by S. L. Scott
“It’s an art lovers’ dream. Have you had your place photographed professionally?”
“Once, last year,” he looks down, seeming self-conscious. “It was silly really, a local publication.”
We stop in his bedroom and I see the Cirie I sold him three years ago on Valentine’s Day. “That’s more powerful than I remember,” I note, staring at it hanging above his headboard.
He stands there, analytical, before saying, “The deep burgundy blending into the more subtle red, but stopping before it turns pink. I can feel the passion behind it. Cirie knew when to stop. It’s not feminine—”
“Or masculine,” I say, interrupting, “just beautiful.”
I hear him whisper behind me, “Yes, so beautiful.”
I glance over my shoulder.
His eyes are on me.
I blink and turn back to face the painting. “Yes, it’s pure passion. Above the bed is the perfect place for it to hang.”
He steps closer, silently admiring… the painting or me, I’m not sure. His fingers brush against my elbow. His voice comes out lower, “Come with me. I’ll show you where I was thinking the Rusque could go.”
Liking his touch when his hands are on me, I follow him into another room sticking close. Much like Austin, his office is breathtaking. The room is identical to his bedroom with two full walls of windows, but this room has no curtains to block the world out. He stands back, leaning against the door as I explore the room. The other two walls are white and bare, needing something, craving something vibrant.
“I think the painting should go right here. It feels right.” I turn around abruptly and ask in all seriousness, “Do you use this room?”
“All the time.”
I release my relief through an exhale. “Good. I would hate for that piece to be abandoned in some room that’s never used, where it would never be seen.”
“So would I. Your passion for art is very sexy.”
“Art is sexy.”
“Indeed.”
I sip then gulp my drink, eyeing him, admiring his lean and fit figure. “It must be hard to date a tycoon,” I joke, the bubbles going to my head. “The world is at your feet, literally right outside the window and down thirty-seven flights.”
“I’ve never dated a tycoon,” he retorts. “So I wouldn’t know.”
I laugh and he smiles at the sound. Sipping my drink, each bubble bursts in my mouth. I walk to a window and look out. “It’s a long way to fall.”
“No further than Heaven and you survived that.” Laughing out loud, I try to contain the roll of my eyes that wants to escape from his corny comment. “I’m sorry. I always wanted to know what it was like to say one of those awful pick-up lines and you gave me the perfect set up.”
“I think you’ve been carrying that around in your back pocket for about fifteen years too long,” I tease.
He grins. “Maybe longer. I’ve been interested in girls for a long time now, Jules.”
“I just bet you have.” I punctuate my words with a wink.
Standing in front of him, the silliness between us alters into something more, something with depth and it scares me. I swallow hard, trying to change it back by asking, “Do you believe in love at first sight, Austin, or should I walk by again?” Together, we laugh this time from my bad pickup line. Walking past him, I bump his hip with mine playfully, then with my smirk still in place, I say, “Now feed me, I’m hungry.”
Following behind, he says, “If I knew you better I’d…” but catches himself and stops.
I lean against the wall between two bold, modern paintings, a bit breathless, a lot playful. “You’d what? What would you do if we knew each other better?”
His feet stop in front of mine and a roguish smile plays on his lips. “If we knew each other better, I would have slapped your ass for that pun.”
“Consider us good friends then, but let’s skip the ass slap, even as appealing as that sounds…” His eyebrow arches, his body leans forward, one hand stationed above my head. Our breathing picks up, but also deepens, both of us wanting more. I finish by saying, “… And just kiss me.”
His hand is on my neck, sliding upward over my jaw, caressing my cheek. “You are a fascinating woman, Ms. Weston.” His lips press against mine. They’re soft, yet purposeful. Full and wonderful. My eyes are closed, enjoying, savoring, wanting more. He pulls back and our eyes slowly open. The tip of his finger glides along my bottom lip. Leaning in again for a quick, sweet kiss, he says, “You said something about being hungry—”
“Yes, starving.” In more ways than one right now. My body craving him more than food.
He takes my hand and we walk back to the kitchen. “Rao’s?” I ask when I see the bags on the counter.
“I like it. It’s impossible to get into the restaurant as you know, but I have kitchen connections and get take-out every couple of months.”
“You went to a lot of effort for tonight.”
“You’re worth it,” he replies not understanding how much it means that someone thinks I’m worth the effort. He starts unpacking the bags. “Hope you like spaghetti and meatballs. I got the house salad and dessert.” He raises his eyebrows up and down when he says dessert. It’s really quite cute.
He’s quite cute.
“I love Italian.”
I LEAN FORWARD with a straight face, and say, “You must be tired because you’ve been running through my dreams all night.” I can’t hold a straight face any longer. “That line is so bad, but I remember a time that I actually thought that was clever.”
He laughs, struggling to keep his full mouth closed. His hand covers it, just in case. He’s all manners and etiquette. “You’ve got to stop, Jules. My stomach hurts from laughing so hard.”
“You sure it wasn’t from the large meatball you stole from my plate?” I’m kidding with him. It’s fun to eat so casually in his living room. It’s easy to feel happy around him. I need easy. I need happy. I need more laughter in my life. It’s been too long. Smiling feels good. Laughing feels freeing. “Okay,” I say, “I’ve finished my pasta. You finished my meatballs. Let’s dig into dessert.”
“You’re my kind of girl,” he replies, starting to stand.
I read his comment two ways and it makes me feel good. “No, let me. You’ve been serving me all night. Let me serve dessert.”
“No, you’re my guest.”
“Nope, you just sit there and enjoy the view.” I shake my ass, then walk into the kitchen. Peeking back out, I ask, “That wasn’t too forward, was it?”
The candle he lit on the coffee table earlier reflects in his eyes, or maybe that’s something else. “No, I liked it a lot.”
Opening the refrigerator, I spot the container of dessert. “Austin, I loooovvvveee Tiramisu,” I call from the kitchen. I bring the container out with two spoons in hand, no dishes. I sit down on the floor on the other side of the table from him. He smiles. “No plates?”
“I didn’t want to make a bigger mess than necessary. You know how to share, don’t you?”
“I do. Just forget all about the meatball stealing.”
“Already forgiven and forgotten.”
He digs in and then leans across. “You should try mine.”
“We’re eating the same thing.”
“I don’t know,” he says, eyeing his spoon. “Mine tastes so much better. You should really try it and let me know.”
I grin, leaning forward. Feeling flirtatious, I close my eyes and wrap my lips around the spoon seductively. When I’m finished, I open my eyes and catch him licking the spoon I just took my bite from.
With a contented sigh, I say, “I think you’re right. I think yours is better.”
“I’m not positive, but now I’m thinking it might not be the dessert. It might just be me.”
I’ll happily play along. “Come here then and let me taste you. You know, just to figure out if it’s you or the dessert.”
He crawls on his knees around the tabl
e, no hesitation, his body hovering over mine. My stomach tightens in anticipation as I rise up onto my knees. I want this. I close my eyes and let his kiss take me away.
AN HOUR LATER, my dress is a mess. I frantically straighten it along with my wild hair in the bathroom.
When I walk out, I blush, not being able to look him in the eyes. This behavior is so unlike me and if we wouldn’t have stopped when we did… my mouth dries, knowing it’s time for me to go home.
My tongue runs over my bottom lip—a lip that’s swollen from kissing—his wonderful and erotic kisses. “I should go,” I say, wanting to avoid any major awkwardness. “Thank you for dinner and dessert…” I wave my hand around, definitely making it more awkward. “… And everything else.” Oh God this is embarrassing. Hopefully I’m not blowing it after such a great night.
“You’re a beautiful woman, but I think you’re pretty damn cute when you get embarrassed, Jules.” He takes me gently by the arm, halting my retreating body. “By the way, you have no reason to be embarrassed.”
“It’s been a long time. I don’t know what came over me.” I talk to our feet, avoiding his eyes altogether.
He pulls me to him, wrapping his arms around me, comforting me. “You were turned on. I was too,” he says, lifting my chin up against my will until I relax and look him in the eyes. “You can still see how much you turn me on.” He glances down between us then back up again. I don’t need to look. I can feel how turned on he is. “Do you want to talk about it? I don’t want you leaving here feeling bad about what we did or regretting it. I liked it too much for that. I like you too much for that.”
“I don’t want to talk about it, not tonight. I’m tired and that will take too long. I won’t regret it. It was amazing. You are amazing.”
“Then let’s talk about me and how inflated my ego is now that I gave you an orgasm from second base.” He chuckles, the sound is refreshing and when I start to laugh, I feel the weight of a long carried burden beginning to lift from my shoulders. He adds, “I haven’t made out like that since I was in college.”
I hit his chest in jest and reprimand lightly, “You are so bad.”
“I can’t have you taking things like tonight too seriously. We have enough problems in life. We don’t need to add embarrassed over having an amazing time with a handsome man to the list.”
“Stop it!” I playfully reply, squirming in his arms. “Next time I’ll resist just so I can deflate some of that ego of yours.”
Gripping me tighter, not wanting to let me escape, he takes me by the waist and swivels me. After kissing me lightly on the head, he says, “Never. I don’t want you to ever hold back. You don’t have to with me. Outside of our apartments you can be who you need to be to feel comfortable enough to face reality, but in here, I want the real you—the you I saw tonight. The you that laughs, and recites cheesy pick-up lines, and spontaneously orgasms when a guy grabs your boobs. That’s the you I want when it’s just the two of us.” He kisses me on the corner of the mouth. “Now please tell me that I get to spend more time with this you sometime soon.”
I nod, wanting this, wanting to spend more time with him because I like this me too. I like the me I am with him.
“Yes, I want that.” I wrap my arms around his neck and pull him slowly down to me. “I’d like that a lot.” Kiss. “Even the spontaneous orgasming part.” Kiss. “Especially the spontaneous orgasming part.” Kiss.
I step back from him, grabbing my purse and head for the elevator. “I hate to orgasm and go, but I have an early morning meeting.”
“I think your embarrassment is now called bragging. Ms. Braggy Braggerton, how’s Sunday night for you? Can you fit me in?”
I glance down at his erection that’s straining against his pants, then back up and reply, “That remains to be seen… or should I say felt, but I’m free that evening. My place. I’ll text you directions.” The elevator doors open and I step in.
“I’m too much of a gentleman to reply to that, but I want you to know that I think you’re pretty damn fantastic.” He leans his shoulder against the door that is trying to close on him.
“Also,” he says, stepping back, but I finish his sentence, “I owe you one.”
I see him fist-pump just as the doors close. I laugh aloud because I’m happy, because no one is around to judge me, or take away how perfect this night was.
“I’M SORRY,” AUSTIN says, “I didn’t expect it would be this long until I saw you again. I’ve had some words with my corporate accountants over this last minute tax bullshit.”
“Don’t worry about it. I’ve been busy anyway.” I fist his shirt in my hands and pull him closer. “I’ll forgive you on one condition.”
Our lips meet.
Not shy.
Possessive.
Reciprocal.
Smiles interrupt before we go too far. The newness of the relationship is exciting. “That was the condition,” I say, “so we’re all good here.”
His hands go to my sides and he whispers, “I missed you if that matters.”
“It matters a lot.”
More kisses from him. More giggles from me.
“Show me around your place.” He walks away, letting his fingers linger on my hip as he passes. Studying the room, he turns. “You just have the one piece?”
I follow his gaze to the painting that hangs above my couch. “Yeah.”
“I thought you’d have an apartment full of art, putting mine to shame.”
Although I could have bought all the pieces he did, I don’t treat myself that way. A touchy subject. A complicated one too.
“I apologize.” Worry graces his face, his forehead wrinkling as he approaches. “I didn’t mean to insinuate that this one isn’t enough—”
“I know. It’s okay, Austin. You didn’t offend me. This painting is the only one that struck me enough to hang it.”
He kisses the side of my head, his hand finding my waist again before he turns to stand in front of it. “It’s an extraordinary piece. The streaks making it unique. Was water used on it?”
“Something like that.”
“Oil, not acrylic?”
“Yes.”
“I can give you a tour, but it will consist of: here’s the living room, this way to the bedroom, and the bathroom right through there, and then we’d be back in the kitchen.”
He must have noticed the lack of furniture, the lack of décor, the lack of life because he asks, “I like it, Jules. Have you lived here long?”
“Yes, a while now and thank you, but you’re being too kind. I know it’s small, but it is what it is and about all I can manage to maintain with the amount of hours I put in at the gallery.”
“It’s great. Now,” he says, rubbing his hands together. “How can I help with dinner?”
I laugh because like him, I ordered food. “You can help me unpack the bag. Hope you like spicy. I ordered Thai.”
Thirty minutes later, he sets his plate down on the counter. “That was great. I haven’t had Thai in a few months, maybe a year. Thank you.”
“My pleasure.” I clear the plates, putting them in a sink of soapy water, and offer him another beer.
We ate standing up in the kitchen. Austin makes himself more comfortable by moving to the couch. With a devious grin, he says, “You know I always crave something sweet after eating something spicy. Can I treat you to an ice cream?”
“Make it a froyo and you got yourself a deal.”
He stands and stretches. “Froyo it is.”
The night is warm, no sweater needed, but I stand close to him anyway. “Oh my God! This is unf!”
“Unf?” he repeats.
I lick my spoon clean and see him smile at me. “Yes, unf! It’s orgasmic.”
He laughs and I blush, but I love saying what I want around him. He takes everything in stride and has a great sense of humor.
“Speaking of,” I start to say, but rise up on my toes and kiss him instead of finishing with words.<
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His lips are cold from the frozen yogurt and he tastes of berries. His free hand finds the back of my head, holding me to him, both of us wanting more. Our chilled tongues heat quickly once they touch, mingle, and slide. A moan escapes as I forget about my dessert and savor him instead.
Although I don’t, he must have remembered where we are because he stops with a gentle smile on his face and whispers. “You make me want to do things to you, Ms. Weston, but not on a New York street.”
I toss the rest of my frozen treat into the garbage and take his hand. “Yeah, I think we’re done here. Let’s go back.”
He tosses his own container and we start walking. We don’t talk on the way back, anticipation building with our pace. As soon as I lock the deadbolt, he’s on me, pinning me against the door with his body, his mouth on my neck, hands in my hair. My right leg lifts seemingly of its own accord balancing against his hip. His hand grips my thigh, holding it up while sliding down.
Breathless and with his eyes closed, he leans his forehead against mine. “You are driving me crazy, Jules. I feel out of control around you.” He takes a deep breath. “I’m not used to that.”
“You do the same to me,” I say with a breathy pant. “I haven’t felt like this in a long time.”
“And I thought I was special,” he teases.
Leaning my head back against the door with a thud, I laugh. “You know what I mean.”
“I know exactly what you mean.” Looking me in the eyes, a more serious tone takes over. “You all right with this?”
“I am. Look, I find you attractive, extremely attractive and, well…” My body heats against his, wanting him. “You turn me on probably more than I should admit to. You have beautiful eyes,” I say because they are and the way they look at me makes me weak in the knees.
He bites down on his bottom lip, gazing down at me, then says, “You have beautiful everything, Jules.” He kisses me.
This is the moment. The moment I need to decide if I’m going to take this further. He’s made his feelings clear, but am I ready for more…
Further.