by C. C. Snow
“Damn, baby. Are you sure you won’t come back with me?” he asked, panting into my neck.
I forced a laugh and pushed at his shoulders. “Good night. I’ll see you tomorrow.”
“Love you,” he said softly, kissing me one more time before easing back.
“Love you too,” I said, my chest hot and tight.
Chapter 17
“Hmm...” Jan squinted at the next image.
My heart sank as he went through each new photograph with a look of boredom on his face. He started to speedily flip through the files on my online album and I took a step back, feeling like an utter failure. I wasn’t expecting gushing praise, but I thought I had made some improvements since the last time I came.
Three weeks ago, Jan had returned my call, inviting me to visit his studio. I had been floored when he told me he liked my work.
“Your concept is strong, but your technical skills are lacking,” Jan had said baldly and pointed out the flaws in the image.
None of the criticism could burst the bubble of euphoria surrounding me at that point.
“Let me see your camera.” He spent the next hour showing me some of the functions I could use to improve my shots.
“Thank you so much, Jan. I can’t tell you how much I appreciate your advice and time.”
“You’re welcome, Elle. I’m flying out to Zambia next week, but when I come back, I’d love to see what you’ve done.”
“Really?”
“Yes. You have a lot of talent.”
I had floated on cloud nine for weeks.
Ready to burst with excitement, I told Ethan about my photography and as expected, my best friend was stalwartly supportive.
Ethan had looked through my work and declared, “Wow, honey. You’re really good.”
“You have to say that. You’re my friend,” I said. It was why I didn’t tell Troy about my hobby. It was a stupid thing to keep from him, but he knew his art and I didn’t want him to feel obligated to tell me he liked my work because I was his girlfriend.
Now, at seeing the disinterested look on Jan’s face, I fell to earth with a mortifying splat.
I scanned Jan’s huge workspace. Expensive lighting equipment I couldn’t identify littered the cavernous space. My best friend had accompanied me today and was following Jan’s assistant, Aaron, around, peppering him with questions. From the flirtatious looks they were exchanging, I’d bet Ethan was going to get his number before we left. By mutual agreement, he and Blake had broken up a month ago and I was glad he was getting back in the saddle.
“Now, these are very good,” Jan said, bringing my attention back to him.
I looked at the screen and saw the photos I had taken of a woman I met in the park last week. Heavily bundled in an old, but clean winter coat, she sat on a wooden bench with her gloved hands folded on her lap and her ankles crossed. Her cheeks were wind-roughened and her black, button eyes stared off into the distance. She had a zaftig frame, but her expression had been indescribably fragile. It was the contrast that had drawn me to her.
“You really think so?” I asked.
Jan nodded, toggling between a few images. “Yes. They could be better technically.” He pointed out some issues with the way I focused the camera. “But the essence of it is lovely. You can sense the isolation and loneliness from her.”
Confidence sparked in me. That had been exactly what I wanted to capture with my camera. “That’s Rhonda. Her son died in that park ten years ago when he was shot by a mugger. She goes there on the anniversary of his death.” I felt my eyes well up, remembering the sorrow emanating from the still-grieving mother.
Jan spun around in his chair and studied me. “Elle, most of your work is decent, but your portraits of people like Charlie and Rhonda are extraordinary. They draw the viewer in. Every artist has a signature style and I think you’ve found yours. It’s rare for someone as young as you are to find her voice, but you have an affinity for people who have been hurt deeply by life.” He tapped the screen. “I’m going to send some of these images to Terrence Slaughter to see if he’s interested.”
My eyes widened to the size of dinner platters. “Terrence Slaughter of West Side Gallery?” I asked, naming one of the most renowned contemporary art galleries in the city.
With a small smile, Jan nodded. “I’m not promising you anything, but these should be shared with the world. Terrence has a reputation for launching new artists. He took a chance on me twenty years ago. I wouldn’t be surprised if he offers you a small show. Regardless, I encourage you to go out and keep taking photos of people. If nothing else, you will gain more experience.”
My ears stopped working after he mentioned the possibility of a show. All I could hear were his words playing in a constant loop in my head.
When we left, I spontaneously gave Jan a hug and thanked him profusely. Even if the gallery owner were not interested in my work, I was immensely grateful for Jan’s mentorship.
Ethan and I left the studio to walk to the El station. We timed it perfectly and the train pulled up within minutes. We sat opposite each other in the nearly empty car.
“That’s amazing, Elle.” Ethan gave me a congratulatory high-five when I told him about Jan’s offer. “This could be the start of something huge for you.”
“I’m not going to get ahead of myself,” I said, caution dampening my enthusiasm. “It hasn’t happened yet, but I’m flattered he thinks my stuff is good enough to show someone like Terrence Slaughter.”
“Well, if the guy doesn’t offer to give you a show, he must be blind,” he said with a bulldog expression.
“Thanks, babe. I appreciate the support.” I smiled in gratitude and nudged his foot with mine. “Did you get Aaron’s number?”
“We’re meeting for drinks tomorrow night,” he said with a cat-ate-the-canary smile.
“Good for you.” Grinning, I leaned over to give him a high-five and my phone chirped in my back pocket. Pulling it out, I read Troy’s text.
Baby, you done yet?
I tapped to start a reply, but after a long moment, I sighed and exited out of the application. I wanted to see him, but I wasn’t sure if I was ready to. I hardly slept a wink last night, turning my dilemma over in my head, but I was no closer to a solution when I stared at my puffy-eyed reflection this morning.
Would he turn away from me in disgust if I told him? If I didn’t tell him, would my past hang over my head like the sword of Damocles?
“Honey, why the long face?” Ethan asked, moving to sit next to me.
I stuffed my phone back into my pocket and told him about last night. “Ethan, I don’t know what to do. What if I told him and he hates me? I don’t want to lose him,” I said, expressing my worst fear. My gut coiled with tension.
“Pfft.” He waved his hand. “That man is incapable of hating you. He is so far gone over you, it’s sickening.”
“So you think I should tell him?”
Ethan turned his gaze toward the moving scenery and slowly shook his head. “Normally I’d be the first to advocate for total transparency, but in this case, I don’t think you should borrow trouble. That hunky boyfriend of yours already told you he doesn’t care about your past. He already knows you and Carter had a relationship, so it’s not like you are trying to hide anything.”
“But Troy doesn’t know that Carter already had a girlfriend when…” I couldn’t even finish the sentence, my throat clogged by self-recrimination.
Ethan wrapped an arm around my shoulders and squeezed. “Honey, let it go. So a silver-tongued devil led you down the path of sin. You’re not the first person to have strayed from the path of the righteous.”
I pulled back to look at him. “Oh my God, you sound like a preacher.”
He grinned ruefully and admitted, “I told you my parents were religious.” Sobering, he said, “Elle, you can tell Troy if you want, but do you really want to risk tainting your relationship? You and I both know you would never cheat on Troy. This i
s like a wife admitting to her husband on their first anniversary that she had a lesbian experience in high school. It’s irrelevant.”
“Except in that case, the husband would want a blow-by-blow account,” I said dryly.
Ethan chuckled and wrinkled his nose. “Okay, bad example. I keep forgetting how perverted straight people are.”
At his quip, all I could manage was a weak smile. “I don’t know…”
“Honey, do what you think is best, but you need to remember you’re not that girl from three years ago, desperate to find love and validation. Gabrielle is dead and Elle rose out of her ashes.”
“You still sound like you’re giving a sermon.” But Ethan’s advice had loosened the knot in my stomach. Maybe he was right. “You really think I’m making too much out of this?”
“Hell yeah, honey. You’re entitled to being dumb once in your life. Doesn’t mean you have to pay for it for the rest of your life. You’re happy with your hunk-o-love and you deserve it.”
Relief saturating me, I threw my arms around Ethan. I had been punishing myself for two years. Maybe I had paid my dues. It was time to put away the past once and for all. “Thanks, Ethan. I love you so much.”
“I love you too.”
I took out my phone and let Troy know I was going straight to his apartment.
“Elle, are you going to tell Troy about your photography?”
I thought about it for a moment and shook my head. “Maybe after I hear from Terrence Slaughter. I’d be too embarrassed if I mentioned this to Troy and then nothing came of it.”
“Okay. I won’t say a word.” Ethan made a zipping motion over his lips with two fingers.
Ten minutes later, he got off at the station near our place, but I continued to ride the train until I could transfer to the red line. When I got off at Grand, there was an extra spring in my step as I walked to the beautiful Art Deco building Troy lived in.
I waved to Gerald at the security desk and scanned my key to get to the penthouse. The day after we had gone to the bluegrass concert, Troy had given me a key to his apartment, but this was the first time I used it.
The doors slid open and I stepped out. Like a magnet to iron, my eyes immediately found Troy. He was standing in the kitchen, his hip leaning against the marble counter. He was dressed in low-slung, grey sweatpants and a tight, blue tee that showed off the width of his shoulders. The man was pure eye-candy.
Putting my jacket on the sofa, I padded softly toward him.
He tensed momentarily when he felt my hands curl around his waist, but his muscles loosened in the next second. My fingers burrowed under his t-shirt.
“Hey, baby,” I said, pressing my face into the spot where his shoulder blades met and inhaling his scent. Warm man and Tide detergent.
“Hey yourself,” he said and placed his coffee mug on the counter.
He started to turn around, but I tightened my grip. My hands slowly glided down his washboard stomach, relishing each ridge, and snuck underneath his waistband. With my ear against his back, I heard his heart rate increase and smiled. I felt the front of his pants move and knew he was getting hard. I loved how he made me feel sexy and desired every second we were together. Tracing a hand along the silky trail of hair leading from his belly button, I pushed his sweats a few inches lower and a deep groan filled the kitchen.
“I missed you last night. Did you miss me?” I asked just as my fingertips encountered the slick head of his cock.
“What do you think?” He flexed his hips into my touch.
“Poor baby,” I crooned, clasping his engorged shaft in a fist and stroking his wet crown. The veins in his cock throbbed against my palm. “Was it a hard night?”
His laughter rang out at the dirty pun I had borrowed from him. Yanking my hand out of his pants, he spun around and covered my mouth, giving me a knee-weakening, panty-melting kiss. I felt us moving backward and then my butt hit the edge of what I was certain was the kitchen table.
“Bedroom,” I panted into his mouth.
“Can’t wait,” he grated out, starting to undo my pants.
God, to know he was so hot for me he couldn’t make it to his bed made my sex instantly wet.
My hands pulled and pushed at his tee and finally managed to tug it over his head. Flattening my palms, I caressed his hot skin.
Breathing heavily, Troy pulled my jeans and panties off my legs. Then he yanked my sweater of my head and removed my bra. As he lowered my back onto the mahogany table, I heard something clatter to the ground.
My cry echoed in the kitchen as he sucked my nipple into his mouth. He knew exactly how much pressure to exert to blank my mind. As he switched sides, he sunk two thick fingers into my pussy and I clamped down helplessly.
“Christ, you always feel wet and soft, baby,” he whispered and moved his fingers.
“Please,” I begged in a voice I couldn’t recognize as my own. I was already so turned on, I could hear how wet I was. My legs curved around his hips and pulled him close.
Straightening, Troy’s eyes immediately went to my core and I shuddered at the hunger that flared in his eyes as he watched his fingers fucking me.
It felt amazing, but I needed the most primitive connection with him. After a night of torturous thoughts of losing him chasing around in my head, I was clamoring to join our bodies, to take him so deeply into me, I wouldn’t know where we began and ended. “Troy, I need you. I need your cock in me.”
He made a brusque sound in his chest and withdrew his fingers, curling the tips and dragging it against sensitive nerve endings.
Of their own volition, my hips tilted, reluctant to lose his touch.
“Shh...I’ll take care of you, baby,” he said, making me realize I had mewled in discontent when his fingers pulled out of my pussy.
Troy pushed his waistband past his hips and I raised myself on my elbows, eager to see him. His thick cock sprung forward and I unconsciously widened my legs. Aiming his crown at my opening, he swiveled his hips, teasing the ring of muscles and making me gush with wetness.
“Do you know how sexy you are, baby?” he asked, never taking his eyes off of my sex.
I was incapable of answering as I felt him sink a few inches into me. I always loved those first moments of penetration, when he felt almost too big for me, stretching my walls. But watching him do it, watching him slide into my body, was indescribably erotic. Intimate.
My vagina clenched and Troy grunted, “Jesus,” before slamming his full length into me, sending his shaft so deep I swore I felt it in my womb. The nest of curls at the base of his cock rasped against my clit.
I lost my strength in my arms and fell back, my hands limp and useless sat my sides. Troy braced his hands on the table, spreading my thighs to either side of his arms.
“Hang on tight, baby,” he said and started to thrust into me, lunging deep, setting a relentless rhythm. The skin on my back started to burn, but it felt to good to stop. The earthy sounds and smell of sex filled the room, making us more frenzied, more desperate.
My sense of time became elastic as he pushed my body to its limits and dragged an orgasm out of me. I rambled incoherently, sometimes calling his name, sometimes demanding he fuck me harder.
Both of our bodies sheened with sweat as he rode me hard and I felt a massive climax on the horizon.
“Troy, come in me,” I pleaded, lifting my ankles to his shoulders, almost folding my body in half. The position made my flesh tighten around him and he groaned, his movements becoming erratic.
“Jesus. Baby, I love you,” he said, his eyes searing me.
His words were the match to a powder keg and I tossed my head back and exploded. I lost control of my muscles, spasming as if I had been electrocuted. It felt like my skin couldn’t possibly contain all the sensations slamming into me and I was going to split apart.
I heard Troy shout my name and shudder. The blast of his hot come made my insides clench and we moaned as exquisite pleasure overtook us. My bl
urry vision latched onto his face, relishing how passion had pulled his cheeks taut, made his eyes hazy.
One thought floated through my mind: I, Elle Lazzaro, had put that expression on his face.
After long moments, he collapsed on top of me, his head between my breasts, his breaths wheezing out of his chest.
“I love you,” I whispered. My heart brimming with happiness, I wrapped my arms around his neck.
I felt a soft kiss on my breast. He raised his head, resting his chin on my sternum. Blue-green eyes glinted with satisfaction. “Love you too, baby. I love you so damn much.”
Chapter 18
“So what’s your boyfriend like?” Gwen asked, leaning eagerly into the camera.
My half-sister was even more beautiful now than she was two years ago. Her hair, the color of corn silk, fell in thick curls past her shoulders. Her blue eyes were the color of a summer sky, with thick, pale lashes. Her face, once chubby and pink, had lost the last of its baby fat. There were echoes of the porcelain doll when she held still, but Gwen was always on the move, her hands moving rapidly, her expression animated. We used to joke that she was the one with Italian blood in her.
We had started video chatting about a month ago and it felt…right to reconnect with her.
A smile of contentment stretched my lips at the thought of Troy. “Hot. Patient. Generous. Funny. Incorrigible. Did I mention hot?”
She let out a little sigh. “He sounds dreamy.”
“He is. How about you? Any boyfriends?”
Gwen’s face twisted comically. “No. Boys are lame. They’re only after one thing.”
Fighting a grin, I said, “Uh-oh. Aren’t you too young to be so jaded?”
“Not jaded. Wise.”
I laughed at her superior tone. “If you say so.”
She made a familiar wriggling motion in her seat and I knew she was nervous about something. My half-sister had a hard time hiding anything from me.
“What’s up, Gwen?” I asked.