Work of Art ~ the Collection

by Ruth Clampett

  “You’re young, Ava, and you don’t know what it is to be stuck in a broken marriage where all hope of real happiness is gone, and how that can drive a man mad, and lead him to desperate acts.”

  Is this supposed to make me feel better? Because it isn’t working. I give him a blank stare.

  “Several years ago, my wife almost died from cancer, and the effects of her treatments left her not just infertile, but with absolutely no libido. This was expected. However, once she recovered and began regaining her strength, I thought that part of our relationship would recover too, but she still had no interest. At first, I tried to deal with it, since I loved her and had every intention of staying loyal to her.”

  I know where this is going and my stomach turns.

  “After a while, a man’s needs play tricks on his mind. As I got worn down, I convinced myself that, as long as I was attentive and took care of my wife’s emotional needs, some outside satisfaction would allow me to stay in an affectionless marriage. But once I went down that road, things got out of hand.”

  He takes off his glasses and rubs his eyes. He looks weary.

  “I did try to get Heather to go to a specialist. I thought there were hormones or something she could take to make things better, but by then, she didn’t seem to care anymore. She became like a shut in, filling her life with friends visiting, reading, and being obsessive about online shopping and collecting art. When the opportunity came up to open the West Coast office of Art+trA, she actually encouraged me to take it—I think it was so I’d stop pressuring her about our lack of physical intimacy. I’d still travel to New York when she needed me. I could take her to the occasional event when she had the energy to attend. She liked the prestige of my position in the art world and my family background.

  “When you came into my life, Ava, I was already a man living two lives—the doting husband in New York, and the lothario pursuing women to act out my every fantasy in Los Angeles. When we met, I was instantly attracted to you, and I should’ve been careful, since we’d be working together.”

  His sad eyes search mine, as if he’s expecting a sympathetic or compassionate response from me. The idea of that only makes me feel angrier.

  “You know, that’s the greatest irony . . . The very act of us working together brought me closer to you. I got to be in the presence of an alluring, sexual creature, and a young woman of extreme intelligence and depth. I gradually realized you were my ideal woman . . . the woman I’d always waited for and would never be able to resist.”

  Ideal woman? I had no idea his feelings ran this deep. He’s lost his way in Fantasyland and needs to get off the Mad Tea Party ride so he can see straight.

  “I think Heather knew I was falling in love with you before I did. She may have tolerated my infidelity as long as no one knew, but my feelings for you threatened our sham of a marriage. What would people think? My wife comes from extreme wealth and has every resource at her command. So, she stepped in and drew the line.”

  Yes, she did, I think, as my eyes grow wide. What did he expect?

  “But, it’s different this time. I can’t just walk away from you. You’ve brought out emotions in me I didn’t think I’d ever feel again. I want you to be mine, Ava. I want to take care of you and wake up next to you in our bed. I want to show you the world,” he declares, with a soft smile.

  “I told Heather I want a divorce. Ava, you’re the woman I’m meant to be with.”

  I’m horrified. “No! Why would you do that? You can’t leave your wife because of me.”

  “Look, I know you’re angry . . . you’re furious with me right now, and you have every right. But if you’d give us a chance, I think you’d see how perfect we are for each other. We’ve already proven we have incredible sexual chemistry; we share so many passions in our work and interests, and I think in time, you’ll come to love me too. I’ll be devoted to you . . . We can have a great life together.”

  Strangely, his hollow words conjure a single image in my mind, and it defines every breath and thought that follows. It’s the image of Max and me cocooned in the cliff dwelling and the way it felt when he held my hand.

  My path is suddenly clear and brilliant. Leaving behind the shadows of my past, I take the first step forward.

  “No, Jonathan,” I say in a calm and soothing voice. I almost feel sorry for him. “You see . . . you don’t really know me—not at all. It’s funny, but it’s the small things that matter. You don’t know what I like for breakfast, what I’m afraid of, what I think of my mom, what my favorite song is, or what my dreams are. There’s so much more to me than this person you’ve come to idealize. I could never be that woman. And I’m not trying to be cruel . . . but if you think you love me, then you can’t really know what love is.”

  I push my chair back and stand. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, there’s someone waiting for me.”

  He cradles his face in his hands, but he doesn’t protest or follow me as I briskly walk out of the lodge.

  Pausing on the front steps as the cool night air hits me, I look up to the black sky scattered with stars. Milky clouds slowly float across the full moon, and I take a sharp breath. Even though I’ve slammed a door shut, my heart has never felt more open. I reach into my pocket, pull out the keycard to Max’s room, and walk away from the lodge. It all sinks in and my excitement takes over; I run across the property as if my life depends on it.

  I reach Max’s room, still panting from the run, and I fumble with the keycard three times before getting the damned door open. I tumble into the room, and even though the fire’s burning and music is playing from the stereo, it’s empty. I rush to the bathroom, but that’s empty as well. My heart pounds. Where can he be?

  I turn toward the patio and see the faint outline of Max lying outside on the chaise lounge under the moonlight.

  “Max.”

  He turns toward me abruptly, jumps up, and pulls the door open with a mix of panic and anguish on his face.

  I feel a stab of pain, knowing I’m the reason for his agony. But I step forward and lift my gaze to his and search his eyes.

  “He’s gone.”

  The tension etched across his expression relaxes by a few degrees. “What did he want . . . what did he expect from you?”

  “He said he left his wife. That he had to have me . . . that he was in love with me.”

  Max raises his eyebrows. His face darkens as he clenches his jaw. “And what did you say?” His tone is quiet and eerily calm.

  “I told him that he didn’t have a clue what love was, and that he’d made a mistake leaving her.”

  Max takes a deep breath and then sighs, his tense shoulders finally easing down. Is he relieved that my answer was so resolute?

  “I’m glad I talked to him, because when I did, it crystallized what you said. I can’t live another moment shut down because of what he did to me, what I did to myself . . . Instead, I have to live my life with passion and go after exactly what I want.”

  “What do you want, Ava?” His eyes search my expression for what’s still unspoken.

  I look at him and smile before I hurl myself off the cliff. The anticipation of the freefall is delicious, because I’m sure of where I’m going to land. I pause to study him for our final moment as two separate people.

  Standing before me is my sparking live wire . . . his mind a verdant forest to endlessly wander. His uncontainable spirit swirls around me, lifting me off the ground. My cheeks are windburned and my heart wildly racing from the sheer force of it.

  My gaze travels along his jaw, across his shoulders and down his thighs. I’m desperately hungry, because his body and his beautiful face are the physical manifestation of everything I’ve ever desired.

  My friend, my greatest love . . . my Max.

  He looks at me expectantly.

  “You,” I whisper. “I want you.”

  “Oh, Ava.” His voice is heavy with emotion as he steps forward and pulls me into his powerful arms. All of the lon
ging we’ve suffered through now defines the surge of passion between us. His hands press into me as if in prayer.

  My next breath catches with a sob, and tears of joy and relief paint my face. But he gently brushes them away and kisses the salty remains.

  A shade of disbelief and confusion lingers. “You want me?” he whispers, as if he’s hoping so much to believe me. His lips graze my cheek, pausing so close to mine. I imagine he wants to breathe in my response, draw it inside and let it course through him like the blood that keeps his heart beating.

  I grab his arms and shake him, my voice heated and urgent. I’m desperate to have him understand. “You have to know . . . I may have fought it, but you’re all I’ve ever wanted. I don’t want to deny it for another day, another moment.”

  This time he sways, rocks forward, and lifts me into his embrace.

  Our kiss is desperate as our hearts join together. I’m drunk with his taste, my tongue sliding across his, my teeth grazing his bottom lip before I sink further into him. His passion intoxicates me until I float out of my body to watch the scene before me.

  We’re in a Maxfield Parrish amber-dipped landscape redefining the cinematic kiss. I imagine we’re near the edge of a cliff with the world laid out before us. The sun’s about to sink behind the horizon while we hold onto each other, bracing against the wind of all our past experiences as they whip past us. It’s a masterpiece. This moment should be in an elaborately gilded frame hanging in the Louvre.

  He whispers my name and kisses me again and again as he runs his hands over me and stirs the desire pulsing through my veins. We both moan, and the blending echo of our voices reminds me that this isn’t a dream. He holds me firmly against his body of sinewy muscle, flesh and bone, and there’s no question in the surety of his embrace that he wants me. His mouth is warm and wet, hard and soft . . . I want to crawl inside this moment and live there suspended, so this feeling never stops.

  My God. This is really happening, and it’s a million times better than all the times I imagined it. I open my eyes and look into his, and we both smile like two kids who’ve just unearthed a pirate’s treasure.

  “Oh, Ava, your lips . . .” He sighs happily.

  “You’re a mighty fine kisser too . . . world class, really.”

  “Well, it’s all about the inspiration . . . you’re my muse.”

  His confidence renewed, our next kisses are pure sex, his hot tongue making love to my mouth. I love the way he strokes my sides and then slides his hands down to my ass, so he can pull me even closer. He moves us back a step and presses me against the wall. This time, he pushes his hardness against me gently, yet firmly. It’s as if he’s struggling to contain his fire, but I don’t want gentle. I want him to let it out and burn over me. My need surges in waves to where I’m not even sure my legs will hold me up.

  Slow down, Ava, breathe.

  My body howls as I resist the overwhelming urge to push him down on the bed and straddle him. My ache to feel him pulsing inside of me defines every movement I make. I don’t have to tell him what I want, because he already knows, every caress a pointed clue, every look a peek at my steadfast desire that has sat in the corner for months, waiting to play.

  “The way this feels, Ava . . . I don’t ever want to let go of you.”

  “Then don’t,” I whisper, the idea so exciting that the words almost catch in my throat.

  He keeps me just enough at bay to cradle my head and contain me while we kiss, his tongue artfully moving over mine and rendering me speechless. He’s making it clear he’s going to savor every moment of this.

  He pulls away for a moment, and we both gasp for air. His pupils are fully dilated and his color flushed. He cradles my face in his hands as his chest heaves.

  “Slow, angel. I’m doing it right this time.” His grip tightens. “And as much as I desperately want to rip your clothes off and take you, what I want even more is to slowly make love to you and show you what you do to me.”

  My heart pounds so loudly he can probably hear it. I press my lips to his ear. “I’ve never wanted anyone more.”

  I scrape my teeth along his neck and stroke his thighs, feeling his muscles tighten under my fingers. I work my way to his center and slowly stroke the outline of his cock as it throbs under my fingertips. He moans in response.

  Does he understand that when I touch him, it feels like my hands have come home?

  He sinks down to his knees and holds me, his face pressed into my belly. His eyes are pressed shut and I feel him tremble against me. I sense he’s overcome with emotion as I struggle to contain my own.

  “Are you ready, Ava? Are you sure you want this? If we go any further, I won’t be able to stop myself.”

  “Yes, I need you Max. I need all of you.”

  I watch his determined hands slowly ease my jeans and panties down my hips and thighs. He scatters kisses across my flushed skin. When he looks up, it’s with such a tender expression, my heart skips. He slides his hand between my legs, where he meets heat and wetness. He takes a sharp breath.

  When he puts his mouth on me, I thread my fingers into his hair and guide him closer. He bows to the force between us like a devout man taking communion. I can’t imagine how, but I’m so electrified I already feel as though I’m going to fall over the edge. With my eyes pressed shut, all I know is his tongue against me. When I finally look down to watch him as his rhythm builds, he looks up and holds my gaze with his glowing blue gray eyes while he continues to pleasure me with his mouth, creating sensations of lustful devotion to my very core.

  He moans, his expression brimming with pleasure, and it sends me into a spiral. My legs tremble, and the searing heat rolls over me as I explode in orgasm.

  Oh my God. In the highest peak of climax, the flash of ecstasy blinds me, and I start to fall forward. He reaches up and his strong arms grab my waist and hold me as I tremble in his grasp.

  Once I begin to breathe again and my body calms, he slowly rises, kissing his way back up my belly and drawing me into his arms.

  “Oh, my God, Max. Oh, my, God,” I moan appreciatively.

  “Bed.” He rips the bed cover back. More clothes are abandoned and the next kiss is accented by my hard nipples skimming his naked chest. We both sigh at the poetry of skin against skin, only inches separating our hearts.

  “You’re so beautiful,” he whispers, running his fingers along the sides of my face.

  “And you.”

  “Me?”

  “You’re a Greek god . . . an Italian masterpiece. I’d take you over Michelangelo’s David any day.”

  He grins. “Well, I’m definitely warmer to the touch.”

  I lean down to kiss his chest, and my lips graze over his nipples lightly and then harder, spurred by the heady power as I watch his skin flush and his breathing accelerate. He groans, and he takes my hand and presses it against his arousal that’s tightly straining against his jeans. I sink down until I’m sitting on the edge of the bed so I can focus on getting his jeans off. After all of this time I’m finally going to see him and stroke him, and I fumble with the button and zipper, like a child trying to tear open a present on Christmas morning.

  “Can I help you?” he laughs as I struggle.

  “Yes,” I huff, anxious as his hands make quick work of his button and zipper.

  When we’ve finally pushed his jeans and boxers off, I try to imagine how I will be able to take him in. But that concern is pushed aside by lust as I run my hand up and down his cock and guide him to me so I can roll my wet tongue around the head. He gasps, and when I look up, his eyes are as wild as a feral animal.

  My arousal flairs as I take him into my mouth, pausing to watch him. As he gazes down with dark lust, he holds my head gently and runs his fingers through my hair.

  “Mmm,” he moans. It’s unbelievable how sensitive he is. Every roll of my tongue elicits a shiver or groan.

  “Baby, your mouth . . .” He moans again and his head falls back as he pulsates
between my lips. My tongue swirls again and I take him in deeper.

  He suddenly draws back. “Ava . . . I need to be inside you . . .”

  I don’t need convincing. I release him and slide back across the sheets.

  Each moment now is preserved in my heart, a high definition film of our lives that shifts from slow motion to high speed and back to slow again. He takes my breasts in his hands, and as he moves closer, his mouth replaces his hands—teasing, kissing, and twisting me up again with burning need. I cradle his head lovingly before he gently pushes me back against the pillows.

  “Condom,” he says, pausing.

  God, I hope he has one.

  He reaches down to the floor for his backpack and frantically drags stuff out. Finally, after digging around in the bottom of the inside pocket, he yanks a strip out.

  “Yay!” we both cheer, victorious.

  He kneels before me as I part my legs, and he hands me the foil packet.

  I tear it open, never losing eye contact with him. He’s so damn sexy with his dark desire, yet the devotion reflected in his eyes is a homemade valentine made just for me. I carefully roll the condom over him before falling back against the pillows. I’ve never been more ready.

  “I’ve waited so long for this,” he whispers, as he runs his hands along the inside of my thighs. He leans forward until his lips are on mine with a kiss full of reverence.

  His cock presses against me, and while I could arch my hips to take him in, I want him to lead.

  He pauses and he looks at me. “I’m so in love with you, Ava.”

  My heart soars as he says the words I’ve been waiting for . . . always hoping to hear. I look in his eyes and see Max for the very first time—the joy, the tenderness—and I see that the man he’d abandoned so long ago has finally returned home.

  “Tell me again, Max,” I whisper, as I ease my legs further apart, drawing him to me.