Emily asserted herself, testing the waters to see if I’d let her lead when she aligned me with the bed and encouraged me to sit. She wiggled her way between my thighs and forced me to spread them wider to accommodate her frame when she returned to her knees in front of me. It didn’t take her long to rectify the damage our conversation had done to my erection when she cupped my balls and stroked my cock. When my head passed those supple lips, I laid back in bliss. It was selfish and greedy, but the need to allow a woman to physically take care of me was all-consuming. My dick in her mouth removed my ability to think. It wasn’t until I heard the wrapper tearing that I realized Emily planned to fuck me, not just suck my dick.
A lazy smile spread across my face when I tried to sit up, but she pushed me back.
“Just enjoy, Bastian.”
And I did.
She rode me like I was a bull in a damn rodeo, but she didn’t get off in eight seconds. Her pussy was tight and warm, blissful. Nearing the apex, her movements got stronger, faster; she was a goddamn pro. My face flushed as my entire body tensed, my ass clenched, and every thought in my head left—the lights went out in my brain. They flicked back on when the body spasms took over, and I unloaded into the condom. She didn’t stop until I was motionless. My heart pounded, and by God, I’d never felt more relaxed and sated. I also had no clue whether she’d gotten off or just gotten me off.
Opening my eyes, I found Emily still poised on my dick. But it wasn’t her face that interested me. I focused on her red tuft of hair and her bright pink, swollen pussy. I had zero desire to get to know her, to cuddle her, or even want to see her again.
It was good.
I’d enjoyed it.
And now I just wanted to leave.
Jesus, I was a self-centered, narcissistic, prick.
When she climbed off, I assumed she went to the bathroom to clean up but was surprised when she came back with a warm washcloth. Emily removed the condom from my now-flaccid cock with practiced ease and wiped away the mess before disposing of the rubber. Out of nowhere, she reappeared with a cold bottle of water and tossed a throw over the lower half of my body before she donned a silky robe from behind the door.
She took a seat in the chair in the corner, and I tilted my head to see her from a different angle. She really was a beautiful woman.
“You’d look gorgeous on a canvas.”
Her demure smile told me she assumed it was the compliment I had intended it to be. “Do you use models? Your work doesn’t look like still life.”
“No. I don’t, but that doesn’t mean I don’t paint from inspiration. Have you seen my work?” I wouldn’t have pegged her as the art type. That was a rather narrow-minded view of someone I knew nothing about, but she just didn’t give off that vibe.
“I’ve known Ferry for a long time. A person can’t be involved in his life without knowing those he deems important.” She crossed her legs and put her hands in her lap. “So yes, I’ve seen a lot of your work. Ferry speaks very highly of your talent. He thought you were great many years ago and was saddened by your sudden flight from the community.” Emily seemed to search my expression for something, or maybe she waited for an explanation she wouldn’t receive. “But my understanding is since your return, everything about both you and your painting is completely transformed. I can’t wait to see your latest work at Le Musée on Friday.”
I sat up straight. “Ahh, shit. You’re a collector?” Nervously, I found my hand in my hair, pulling on it in frustration. This was not a good way to start the weekend.
“Bastian, really, calm down. I’m a woman who loves sex and art. They can’t be exclusive of each other, so why pretend like they are. We’re consenting adults. I’m thrilled to have shared pleasure with you as your work has shared with me over the years.”
That wasn’t a topic I cared to discuss, and I made a pathetic attempt to go a different direction. “Who’s your favorite artist?” I couldn’t get any more fucking elementary school than that unless I asked her about her favorite color.
Jesus, I just needed to get the fuck up and leave, go back to my own room. I didn’t need to have an obligatory conversation just because we’d had sex that she initiated.
I was a socially awkward moron.
She sat forward, eager to have a conversation. “Hmm…I’m really into photography, I love Ansel Adams. Kind of trite, I know, but I have a thing for clouds. His black and whites just give the sky so much depth. I get lost in them. But I love Kandinsky, Tarkay, Klimt, O’Keefe. It’s all about color for me, and yes, I realize the idiocy since I love black and white photography. There are tons of local artists around LA I follow as well. I try to make it a point to pick up an original piece any time I go on vacation. I frame some of them, but most stay wrapped in tubes.” She twisted her fingers in front of her as if she were embarrassed by her tastes or collection. “My trinkets from my travels.” Her left shoulder hitched in a bit of a shrug that I found adorable. She was nervous, and for the first time since we’d met, I had the upper hand.
“Are you involved in the art community for a living?”
She sat back, and a sort of sadness washed over her features. “No. My husband’s a very successful businessman. I don’t work.”
I spat a mouthful of water across the room. “Your what?” Wiping my lips, I tried to get a hold on the situation. “Did you say your husband?” I didn’t do married women, not that I did women period, but never those in a relationship of any sort.
“Oh, Bastian. Don’t be so naïve.” She waved me off as if I were silly. “My husband knows exactly where I am and what I’m doing. That includes you. We have a marriage of appearances. My father had what David needed. Money. Lots of money. I was never interested in men, other than the occasional playmate, and my father wanted assurance that someone would take care of me. It just so happens, David isn’t into pussy, so our marriage is beneficial for both of us. David got the money he needed when my dad invested in his ideas, I got a husband, and David got a trophy wife. Don’t get me wrong, he’s my best friend, and I love him dearly, but lovers we are not.” She raised her brows as if to indicate the idea of a physical relationship with her husband was preposterous, and my mouth just hung open.
Intrigued, it was my turn to lean in closer. “How does that work?”
“He travels a lot, and his lover is his right-hand man. They’re both very masculine, and no one suspects anything other than they’re good friends and business partners. Because he travels, I spend a lot of time with my girlfriends. It’s all very public, but no one presumes anything is awry because we truly do adore each other. We just don’t have traditional sex and aren’t in love. It works for us.” Again she shrugged, but this time with both shoulders and more pronounced. “Anyway, he knew Ferry asked me to meet with you and asked me point blank about my intentions.”
“What the hell did you tell your husband?” Shock and awe.
Laughing, she reminded me. “Well, when you’re basically a lesbian, not much. I told him I planned to help you move past the roadblock but, more specifically, to suck your dick and fuck you senseless.” Even when Emily was nude, she came across as a refined, high-class, well-bred woman; hearing suck your dick and fuck you senseless from her mouth just didn’t fit.
But God, it was hot watching her lips form the words.
We sat in silence as I contemplated the fact that I’d just fucked another man’s wife, who happened to be a lesbian, and I didn’t remember her last name. When the quiet became more than I wanted to hear, I got dressed. She too stood and helped. It was a shame she wasn’t into men—God, she certainly knew how to care for one. As she assisted me with my shirt, her robe fell open, exposing her front. Nothing in me hesitated.
Her breast was warm in my palm, firm yet soft, and her nipple hardened with my touch. Its taste was as divine as its feel when I bit her peak ever so slightly. It was the tiny gasp that passed her lips that spurred me on, not just my lips but my hands as well. As my fingers tra
ced the whelps Ferry had left on her back, her gasps became moans of approval and pleasure. Her tits were like sirens, calling me to my death in the sea. I wanted to palm them, suck them, stick my fucking dick between them. I’d nurse from this woman if she’d let me.
Finding the small of her back, my hands continued over the roundness of her ass and then between her legs into sweetness. The smell of her desire filled the room, and all I could think about was feasting on Emily. Scooping her into my arms, I laid her on her back and spread her legs wide, butterflying her milky white thighs. Her pussy was swollen, gorgeous shades of pinks and reds, smooth, silky—wet. I inhaled deeply, expanding my nostrils and my lungs with her intoxicating scent. I memorized the way she smelled right before I carved into stone the way she tasted.
There was an art to eating pussy, and anyone who said any different was a liar and likely not any good at it. I painted a masterpiece with my tongue in her folds, using the entire pallet of colors. Right before she climaxed, she handed me a condom from her robe pocket.
Without thought, I adorned my throbbing cock with the sheath and plunged into her taut cunt again, driving, owning her pussy one last time. I cradled the underside of her knees in my elbows, using her weight for leverage. Her ass came off the mattress, her back shifted endlessly with each thrust, and every slide against the sheets ignited those whelps, taking her to an entirely different plane.
But Emily was just as much in control of her destiny when she tweaked one of her nipples with her left hand, rolling the peak between her fingers and slid the other hand between her legs, trying to detonate an atomic bomb on her clit. The heat inside her cunt built, the muscles clenched, and her mouth gaped, but nothing came out, not even a whimper. When her head tilted back and her eyes rolled behind her lids, I let go, pounding into her pussy with enough force to break her. Emily’s voice finally broke, and she screamed loud enough for everyone in the house to hear. Yet instead of it stopping me, it encouraged my plunder until every last drop had released and every twitch of every muscle had stopped.
When I finished, her sweet little body was going to have a hard time standing, much less walking. Once I had stilled from the intense orgasm, I used what little energy I had remaining to pull my cock gingerly from inside her.
I didn’t try to hide the smile that rose on my lips as I stared at the space between her legs, shining with evidence of her pleasure. She had a beautiful pussy before I’d fucked her, but seeing it spent was unbelievable.
She’d given me what I needed, and I was grateful. I also knew this was the way this would end—happy and sated with nothing further. I tucked her in and kissed her forehead, thanking her for a spectacular evening. She was a sweet girl, but it was nice to know there were no expectations, no awkward exchange of phone numbers. It was one night, just enough to remind me of what I missed…not the sex but an intimate exchange, a connection.
Happiness.
Sera’s face came to mind as I walked down the hall to my room. I passed Ferry with a woman on each arm, and he jerked his chin with a shit-eating grin plastered to his lips in acknowledgment, although he said nothing.
He opened his door and escorted them in.
I closed mine simultaneously.
18
Chapter Eighteen
Wednesday and Thursday were spent at Le Musée, and thankfully, I didn’t see much of Ferry either night. The sounds that came from his room, however, indicated he wasn’t alone. Although, by morning, there was no sign of a visitor. I, on the other hand, was so beat by the time we finished the work we had come to New York for that I could barely make it through dinner without crashing. Ferry was older than I was, and I had no idea how he managed to keep the hours he did. I’d felt drugged for days and hadn’t been able to recover from the sexual overdose with Emily.
Nate had sent me a text late Thursday night to let me know he’d arrived, but I was asleep by the time it came through. He’d blown up my phone today, but I hadn’t had time to call him back. I assumed he was bored with Sera and wanted someone to listen to him bitch. If it were really important, he knew where to find me. Since he hadn’t shown up, there was no real cause for concern.
I slept in before calling a cab to go to Le Musée. I wasn’t scheduled to be there, but I wanted to see if they needed anything before opening tonight. When I got there, Ferry wasn’t around, which seemed to please the staff, and I couldn’t deny I delighted in the time without him myself. He was draining, and I just didn’t have the energy to deal with the man.
Aaron allowed me to help, but by midafternoon, he shooed me out the door to go back to Shawn’s to shower and change for the opening.
Butterflies took flight in my stomach right before I felt like I was going to vomit. I’d hadn’t felt this level of anxiety in years—anticipation might be a better word. Nerves, excitement, eagerness, hope—it all wrapped up into a ball of emotion that rolled in my stomach until the limo arrived.
I had left without Ferry and arrived the same way. Manhattan traffic had made me fashionably late, and I noticed Aaron’s sigh of relief when I walked through the door. Our eyes met, and his feet traveled my direction.
He kissed my cheeks, and on the second one, practically hissed in my ear, keeping his voice low enough that no one would hear other than me. “Where’s Ferry?”
I pulled back a fraction and kept a smile up to feign the delight Aaron had as well. “No idea. I haven’t seen him since yesterday afternoon when we left here. You haven’t heard from him?”
“Not a peep.” He managed to continue smiling and talking, although his eyes were dark and unhappy. “I realize he does what he does, but this is highly unprofessional.” His accent kept his words from sounding harsh.
I ran a hand through my hair, feeling like shit for causing Aaron undue stress. “The traffic was a nightmare, man. I’m sorry I was late. I’m sure he’ll be here soon.”
“Bastian, you’re driver called the office to let us know where you were. No one has heard from Ferry. The last anyone knows, he left a bar with a woman last night.”
That was rather meaningless when it came to Ferry. “I’d ask if anyone has a description of the woman, but it wouldn’t matter. Ferry never goes home with the same one twice. Did anyone know the girl?”
“Not that I can discern. Shawn was with him, but he wasn’t familiar with her.”
I gave Aaron a encouraging pat on the shoulder and didn’t ask how he knew Shawn. “Don’t worry, Aaron. He’ll be here.” It was true; I believed Ferry pushed the limits with his arrogance, but he wouldn’t miss an opening. His photography meant to much to him. “Why don’t you introduce me to some of your guests?”
“Ahh, yes, that would be a good idea.” In the blink of an eye, Aaron shifted gears and one by one introduced me to everyone in the room.
Every person here had received an invitation to attend a gallery event for another artist, yet they each seemed grateful for the one-on-one attention they got from Aaron and me. I’d morphed into a man I didn’t recognize, leaving my insecure persona behind. Even I was stunned by my ability to be charming, charismatic, and engaging. I was typically awkward and gangly, but when I started talking about art—mine or anyone else’s—I came alive these days. I sold Ferry’s work as much as my own, and if there had been anyone else here, I would have worked the room for them, too. Having been intricately involved in a lot of Ferry’s shoots in the last few months, I knew where they’d been taken, the event, the mood, everything Ferry should have been doing for himself...if he were here.
He was not.
Two hours later and well beyond fashionably late, Ferry strolled in the door around nine. As soon as I saw him through the window of the gallery, I recognized boiling anger, brewing on the verge of explosion. But he’d cleared away every indication before he stepped inside.
And the moment he crossed the threshold, he stole the show. He was a huge man and had an even larger personality to match. He was an artist in more ways than one; his theatr
ical performance tonight would have won him an Academy Award.
When I caught a glimpse of Aaron, I saw the frustration still hidden in his eyes, but there wasn’t a speck of it on his face. He was affable, collected. I’d like to think Ferry would be the worst artist he dealt with, but somehow, I doubted it.
Ferry worked from the door through the crowd to me, where I talked to a patron whose name I couldn’t remember. Thankfully, the guy was so eager to introduce himself, I wasn’t put in a position to admit I’d forgotten our own introduction.
After cordial conversation and the man excusing himself to get a drink, I pulled Ferry to the side. “Where the hell were you? Do you have any idea how pissed off Aaron is?”
He waved his hand in indifference, dismissing me, effectively ticking me off as well. “He’s fine. We’re here making him money. He doesn’t always call the shots. Don’t worry so much, Bastian.” His attitude never ended.
“It’s just disrespectful. There are a lot of people here to see and mingle with you, and you show up two hours late? Without so much as a phone call.”
His eyes narrowed and darkened. “I don’t answer to you, either, Bastian. You worry about you. I do just fine on my own. I’ve been doing this for years and never needed a keeper.”
I didn’t bother to respond. Ferry was callous and didn’t give a shit that what he did for this show reflected on me as much as himself, but it was the last time I would associate with Ferry publicly. With my frustration threatening to boil over, I excused myself, only to find myself face to face with Emily.
Wow.
I’d thought she was beautiful without clothes on, but she was breathtaking with them. Her gown was a perfect match for her skin tone and hair, deep-green velvet, bead-encrusted lace with cap sleeves that accentuated her long neck and lean shoulders. My eyes roamed each hugged curve from shoulder to waist. My gaze lifted again as the light reflected off the diamonds on her neck and ears. Everything about her was flawless and put together. And then when she leaned in to kiss my cheek, I realized she was on the arm of a man I hadn’t met who extended his hand in greeting.
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