Enticing An Angel

by Leo Charles Taylor

  Michael had to refrain from laughing yet again as this serious woman stood sternly in front of him. He had to look at her barefoot feet to see if she was tapping one of them; she was not. However, she was determined, and he just smiled and obediently went to the floor.

  "I'm not much of a dancer," he said.

  "Most men aren't," she replied. "But look at it this way. It might be the only time you get to grab my ass."

  Michael shrugged his shoulders as if to say, good point. He then turned into her body cautiously, unsure what she wanted.

  "It's okay, you can hold me, Mr. Angel," she said as she put her arms out and waited for him to take her. When he held her lightly, she gave him a curious look.

  "Are you French?" she asked.

  Michael was confused and had to shake his head.

  "Then hold me like a man," she demanded.

  Michael smiled and chuckled at the same time. He pulled away for a second and then retook her in his arms. His left hand took her right and his right arm went around her body pulling her into him so tightly that his groin ground against her frame. He was uncertain if she would be offended, but she allayed his fears quickly.

  "That's better," she said as she began to move with him. When his erection became noticeable, she just smiled and ground into him all the more.

  "See, you can dance," she said.

  Michael moved disjointedly, but Melanie kept him close and forced their motions to be small and controlled. When the music changed, she taught him a quick line dance and made certain to laugh as he fought to move his feet. Her smile grew even larger when they were joined on the dance floor by women who were also more proficient at the dance than he was. Eventually she took pity on him and led him away from the floor.

  "You were very brave, Mr. Angel," she said as they left the bar.

  "Thank you," he replied. "Dancing is certainly not my strong suit."

  "I know," Melanie responded with a wicked smile. "But it was amusing. Besides, I think people should experience new things. It makes us more imaginative."

  "I don't think I got a lot of imagination out of that experience."

  "Oh, really? I think that hard-on would disagree with you. You seemed to be imagining all kinds of things," she teased him.

  Michael should have felt embarrassed as he watched the woman leading him down the street, but he didn’t. Instead, he smiled, took her hand as if they were dancing, and twirled her as they moved along the sidewalk. Melanie smiled in return and darted her eyebrows up and down in a show of sexual excitement.

  It wasn’t long before she led him to a very old dark-red bricked building. It must have been a warehouse at the turn of the previous century, but its name and current appearance told onlookers that it was now an apartment building.

  "Well, this is me," she replied.

  "Do you have any coffee?" he asked.

  "Coffee?" she asked him warily. "That's what you want?"

  "Well, I had those drinks with dinner, and I don't want to drive home drunk."

  Much like earlier in the day, Melanie eyed him from head to foot; and much like earlier in the day, she seemed to shrug her shoulders and accede to his request.

  "Okay, coffee, but that doesn't mean sex. I'm only allowing the coffee because it's such a lame excuse to get into my apartment, and you look so cute standing there expecting me to believe it."

  "Melanie, I really do want coffee," he said.

  "Uh huh," she replied in disbelief as she turned to the lobby door and used a key to let them inside.

  Michael laughed and found that it was easy to be honest with this woman, and that's exactly what he did next.

  "Look, Melanie. I'm not going to turn down sex, but I'm really enjoying myself and don't want the evening to end. If that means drinking a cup of coffee and having you kick me out afterwards, then fine."

  Melanie turned back to him for a second and appeared to analyze him again. She didn't seem to come to a conclusion about whether she believed him, but she did shrug her shoulders and continued to lead him through the lobby. They headed up old creaking wooden steps, past small landings, and to the top floor.

  "Well, this is it," she said as she opened the door to her apartment.

  It was an odd shaped room that reminded Michael of a Tetris piece. He looked up to the high vaulted ceiling— a perk of being on the top floor—and noted the large wood beams that cut across the space for support of the roof. The red brickwork of the outer walls could be seen in patches, peeking through a poor attempt to plaster the walls, and the warped floor was made of similar wood as the beams; the entire place had an endearing rustic feel.

  "It's very nice," Michael said as he noted the small open kitchen with an island in a far corner and the sparse but usable furniture.

  He moved farther into the space and tried to take in the rest of the apartment. The bedroom, if it could be called that, was actually a loft stuck to the far wall with a steep wooden staircase for access. Michael could see the large bed set upon the floor of the loft and had to wonder how she had gotten it up there.

  Melanie headed for the kitchen, presumably to make his coffee, and Michael suddenly found his eyes drawn to one odd corner of the room; it was more of an alcove really. The lighting was softer here and he headed over to the recess, flipping on a light switch as he did. The entire area lit up with floor lamps and a single, but bright, overhead light.

  "Oh, wow!" he exclaimed.

  He couldn't take his eyes off what he was seeing.

  "Melanie, did you paint these?" he asked without turning to her. He just stared at the multitude of canvasses stacked in several places; they were leaning against the outer walls and hung in a mismatch array on the brickwork

  "Yes," she replied as she fumbled about the kitchen.

  Michael moved in closer. There were three easels set about the area with one primary one in the middle. Each one had a current work on its stand in some mode of creation. As he scrutinized the work, he found himself enthralled. The artwork was exquisite.

  "Is this wet on wet?" he asked as he saw the sheen from the far left canvas.

  "Well, one of them is. Then I have an acrylic and a standard oil painting."

  Michael looked at the various array of brushes and paints strewn about; there didn't seem to be much organization to the area. He gingerly picked up a tube of paint and glanced at it.

  "Oh, wow," he said again. "You're painting with lead based paint!"

  "Yes, careful with that," she said as she chuckled while watching him.

  "Don't worry," he replied. "I wasn't going to eat it."

  "I'm not worried about your health, but that tube of paint is a hundred dollars."

  Michael's eyes widened again, and he suddenly realized that he had lost count of how many times today this woman had amazed him. Looking around at the various tubes on the floor and workstations, he did some quick mental math and concluded that she had thousands of dollars in material.

  "Melanie, these are unbelievable. Look at this one here," he said as he pointed to the center easel. "Your perspectives are clear, and your brush strokes are so well defined that the image seems to have a photographic quality."

  Melanie came to his side and stared at him as he stared at her work. He didn't realize she was there until she spoke, and when she did, he startled.

  "Are you familiar with art?" she asked.

  "Yes, I already told you I like museums. The Seattle Art Museum is a favorite place of mine. I'm kind of surprised you only go for the parties."

  Melanie shrugged, "I'm an artist and prefer real life. I think most museums are stuffy and sterile. Art shouldn't be displayed on a white wall with a placard next to it telling you how to feel about it. Art should be hung in a warm room or over a bed."

  Michael returned his gaze to her work and then moved about the floor, grabbing various canvases as he did. Melanie didn't seem to mind and merely watched him as he examined her work. She smiled at him and found that it took several atte
mpts to wrest his attention back to her.

  "What?" he asked.

  "Coffee," she said. "Do you want your coffee?"

  Michael smiled, "That depends. Is it actually coffee?"

  Melanie glared at him, and he just winked at her in return. She moved to his position which was a crouched form over one of her canvasses and leaned down to him. She eyed him carefully, and he just watched her watching him. She seemed to be thinking about something and for the life of him he had no idea what it was.

  "Do you really like them?" she asked seriously.

  Michael immediately became confused and then stood rapidly making her stand and back up to give him room as he did so.

  "Of course," he answered honestly.

  "Look at this painting here," he said as he grabbed a canvas near him. "Your perspective is all wrong, and the work is asymmetrical to an extreme. It seems to be painted in an amateur fashion, but the brush strokes are fluid. Now, look at this one," he said as he moved several feet and pulled another canvas from the floor.

  "This painting is just the opposite," he continued, "so I know you have skill to paint properly, which means the former painting was done with intention; you are purposely confusing the viewer. It's like appreciating Picasso all the more after seeing his standard paintings. The man could paint a portrait like a master, but he consciously chose to paint his chosen art in a very different fashion."

  Michael turned to another canvass and began to extol its merits, and Melanie watched him. She smiled and then moved to him suddenly. She put her hand on his chest to quiet him and looked up with a mischievous smile.

  "I think you better take me to bed right now," she said.

  Michael took a moment to register her words. His mind had been focused on the artwork he was seeing, and his attention was held in sway by the demonstration of skill on the canvas. When her words fully registered, he smiled. He was not a stupid man and knew that he should appreciate another piece of artwork at the moment, that artwork of course being her body.

  Melanie darted her eyebrows up and down and then headed off to the ladder of her loft.

  "Come on, Mr. Angel. Let's see if you can be a devil in the bed," she called back to him.

  Michael followed quickly, smiling as he did so. When he reached the loft, he had to duck his head to refrain from hitting any of the beams. Melanie was already on the bed with her back against the brick wall and eyeing him coyly. Michael had to crawl across the bed to her position, and when he reached it, he kept his hands on the mattress and leaned in to kiss her. She took him warmly and then wrapped her arms around his neck to draw him in closer. Michael was pulled off balance and had to reposition his hands before he fell into her. He smiled as he did so and Melanie smiled in response. They kissed while grinning and ended up doing neither action very well.

  "Do you really like them?" she whispered to him.

  Michael sat back and just grinned at her in response. Her eyes were dancing, and he knew she didn't need the reassurance. He winked at her and pulled her legs towards him, forcing her away from the wall and into a laying position.

  "Ah," she cried out with a laugh as her head hit the pillow and bounced harmlessly. She didn't have time to react, as Michael unbuttoned her pants and began ripping them off. He tossed them to the floor and began to kiss her thighs.

  "Oh, no Mr. Angel," she said as he began to kiss her stomach and slide his body to the foot of the bed. "That is very personal."

  Michael ignored her and gingerly pulled her free of her last restraining garment.

  "Well," he said as he kissed her thighs and carefully forced her legs apart. She resisted, but he was stronger. "I am a very personal kind of guy."

  Melanie didn't fight him too much and surrendered the position with one caveat.

  "You better be good at this," she said as she grabbed his hair with one hand and began to bite a finger on the other hand.

  Oh, damn, she thought after a few seconds and a few tongue dashes from Michael, he's good.

  Michael was slow at first. He was not a player, but he had been with enough women to know that a day of work and a woman's diet could affect this entire experience. His tongue flicked gracefully, and just like with the personality of his partner, he was pleased with what he experienced; she was wonderful.

  The pressure of her hand on his head was perfect and Melanie moved her hips to position herself for him. As he continued to tease her, she forced his head down onto her and guided him. They worked together as a team; he took her hungrily and she signaled to him what she found pleasing. When his eyes glanced up, he could see that she had her own eyes closed and was biting a nail.

  She still had a blouse on, and this affected his view of her breasts, but he didn’t mind too much; her chest was heaving rapidly and he found that motion to be just as enjoyable. She began to buck into him and he returned his gaze to his task. Again, they worked as a team and when she came, both hands went to his head and ground him into her. If Michael could have smiled he would have, but he wasn’t about to cease his actions until she was finished.

  Her breathing calmed, and he kissed his way up her stomach and around her blouse, then up to her neck. Melanie smiled as he pulled away from her neck and slowly nuzzled her nose while teasing her lips with his own.

  "Melanie," he whispered as he caught her gaze. "The paintings are amazing," he stated honestly.

  Melanie smiled, wrapped her arms around his neck and kissed him fully. She then rolled to one side, forcing herself away from him. Sitting up, and with a swift motion, she removed her blouse and bra. She sat there for a moment, naked and hungry. Michael turned to his back and just watched her. She was oddly backlit from the bright lights of the painting area below them and at a distance. Half in light, half in shadow, he could still make out her perky personality and the devilish grin that took over her face.

  "Your turn, Mr. Angel," she said as she leaned in and began to remove his clothes. Michael smiled, widened his eyes, and welcomed his lover.

  Chapter 3

  Michael awoke and took a moment to remember where he was. When he did, he smiled and reached across the bed; Melanie wasn't there. He took a deep breath and sat up slowly while looking about the area of the loft; wherever she was, it wasn’t in the immediate vicinity.

  Light from the painting alcove cast eerie shadows across the ceiling, and Michael crawled across the bed so that he could peer to the lower level. Thankfully, he had remembered the low ceiling and refrained from getting out of bed and standing; that would have been painful.

  As he looked below, he found his lover and smiled. She was at her center canvas and focused on applying paint. Michael watched her for a moment and then decided to join her. He found his pants, put them on, then found his phone and checked the time. It was early, only four AM.

  Not wanting to startle Melanie, he made no attempt to be quiet in his approach. The steps from the loft creaked noisily as they adjusted to his weight and the wooden floors, while quieter, certainly made sounds of their own as he walked to her.

  She was so focused on her canvas that she didn't notice he was near, or if she did, she didn't acknowledge the fact. Michael watched her from behind, remaining quiet as he did.

  Melanie mixed one paint color with another on her palette and then applied it to her work. She was quick, methodical, and efficient. Deciding he didn't want to interrupt, he moved off to the side and sat on her couch—a raggedy excuse for furniture, but it smelled clean and was comfortable.

  Several minutes passed and he simply watched Melanie paint. Bathed in light, she continued to move without a care in the world; nothing seemed to matter other than the task in front of her. From time to time, she would reach to her left and take a drink of what appeared to be tea; whatever it was, it was in a clear glass filled with ice.

  When the glass was emptied after one such absent-minded sip, it was set aside. Michael stood, went to his lover, grabbed the glass, and headed to the kitchen. He smelled the contents an
d nodded his head; it was ice tea. There was just enough left for him to determine that it was sweetened lightly.

  Opening the refrigerator revealed a pitcher of the liquid, and Michael refilled the glass; he gingerly took a sip and realized it was not yet sweetened. Frowning, he looked about the kitchen; it took only a moment for him to find the sugar, it was already on the counter with a spoon next to it. Guessing as to the amount, he measured out a small portion and sweetened the beverage. He then returned it to her without her knowing.

  It was several minutes later, while he watched from the couch, that she reached to her left. The full glass of tea did not faze her in the least. Michael smiled and held his breath as she took a sip. He must have gotten the amount of sugar correct; she didn't respond to the flavor; she just put the glass back when she was done taking a drink.

  As the minutes continued to pass and Michael watched in fascination, it became apparent that Melanie was upset. Something was wrong with the painting and she didn't appear to know what. Michael pondered the work and thought it was fine the way it was, but he understood her dilemma. He was an architect, and people often told him something was fine, but many times the project did not sit right with him.

  Melanie continued to become upset and vigorously cleaned her brushes, only to apply more paint and try again. Three or four more attempts were made before she cleaned her brushes thoroughly and set them aside. She placed her palette down and backed away, turning her head in a multitude of directions as she did. She obviously wanted to see the painting from many angles.

  One of the attempts succeeded in making her aware of Michael's presence. She had caught him from a sideways glance and then turned fully to him. Confusion reigned across her face, and he watched her carefully. When comprehension dawned about who he was, she smiled and joined him on the couch. She sat next to him, pulled her legs up and laid her head into his lap. Michael didn't say a word and began to stroke her hair. It was a full minute before either spoke.