know this is real. Too soon, he pulls away, his eyes glowing with what I’ve learned to be passion.
“Let’s walk.”
I don’t hide the grunted noise of frustration as he steps away from me again and proceeds to walk away.
“Damien. Stop.” He doesn’t, and I’m forced to pick up my step, almost running to catch up with him. When I reach him, I grab for his shoulder and tug for him to halt. He gives in with no fight and turns to me.
“Why do you let those shits speak to you like that?”
“What? Sylvia? This is about me—”
“Answer the question.”
“I don’t know. It’s just easier to ignore than engage. I won’t play their games.”
“But aren’t you? You’ve found yourself in bed with a man who’s no good for you because you engaged.”
This sudden change is confusing me. The naive part of me feels like he wants to tell me something very personal. Open up to me. But the logical part warns me to keep my guard up. A man like Damien softens for no one, and his mind games might be worse than anything Sylvia can throw at me.
“Okay, fine. You’re right. I let my guard down and they won. But I’m done playing her games. Being afraid of her threats. If she wants to ruin my friendship, she can have at it. I’m not sure the real friendship was there in the first place.”
He steps closer to me. “And our contract? Do you not feel abided to adhere to it then?”
My skin shivers at the way he’s looking at me. His eyes are intense. He’s not just patiently waiting for me to reply, he’s mentally eating me alive. He licks his lips, and my belly tightens. If he even attempted to touch me right now, I would combust. I’m not sure what sort of game he’s trying to play with me, but there’s a strong feeling I’m going to lose it.
“You don’t own me. No one does. I’m here because I choose to be. Not because you have any control over me.”
His arm is up, and his hand clasps quickly and tightly around my neck. With all his strength, he pulls me to him, and his mouth lands roughly against mine. He fuses his lips to mine and kisses me hard, showing no sign of releasing me until he’s taken what he wants. But I’m okay with that. I kiss him back with the same fervor. In no time, his free hand wraps around my butt cheek and he’s lifting me with one arm up, my legs wrapping around him.
“I find your boldness sexy as fuck, Ms. Stone,” he hums into my mouth as he backs us up against the wall. I worry about knocking into a painting. I rip my mouth away to twist my head in fear. “Oh my God, is that a Cézanne?” I panic, staring at the famous piece hanging next to me.
“Ah, yes, the Table, Napkin, and Fruit. One of his most famous works.” He drops his lips to my neck and sucks on my skin.
“Damien, if we knock it over…”
He pulls us off the wall, and I feel instant relief knowing I won’t have to live out the remainder of my life in guilt over ruining a hundred-year-old masterpiece. He carries us down an unfamiliar gallery hallway as I sneak peeks at the famous paintings. Never in my life would I have pictured myself in such a famous museum, late at night, about to do extremely inappropriate things.
I wait for us to pop out in the cafeteria or somewhere more appropriate, but when he enters a new room, my breath catches as I take in my surroundings. “Damien, are we in the Leonardo Da Vinci exhibit?” Holy shit, we are. As much as I’m loving how turned on and sexy Damien is right now, my urge to threaten him to put me down so I can appreciate the paintings may be taking over.
“See something you like?” Damien chuckles and with two short steps, he has my back implanted against the wall. His lips are warm and smooth on my skin. He runs his mouth across my shoulder blade, stopping at my collarbone. Heat builds between my legs as his tongue glides down the center of my chest until he latches on to my hard nipple through my thin shirt. I planned on answering him that set of portraits of Isabella d`Este are fantastic, but my words are lodged in my throat. His teeth bite down, and the sensation of pure pleasure stifle a soft moan from my lips.
“Tell me what you feel right now,” he hums, squeezing my breast through the fabric, kneading my flesh. My hands thread into his scalp, holding his head closer to me.
“I feel empowered.” Because I do. Being in this room, with such exquisiteness, it makes me feel just as beautiful.
“You belong on these walls, you know,” he says, moving to my other breast. “Displayed for the world to see, such purity and beauty.” He releases his tight hold on my breast, skimming down my side, past my ribcage, and working at the hem of my leggings. “But behind every piece of art is a hidden message.”
“And what would mine be?” I moan as his hands find their way into my pants past the barrier of my underwear.
“You aren’t innocent. You crave defiance. You want me to take you up against this wall and fuck you right next to one of the most famous drawings in the world. You want to lose yourself in my touch, my fingers, have me fuck you as you scream, my name echoing off every single piece of history in this room.” A single finger dips into my sex, pumping slowly. “Tell me, Jensen, how do you feel?”
“Alive,” I moan.
He pulls his finger out, then roughly thrusts two back in. “You are empowered. You have more control than you realize.” He replaces two fingers with three. His movement quickens. I’m losing focus on anything but the way his fingers feel. So deep. The fullness of them brushing against my inner walls.
“I need to fuck you,” he growls, pulling free of me. He’s wild with need, tearing at my leggings, bri
nging them down past my hips. He works his cock out of his pants and plunges inside me.
He’s not gentle. He doesn’t keep a consistent pace. I experience a side of him that’s new. Wild and uncontrolled. He isn’t the man who holds the power. I do. I can’t help but lose myself in the thought that maybe I’m changing him. Showing him life isn’t always about being in control. Having the upper hand and feeling in charge, I tangle my fingers in his hair, gripping to a point of pain, which only causes him to lose more restraint.
“Damien,” I moan his name, feeling full and at the brink of my orgasm. Just weeks ago, I didn’t know what it could be like to feel such emotion, but now, I couldn’t imagine never knowing just how far someone sexually, psychically, emotionally can be pushed. “Oh God, I can’t last much longer. I’m going to… Oh God, I’m…” I fade off as my walls crush around him, and my eyes close as the blast through every nerve ending explodes throughout my body.
“Goddammit!” Damien growls, slamming into me three more times, and I listen in fear a painting will detach from its anchor and crash to the ground. He expands even larger, then loses himself inside me.
We’re laying on the floor of the museum, my head resting on his bare chest, enjoying the silence and comforts of one another. Damien has yet to fully dress, at ease in only his slacks and muscled chest on display. There’re no complaints out of me since it allows me to admire just how sexy he is. His arms are stretched above his head, his biceps flexed and inviting. Running my fingers down his ridged stomach, I’m tempted to pinch myself to see if this is a dream. Never in a billion years would I think I would be laying with a man of his stature chasing the highs of the best orgasm ever. In a historic museum at that. Feeling bold, I place my lips to his chest and spread small kisses over his heart.
“I was just like you once, you know.”
I lift my head. “Like what?”
“Ambitious.”
At that, I laugh. “I’m pretty sure you’re still ambitious.” If the soreness between my legs doesn’t prove so, I don’t know what does.
“I don’t mean that, you dirty girl. I mean in life. This wasn’t my dream.”
I push off him, fully sitting. “What do you mean?”
Damien adjusts his elbows to prop himself up. “This life. The club. It wasn’t my life. I didn’t choose it. My father did.”
His confession brings me back to the first painting. The man with two lives. One who is living a life on the outside, but on the inside, in his heart, he lives another.
“The painting. You were relating to it.” It’s more of a statement than a question. “Ask me how I know so much about art.”
Huh? He smiles and sits up, grabbing me and flipping me so I’m now on my back, his body hovering over me. “Ask me.”
“How do you know so much about art?”
“I went to school for it. Studied in Paris for two years. I wanted to travel, learn about architecture, photograph the entire world the way I saw it.”
“And why didn’t you?” I ask, already saddened by his upcoming answer.
“I was next in line to take over my father’s legacy.”
“Why didn’t you just say no? It’s your life, not his.”
He brushes a loose strand of hair away from my face. “I did.” He doesn’t continue with the rest of his answer. He seems to disappear into his head for a quick moment before realizing his actions. “I was technically never meant to step in line to take over Exquisite. My brother was.”
His words shock me. I didn’t realize he had a brother. Not that we’ve gotten into any deep conversations about ourselves. “And why didn’t he? Did he not want it? Where’s he now?”
“Dead.”
I gasp. “Oh, Damien, I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be,” he says, raising his lips to mine for a sweet, short kiss. “It was a long time ago.”
Time or not, it’s still a moment in his life that will forever affect him. His brother and his dad, both gone. My heart aches to know he has no one. I lift my hand to caress his cheek. My open palms brush against the growing stubble on his face. “Still, I’m sorry you had to endure such sadness.”
There is no hiding the pain in his eyes. He may think he’s over it, or mastered hiding the emotions, but they still live deep inside him. “I was nineteen when it happened. I was overseas in Prague, a three-month graffiti and urban art tour, when my instructor was notified to send me home. My brother and father were in an accident. My father was drunk. So was my brother. They had no boundaries when it came to rules. My father lived and died Exquisite, and James was just like him. We were close. He practically raised me while my father raised his club. When my father refused to pay for my schooling, telling me I was a fairy for wanting to explore art, my brother secretly paid for it. He allowed me to do what I truly loved. But when they died, it left only me to step in.”
Jesus. I don’t know what to say. There isn’t anything that can justify all the hardship he bared. I want to tell him how sorry I am, but now I see how petty those words are. Then it hits me. “The camera. It was yours.”
He nods. “My father died instantly, from what I was told. Motherfucker wasn’t wearing his seatbelt and went right through the windshield into a tree, snapping his neck. My brother didn’t have the same fate. He suffered. Spent weeks on a ventilator. If he ever woke up, he would have been paralyzed. His brain activity was dead. The hospital tried to convince me time and time again to let him go. He was already gone. But I refused. No way could the one person I loved be gone. In time, I realized what they had been trying to tell me since the moment he was wheeled into the hospital. He was gone, and I was alone.”
The first tear slides down the side of my face. I want to be strong and listen to his story, but I can’t stop them. It’s as if I’m experiencing the pain all over again with him. Suffering the sadness through his tormented eyes. It suddenly makes sense about the Van Gogh painting and the mention of the love he shared with his brother. “You did the right thing. It was time to let his body rest.”
“I wasn’t given much of a choice either way. The hospital wanted payment, and…well, I had no means to pay. Fredrick was my father’s right-hand man, so he stepped in and took care of everything. He brought me to Exquisite and basically sat me in my father’s throne, telling me it was my job to adhere in my father’s wishes.”
My emotions are rapid as my sadness turns to anger. How dare Fredrick do that to a grieving boy. Nineteen may be old enough to be on his own, but to throw a sex club in his lap after losing his brother and father is just wrong. “I knew there was a reason I didn’t like Fredrick,” I spit out, angry for him.
Damien shows me a small smile. “You getting all feisty on me, pet?” He laughs, sitting up and kissing the bottom of my chin.
“I’m getting mad at a guy who shouldn’t have taken advantage of you. Why didn’t he run the club?”
“Oh, trust me, I’m sure he wanted to. He didn’t spend half his life being my father’s dog, just to become mine. But you have good instincts, same as me. I didn’t trust him. I wasn’t convinced he didn’t have something to do with their death to win over the seat. It took me years to drop the theory. But now, he’s learned his place. In the past few years, he’s made some poor judgments, but soon, he won’t be an issue for me.”
“Why?”
He seems to stall, unsure if he’s willing to answer my question. He looks at his watch, then stands, sticking his hand out to me. “We have to get out of here. Let’s go.” Disappointed, I take his hand, and he assists me to my feet. He doesn’t let my hand go as he directs us through the gallery. When the main door Fredrick brought me out of appears, Damien turns to me.
“I’m selling Exquisite.” My mouth drops as he continues. “I’ve been researching investors for months now. I’m done with it. I have been for years. You asked me why I had you look at the numbers? Because I wanted to see if there was a chance to salvage it. Turn it into a legit club instead of all the shit that
goes on there. I’m done with it all. I just needed a good reason to walk away.”
The way he’s looking at me, I feel like I already know the answer before I ask the question. “And what is your reason?”
“You.”
“GET ME THE DRAFT OF the contract by this afternoon. I’ll read it over and have notes for you before close of business today. Thanks, Simmons.” I hang up as I walk through the bright club, heading back to my office. My morning was spent with a group of buyers interested in Exquisite.
Since the art museum, I feel lighter. Freer. I’ve never opened up to anyone about my brother and father. How I obtained the club. There has never been a single person in my life who has triggered such purpose for me. Jensen began as a conquest, a game—a way to pass along my time being numb. She was supposed to keep me entertained, until she dulled for me, and then I’d send her on her way. Because that’s how I’ve handled women in my life. As toys to fill time. But they never could fill the emptiness inside me. Until her.
She’s young and too innocent for me, and for that, I should walk away. But I plan on keeping her close and feeding off her beauty and solace until our time together is up. Because sadly, there is an expiration date. I won’t take her away from her dreams as someone once did mine. But I also can’t stay here.
When she opened the camera, it brought back so many memories. The moment I bought it. The excitement flowing through my veins knowing all the adventures it would capture. When it got delivered to the address in Prague, I was already home. It took months for the tour to send it back to me. By the time it made it, I was already knee-deep in Exquisite. I never even opened the fucking box.
But the way her eyes lit up when she saw it, it brought me peace. I knew she would use it as I would have. And I know once our time is up and I’m done disrupting her simple life, she’ll continue to be amazing at anything she does.
I walk through the side bar and across the dance floor. I think about tonight and how I’m going to take Jensen to Navy Pier. The mental image of her sucking my cock on the Ferris wheel hardens me instantly. But the image of her face as she admires the view softens my heart. She’s going to love it. I sent her a text, telling her to meet me at the address just before dusk, and to bring the camera. I’m about to enter the private hallway when I see Fredrick talking closely with a woman.
Exquisite Taste Page 15