by Ronica Black
“I want you to,” Johnnie said. “I don’t want you to stop. That is, as long as you’re willing.”
The woman didn’t speak and her hand went to her necklace. “I will help you any way I can.”
“Thank you. I know it isn’t easy for you with me.”
“How do you mean?”
Johnnie looked up at her. “Nothing, never mind.”
For the first time, the woman looked vulnerable, exposed. She busied herself with paperwork on her desk.
“I think that’s enough for today.”
Johnnie stood.
“I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable.”
She offered a smile. “I’m fine. Quit worrying.”
Johnnie stood still, and waited. When the woman stopped, she looked over at her and appeared to try desperately for something to say. “See me next week,” she said. “Tell Julia—”
“I need to see you sooner than that,” Johnnie said.
The woman looked taken aback.
“If that’s okay with you.”
“I—check with Julia. If I’m available, that’s fine.”
Johnnie nodded.
“Any advice for tonight? Like go feel these feelings?”
The woman stared at her. Again, she seemed to be at a loss for words. “Yes, Johnnie. I think you should go home and feel. Think about today and see where it leads you.”
She walked slowly to the door and quietly pulled it open.
She gave Johnnie a reassuring smile. But Johnnie wasn’t sure if she was trying to reassure Johnnie or herself.
Chapter Seventeen
Elaine sat in her overstuffed chair, staring into the candlelight. Her glass of scotch was half empty and about to slip from her hand. Vocal jazz from the fifties and sixties played on a loop in the background. She had the vinyls of nearly all of them, but she was too drunk and too tired to rise and choose them. So instead she allowed Pandora to do the work for her. Save for the music, her home was quiet, alive and breathing only by sporadic candlelight. It had been three days since she’d last seen Johnnie, and she’d done her best to keep her from her mind. Scotch, books, music, magazines, shopping. None of it helped. And Michael again suggested she end the sessions for her own sanity. Especially after she’d confessed what had happened at their latest session.
But Elaine wasn’t a quitter and she wasn’t ready to date. If she ended the sessions, there would be nothing stopping her from seeing her, feeling her, kissing her. They’d get lost in erotic bliss. She knew it.
And as tempting as that bliss was, it was dangerous and often led to more. Something she couldn’t afford. Not now, not ever. She placed her scotch on the end table and looked down at the photograph. She thumbed the image as a tear slipped down her face.
Barb had been gone for five years now. Five years that felt like a mere blink of an eye. The pain of her loss had not faded, not even a little. It stabbed at her, ate away her insides. So much so that she often woke at night curled in a ball, crying in pain. She couldn’t feel like that again. Lose like that again.
She was coming dangerously close with Johnnie. She could feel it. She hadn’t been that aroused since Barb, and yet she’d kept going, telling her to remove her shirt and bra. Mentally touching her. She’d nearly climaxed from that alone. And something else was happening. Johnnie was reading her somehow. Pegging her thoughts and feelings. Putting her on the spot. Could Johnnie really be that sensitive? She’d known someone like that, one of Barb’s old friends. But she’d never experienced it herself.
She placed the photo of Barb next to the glass of scotch. She rose and allowed her heart rate to catch up with her movement. She tightened her satin robe and headed for the kitchen, but the doorbell stopped her movement. It was a little after nine, and she knew Michael wouldn’t call this late. She crossed to the door and looked out the peephole. Sighing, she unlocked the door and pulled it open.
“Hi,” Kyle said, hands in pockets, tank top and jeans damp with rain that pattered in the background.
“What are you doing here?” Elaine leaned against the door, upset, but only a little. She reminded her too much of Johnnie to get angry. In fact, if she allowed her swirling thoughts to blur, she could imagine it was Johnnie.
“I was in the neighborhood; thought I would see how you were.”
“In the neighborhood?” Her community was gated, hardly a place where one would drive casually by.
“I’m not a stalker, I swear. I just—I followed someone in and saw your lights on.”
“You know this is unacceptable.”
“Yes.”
“You can’t do this again.”
“No.”
“You can come in, but only for a minute.”
Elaine pushed open the door and allowed her entry. She could smell the rain on her wet skin. It fueled the fire she’d tried to drink away.
“The living room,” Elaine said.
Kyle stepped inside. “Should I take off my shoes?”
“Please.”
Elaine locked the door and breezed by her. She waited for her in the center of the Aztec rug. Kyle removed her shoes and approached slowly.
“How have you been?” she asked.
“I don’t want you to talk,” Elaine said.
Kyle didn’t even blink. “Okay.”
“Stand in front of me.”
Kyle stood in front of her. Elaine leaned into her, hoping for the cologne that Johnnie had worn. But she smelled only rain. She put her mouth to her ear. “Take off your shirt.”
Kyle swept her shirt up over her head. Elaine took it and tossed it to the floor. “Now your bra.”
Kyle began to reach back for the hook, but Elaine stopped her. “Ask for help.”
Kyle paused. “Can you help?”
Elaine pushed away her hands and unhooked the bra. She brought it forward and off her shoulders and tossed it to the floor.
“Now,” she said, growing excited. “Take my hands and touch yourself.”
Kyle took her hands and guided them softly up and down her torso to just below her breasts, then she moved them across her firming nipples causing her to moan.
Elaine gasped for breath, leaned in, and nibbled her ear. “Show me how you want me to pinch your nipples.”
Kyle slid her fingers alongside her gathered flesh and pinched and tugged. It caused her legs to buckle, and Elaine had to help her remain upright.
“Like that? You want it like that?”
Kyle breathed, “Yes.”
Elaine moved her hands slowly up to her full breasts. She felt the puckering, the gathering of her nerves. She ran her fingertips across them, heard her moan, and then pinched as Kyle had done, causing her to cry out.
“Yes,” Elaine said into her ear. “Tell me, does that make you wet?”
“Yes. So wet.”
Elaine teased her like that several more times, grazing and then pinching. When she tugged her, she bit softly into her neck.
Kyle cried out again and again.
“Do you want to come?” Elaine asked.
Kyle gripped her hands, chest heaving. “Yes.”
“How badly?” Elaine closed her eyes, imagined Johnnie beneath her hands, rocking back into her.
“Bad. So bad it hurts.”
Elaine licked the damp rain and sweat from her neck. “Good. Now undo your jeans, slip your hand in, and stroke yourself.”
Kyle hurriedly unbuttoned her jeans, slid her hand into her underwear, and groaned as she found her flesh.
“Oh fuck,” she said as she leaned back into Elaine. “I’m so hard.”
“And slick.”
“Yes.”
Elaine toyed with her nipples and continued nibbling her neck. “I want you to get off. Right here, right now, with my hands playing you.”
Kyle moved her hand quicker, strained her body as she closed her eyes and stroked.
“That’s it. Feel good, baby. Let it all in and then let it all go.”
Kyle
bucked wildly, and Elaine tugged hard on her nipples. She went over in a series of cries and fits with Elaine holding fast to her. Elaine closed her eyes and moved her hand downward where she grabbed Kyle’s wrist, pulling her hand away. Then she sank her own hand into her underwear and felt her hot slick folds for herself. She groaned and Kyle spasmed.
Elaine stood like that for a long while, holding her close, feeling her flesh pulse. Then she opened her eyes and gently pulled away. Kyle, still breathless, turned to look at her.
“Can I touch you?” she asked softly.
Elaine looked away. She sat in her chair and sipped her scotch.
Kyle busied herself dressing. “You want me to go,” she said, coming to stand before her, buttoning her jeans.
“Please.”
Kyle nodded. She moved toward the door.
“Please lock it on your way out,” Elaine said.
She heard Kyle slip into her shoes and then open and shut the door. Above the house, thunder rolled, and Elaine grabbed the photo of Barb, slid down farther into the chair, and thumbed up the volume on her speaker.
Would the pain ever go away?
Chapter Eighteen
Johnnie slowly pulled herself from her dream state to answer the phone after several rings.
“Yeah. Hello.”
“Is this Riot?”
Johnnie grabbed her head and sat up. “Yes.” Her clock radio said it was after ten.
“Your practitioner wishes to meet at a different location today.”
Johnnie’s mind fought to wake and register the words. “Okay, where?”
“She prefers that you meet where you paint.”
Johnnie swung her bare legs over the side of the bed. “Yeah, I don’t think I can make that happen.” She had four paintings of the woman now.
“She would like to see where you work.”
“I just—” Fuck, what was she going to do?
“Do you have an address for me to give her?”
She would have to hide the paintings. Johnnie stood and gave her the address to the studio, then she jumped in the shower. After debating several outfits, she settled for a light pink tight tee and khaki cargo pants. She ran pomade through her hair, sprayed on her cologne, and headed out. She was anxious about the woman seeing the studio. She wasn’t exactly an organized artist. She had several works started and off to the side. Stacks of finished canvases she wasn’t happy with. Sketches. Old furniture she refused to get rid of. It wasn’t exactly impressive.
When she pulled up to the plaza of office spaces for rent, she killed her engine and failed to notice that there was a person sitting in the sedan next to her. She nearly jumped out of her skin when he spoke.
“You’re late,” Jim said as he crawled from his BMW. “Good news is it isn’t raining.” He looked up at the sky as if to be sure.
“Jim, hi.” Johnnie tried to act casual, but she was frazzled and surprised.
He looked at her and smiled a knowing smile. “You forgot didn’t you?”
She held out her hands. “Sorry.”
He joined her by the glass door. “Don’t worry about it. You always were a bit absent-minded.”
“Afraid so,” she said, unlocking the door and allowing him to enter first. The smell of paint and turpentine and dry wall dust assaulted them, and Johnnie at once relaxed. Jim headed straight back to the large room with the big windows where she worked. He was on a mission and a longtime friend. She’d let him move in if he asked.
She grabbed a chilled bottle of iced tea from her old fridge. She cracked it open and found him in front of her latest, arms crossed, a pleased look on his face.
“You were right. She’s a stunner.” His jaw flexed just as it did every time he examined her work. His mind was jumping with possibilities. He took a step back, eyes still trained on the painting. “The others?”
Johnnie crossed to the far wall and uncovered the other three. Jim moved to help her and they placed them all on easels. He crossed his arms again and stood in silence.
“You know I have a Brazilian collector who would kill for these.”
Johnnie sank onto a nearby stool. “They aren’t for sale.”
Jim paid her no mind and kept examining the paintings. “He would want them all and any more if you painted her again. He has a thing for dark haired beauties. An obsession of sorts.”
“She doesn’t know these exist.”
“So tell her. Show her.”
“Say I do. I doubt she would want some strange man drooling over her every day.”
He laughed. “A woman that looks like that. She’s heard it all before.”
“I can’t.” She moved away and sipped her tea.
Jim finally turned away from the paintings. “It’s personal?”
Johnnie nodded.
“Are you in love with her?”
She gave him a look, letting him know he’d gone too far.
He let it go. “Do you have anything else?”
“Nothing new. Just what’s against the wall there.”
He moved along the wall, lifting canvas after canvas. “I’m having my spring show soon. And as always, I want you in it.” He lowered a canvas and met her gaze. “Those would be perfect.”
“I can’t.”
“Tell me you’ll think about it.”
She sighed.
“Johnnie, I know you need the money.”
“Some things are more valuable than money.”
He stared at her. “You are in love with her.”
Johnnie heated. “Jim, I’m just simply not going to sell this woman’s image without her knowing.”
“So tell her! My God, she’ll be flattered. Who wouldn’t?”
Johnnie shook her head. “It’s not that simple.”
“Make it simple.”
He retrieved his phone and silenced a call, then walked toward her. “Johnnie, these are good. Very different for you. You’re popular right now among collectors. You have to take advantage now.”
She knew he was right. But so was she.
He lightly held her elbow and kissed her cheek. “I have to go. I’ll call you soon.”
Jim had been very good to her. He’d plucked her out of oblivion, showing her work in his gallery, which in turn got her off the street. He was always eager to see her work, eager to keep her secure in her lifestyle. Money meant more to him than it did to her, but she accepted him for who he was. And he her.
She remained sitting on the stool as he left. She studied the paintings and finished her tea. When her back ached from sitting, she stood and turned. The woman was standing behind her, face slack with shock and surprise.
Chapter Nineteen
Johnnie jerked and covered her heart with her hand.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t know anyone was here.” She began to panic; the woman’s eyes were trained on the paintings.
“I’m a bit early,” she said softly.
Johnnie moved quickly and began covering the paintings.
“No, don’t.”
Johnnie stopped. The woman came closer. “Let me see.”
Johnnie removed the covers. The woman reached out as if to touch her own image, but her fingers hovered above the paint.
“This is what you’ve been painting,” she said.
Johnnie burned. “Yes.”
“And this is what you didn’t want to tell me.”
Johnnie closed her eyes. “Yes.”
The woman moved from image to image, thoroughly examining each one. She was silent and her green eyes were large and liquid. Johnnie noted her shuddering breath, the mark of heat along her cheekbones. She was moved. And the realization sent Johnnie’s heart rate into overdrive.
Finally, the woman spoke. “We need to leave now. We need to go somewhere with—people.”
“You’re not upset are you?”
The woman wouldn’t look at her. “Can you drive? I need to sit.”
Johnnie quickly covered the canvases and led the wa
y out of the studio. She locked the door behind them and opened her truck door for the woman. They rode in silence, and Johnnie didn’t pry. It was obvious the woman was dealing with emotions, sorting her thoughts.
Johnnie wanted to apologize, to offer to give her the paintings, to promise to never paint another one of her image. But she knew it wasn’t the time. The woman was fragile now, vulnerable, and she’d never seen her like this. She didn’t want to add to her burden in any way.
“There’s a small café up ahead,” she said. “Pull in there.”
Johnnie found the café and pulled in to park. They sat in the cab for a moment before the woman finally opened the door. She looked a bit pale, and Johnnie walked with her inside and sat opposite her in a back booth.
She ordered coffee with cream, no sugar. Johnnie had another iced tea.
When the woman finally looked at her, she breathed deeply and tried to smile. Her confident pose was trying to return, but Johnnie could tell it wasn’t easy for her.
“The paintings are beautiful,” she said, though her voice wasn’t strong. “I’m not upset in any way. In fact, I’m moved. Moved beyond words.”
Johnnie wasn’t sure what to say. “Would you like to have them?”
She laughed and it reached her eyes. Johnnie was mesmerized.
“Absolutely not. What on earth would I do with them?”
Johnnie shrugged. “Give them to someone special. I’m sure they would love them.”
The woman lowered her eyes and sipped her coffee nervously. Johnnie reached for her hand but stopped herself.
“I’m sorry, I didn’t—”
“You’re fine.” She stared out the window. “I think it best if we talk here today.”
Johnnie searched her face. She could sense her emotion, her growing feelings. The paintings had touched her deeply. Just as they had Johnnie.
“I understand. I couldn’t do what you do and not—have feelings.”
“Actually, it’s quite easy. You just surprised me is all. I’ve never had a client paint me before.” She looked at her. “And I couldn’t do what you do—feeling everything.”
Johnnie laughed and then grew serious. “Yeah, well I don’t wish it on anyone.”