Work of Art ~ the Collection

by Ruth Clampett

  Everyone’s busy with the business of selling art, which is the complete opposite of what drives the creation of art, and I wonder about the struggle for the two to coexist. Even the most purist gallery owners find themselves making compromises to make a sale and keep their doors open for business, while the artists have to clear their mind of the reports they receive on what is selling to be able to follow their heart instead.

  Max seems to balance the tug and pull of being true to his vision, yet still dealing with the business side of marketing and sales. It’s another reason I find him remarkable.

  I smile. Max is never far from my thoughts, and I’m still a little off-kilter from the dramatic turn of events in our relationship. It’s hard to believe that less than twenty-four hours ago I ran to his hotel room in the dark, not knowing if I’d have the courage to express what I felt for him. After so many crossed messages and so much bad timing, do we finally have fate on our side?

  After the show closes at six, a group of us walk to the opening reception for Art Santa Fe at the Georgia O’Keeffe Museum. Adam talks with Nick Castallani, and I join them to say hello. Adam smiles widely when he hears I’m being considered for another project, and I can tell by the focused and intense way he speaks with Nick that he respects him. I hope that’s a good sign moving forward.

  A couple of enthusiastic collectors, who are sponsors of the show, have cornered Max, so I leave him to navigate his way through that conversation. Joe motions for me to join him and Jess at the bar.

  Although Joe hasn’t made a sale yet, there’s some interest, so he isn’t discouraged. Jess says she won’t be satisfied unless she sells at least four of her paintings this weekend. We all know this is ambitious, but Jess does everything big.

  After about an hour of wandering the crowd and making polite conversation, I take a few moments to check out the museum. It’s an intimate, well-designed place, and to have a museum solely dedicated to a single artist’s work has an incredible impact.

  I wander from room to room, taking in O’Keeffe’s colorful paintings. Some are abstract, but even the figurative tends to be simple subjects like an open flower or a stark landscape. One of her more unusual subjects is a cow’s skull, which has become one of her iconic symbols of New Mexico.

  Although the subject matter is minimal in content, the richness of the color and style is overwhelming. I wish every gallery room had a chaise longue to lie back on so I could let the sensuous color swirl around me and sweep me away.

  I’m alone in one of the last rooms when Max finds me.

  “Here you are. I thought I’d lost you.”

  “No, I just wanted to check out the museum. I was done making small talk.”

  “These shows are torture . . . too many people over too many days. By the end, I feel like I’ve lost my mind.”

  “You could’ve fooled me. You always seem right at home and so comfortable talking to everyone.”

  “It’s a facade I’ve built up after years of practice. I may be good at it, but it doesn’t mean I like it. By the way, who was that big red-headed guy you were talking to with Adam?”

  “Nick Castallani from Rampart. He wants to meet me for lunch tomorrow to talk about a project.”

  A dark look crosses his face, but then it’s gone. “Really? Why don’t I join you?”

  “I don’t think so, Max. That wouldn’t be professional, and you know it.” I raise my brows and give him a stern look, so he knows I won’t tolerate trouble.

  “Well, pardon me for not trusting publishers around you.”

  “Gee, thanks. So, you don’t think my talent warrants him hiring me?”

  “You know that’s not what I meant. I guess I’ll try harder to tame the jealous beast inside me.”

  I take his hand. “You should, because I only want you, Max. You told me you love me, and I love you, and I’m not letting anything or anyone get in our way.”

  I turn back to the art on the gallery wall. He hugs me from behind and kisses my neck, as I continue to study the painting.

  “Do you like O’Keeffe?” His lips graze my shoulder.

  “Yes, it’s curious though. On the surface, she was such a tough woman, but her work is so soft and feminine. Do you like it?”

  “I’ve never been much of a fan, but I’m seeing it anew tonight. I wouldn’t say it’s feminine, as much as sensuous. I mean, this painting here reminds me of you.” He runs his hands down my sides and rests them on my hips.

  My eyes wander over the waves of soft color blending into each other. “Really? How does it remind you of me?”

  “You really want to know?” He pauses, and I wonder if it’s sexual, because O’Keeffe’s work is certainly noted for it. I can feel his breath on my neck, and his fingers press firmly into the flesh at the swell of my hips.

  “Yes.” I lean back against him.

  “Okay, but this isn’t really museum talk.” He kisses me right behind my ear before lowering his voice. “This painting is how I see you between your legs. I could run my fingers over the painting’s colors and feel you opening up for me.”

  I imagined his thoughts would go along those lines, but hearing it stirs me to my core. I gasp as heat flows through me.

  “Damn, Max.”

  “Do you want me to tell you more?” He runs his tongue along the edge of my ear before taking the lobe between his teeth and gently biting.

  “Please, handsome, more.” I squeeze my legs together.

  Still hugging me from behind, he pulls me tighter against him, and his errection presses along my back. He leans closer and whispers in my ear, “When I went down on you last night, I was in heaven. And now, looking at how erotic this painting is, makes me want to run my tongue over you and inside you again.”

  Desire is charging up all my sensory nerves, especially the ones between my legs. “You’re getting me all worked up,” I whimper.

  He takes a ragged breath and continues as he points at the painting. “You’re the soft pink, and see that dip at the top? That’s where I’d start with my tongue, then curve along the blue while I slide my fingers inside you.”

  He gently bites the slope of my shoulder. “Last night, I loved feeling you come undone, the way your fingers wound through my hair and pulled me closer.”

  “Oh,” I moan. “You’re wicked to do this here in this holy place.” I push my backside against him, and he grinds his cock against me.

  “Holy,” he whispers with a sigh. “And what are you doing to me, Ava? Just being near you like this is driving me crazy.”

  The thrill from his words pulses through me and takes my breath away. This is so new—the idea that we’re lovers—and he wants to be this sexual with me.

  “My legs are shaking, and I’m not sure how much more of your seductive advances I can take.”

  “But I’m not done seducing you . . . I’ll hold you up,” he whispers, as he slides an arm around my waist. “I want to talk about this image some more. See the violet part at the bottom?” He turns my focus back to the painting as he snakes his other hand under my blouse and softly circles my breast before pinching my nipple.

  My breath quickens, and the colors vibrate off the canvas and swirl around us, intoxicating me.

  “That is the deepest place my tongue can go, and I slide it back and forth and kiss every part of you.”

  I press against him and close my eyes, imaging him between my legs with his mouth on me. His words create a hunger that can’t wait to be fed; we’re in a public place.

  “We’ve got to stop this . . . what if someone sees us?” I ask halfheartedly, but our backs are to the door.

  “They’re making a big presentation up front, no one’s coming back here.” Now both his hands are under my shirt, his long fingers pulling on my nipples.

  My head falls back against his shoulder. “Oh Max, you’d better stop. I’m not sure how much more of this I can take.”

  Thank God no one else is in this room, because they would be in for
a shock. I moan and sway, looking up at the painting completed decades ago by a hard-looking woman with a passionate heart. I’m falling into the sensuality of Georgia’s world.

  “Fuck,” Max gasps, as he grinds harder against me. “I want you baby—I don’t want to wait.”

  My heart thunders in my chest, and I press my thighs together.

  “I need you now. Screw the party—let’s go back to the hotel before I’m too far gone to drive.” His low voice has an edge to it.

  “Isn’t there somewhere we can go here?” My breath is ragged and my lust impatient and unyielding.

  He takes a step back from me, and I turn around. “In the museum? Are you serious? After what happened in the studio, I would never even consider it. No way,” he says, disbelief etched across his face.

  I grab his collar and look into his eyes. “This is completely different . . . we’re together now.”

  He studies me with narrow eyes and tension in his stance.

  I take a chance and press my case. “Didn’t you say earlier that fucking can be good too?” I lean into him, my hot breath on his neck. “We’re in an art museum, Max. Don’t you want to fuck me here?”

  I feel his surrender unravel. He takes my hand and pulls me out of the room. We hurry down a long hallway, and he pushes me into the first unlocked door we come across. It says Research Library on the door.

  “This will do,” he says in a low voice, as he closes the door and props a chair under the door handle. Before I can undo my shirt, he presses me against the wall next to the door.

  He scrapes his teeth along my neck. “Damn, you make me crazy. I want you so fucking much.” He kisses me hard—his tongue hot and searching as he grinds against me.

  He reaches under my skirt and yanks my panties down my legs.

  The thrill of what we’re about to do is unlike anything I’ve experienced. I don’t care if we’re caught. I just want him in a desperate way.

  I grab his belt buckle, and he yanks open my shirt and pulls my bra down. The warmth of his hands holding my breasts is erotic against my cool skin. Hunger burns in his eyes as he takes my nipple in his mouth, and I manage to slide off his jeans and get the condom on.

  He slips his hands between my legs and groans when he slides his fingers into my wetness. “Damn, Ava, you really want this.”

  I let out a guttural moan.

  With a wild look in his eyes, he lifts me up to his waist, and I wrap my legs around him.

  I’m desperate for him as I moan in his ear. “Please . . . now.”

  “Hold onto me, angel,” he groans, as he takes one hand and guides himself to my wetness. We’re both breathless as he lowers me onto his cock.

  “Yes,” I whisper as I tighten all around him.

  He closes his eyes and his head falls back as he moans. “Oh my God. So good . . . you feel so good.”

  I run my tongue along his neck and bite his hot skin as he presses me against the wall, pulls his hips back, and thrusts all the way into me.

  “Oh yeah,” I moan. “Again.”

  He pulls back and rocks into me hard.

  “Is this too much?” he asks, groaning in my ear as he continues his magnificent rhythm.

  “No . . . it’s perfect.” I kiss him hungrily, my tongue sliding against his. I get lost in his heat as he drives into me. He’s so sexy, and everything about him, from the way his muscles flex to the dark look in his eyes, only makes me want him more.

  I feel a strange combination of naughty and powerful, unbridled and sexy. I’m somewhere between art babe and goddess as I hold on tight and moan while he fills me again and again.

  His head rolls back as his hips buck harder.

  I’m breathless from the relentless thrusting. I let go of his shoulder with one hand and slide it between us to touch myself. Moments later, I’m right on the brink.

  Each thrust is barely contained now, and he gasps as we grind into the wall.

  I dig my nails into his shoulders. “Max,” I call out as my vision goes white hot, my body seizing.

  He rocks into me one last time before his explosive release. We cling onto each other to keep from falling, and I bite my lip to keep from crying out as I ride out my climax.

  As we catch our breath, he holds me tight. Once we’ve calmed, he slowly lowers me to the floor.

  The audacity of the situation settles in, and I can’t believe we just made love in a museum. Our passion is out of control, and I love it.

  Max is still electrified with energy, but he tenderly brushes his fingers over my cheek. “Was that too hard? I didn’t hurt you, did I?”

  “No. Did we damage the wall?” I tease, as I rub my fingers over the thick adobe. His gaze is still full of concern about me, so I kiss him and give him a wink.

  “You can have your way with me in a museum anytime.”

  In the ladies room, I study the glow of my cheeks and my bee-stung lips. My eyes are bright and happy. Evidently, all this passion agrees with me. If only I had before and after photographs to use as empirical evidence of the benefits of love and great sex.

  I wash my hands and head over to the bar to find my man. As soon as I enter the room, our gazes meet and he smiles. Our rendezvous inspired by O’Keeffe’s seductive imagery is now our secret, and I have no intention of sharing it with anyone.

  I slide next to him, and he wraps his arm around my shoulder.

  “You okay?” he asks, even though he knows the answer.

  “Never better. I do have one question, though.”

  “Yeah, what’s that?” He kisses the top of my head.

  “What would Georgia think of what just happened?”

  “My guess . . . she’d be most pleased. I think she was a gal who knew how to enjoy the important things in life.”

  “Mmm,” I hum, as Jess and Brian join us.

  Jess watches me. “You look really happy, baby. Is this your doing, Mr. Caswell?”

  “Yes, I would love to take credit for making her happy.”

  “Well, you do.” I take his hand.

  Jess’s eyes dance and a smile spreads across her face.

  “A bunch of us are going to Maria’s for dinner. Are you guys joining us?” Brian asks.

  “No, but thanks. We’ve got other plans. As a matter of fact,” he says and turns to me, “Are you ready to go?”

  “Sure.” I wonder what he has in mind.

  Without another word, he takes my hand and leads me from the museum. As we reach the rental car, he turns to me and hugs me close. “I just need more time alone with you.”

  I kiss him tenderly. “Sounds like a plan; let’s go.”

  Back at the hotel, I wait in the lobby for a minute while Max gets a bottle of Pinot Noir and two glasses from the bartender. He also orders food to be delivered to the room. We throw a bunch of pillows on the deck and sit under the stars, sip wine and snack an assortment of appetizers. We talk about everything from the show to our childhoods, and eventually we gravitate into each other’s arms, holding each other and kissing . . . slow and sweet.

  I push him against the cushions and straddle him. He watches me as I run my hands up and down his chest, and he folds his hands behind his head and surrenders. He’s mine to enjoy.

  Relaxed from the wine, I explore his body, stroking his strong thighs with my hands, sliding my fingertips across his shoulders and down his arms, as he watches.

  The night air paints the dreamlike landscape, and my senses are heightened. I hear leaves flutter with the soft wind; I taste his kiss lingering on my lips, and I feel our magnetic attraction, primitive and unyielding.

  He pushes my hair off my shoulders and rests his hands at my waist. I love the dreamy look in his eyes.

  He basks in the moonlight, and I take a moment to enjoy his admiration as his eyes skim over me the way an artist studies a favorite painting. But as much as I enjoy being appreciated, what touches me deeper is the way his lips part as he watches me. Even though we’re both spent, his attractio
n rises from him in waves as the tips of his fingers glide back and forth along my hips.

  “You have me captive . . . what are you going to do, angel?”

  “I’m going to take what I want, so don’t try to put up a fight. This is about me now.”

  His eyes light up with a wicked spark. “And . . . what do you want?”

  “I want to admire you.”

  “Really? Am I that fascinating?”

  “You’re endlessly fascinating. That’s why I want to admire you.”

  He gives me the smallest of smiles as his eyes narrow. “Hmm, okay, if that’s what you want. You’re in control here.” He relaxes into the cushions. “Have at it. I’m all yours.”

  “Smart man,” I whisper. “There’s so much more to you than just being a sex god.”

  He rolls his eyes, but allows me to mess up his hair with my wandering fingers and skim my lips across his forehead.

  A soft breeze rustles past us, brushing my long hair over my shoulders. I close my eyes, wondering when I’ve ever felt this content.

  He lets out a long, satisfied sigh.

  I lovingly stroke his face while we gaze at each other.

  “You’re mine.” My fingers tighten over his chin and I lift his face to mine.

  “Didn’t we establish that last night?” He grins widely.

  “Hush. I mean it. You’re mine.”

  “Yeah?” He arches his brow.

  “Only mine.”

  His eyes darken as he watches me, and his hands grip my waist tighter. “Completely yours.”

  I roll my head back with satisfaction as I remember all of the ways he’s loved me since last night. I imagine we’re invisibly joined together now, and the only truth is when I’m in his arms.

  Making love. Two words never meant more.

  I lean down and give him a soulful kiss. “Tell me another secret,” I whisper, as I rest my cheek against his.

  “Another?” His thumbs rub tiny circles on my skin.