Secrets in the Stone

by Radclyffe

  “How will I know what’s right?”

  “How is it you know what to do with stone?” Pops asked.

  “I feel it. Then I know.”

  “Well then. There’s your answer.”

  For some reason, Rooke thought of Adrian, but she didn’t know why. She wanted to call her, to ask her what she thought. She wanted to call just to talk to her. To hear her voice. She’d never called anyone just to talk before. She wondered how close Adrian and Melinda were. They both lived in New York City, they were both artists, they probably had a lot in common. A lot more in common than Adrian had with her. Maybe if she let Melinda have her sculptures, that would change.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Melinda was pulled from sated slumber to the pinnacle of orgasm, where she teetered on the edge of a volcanic crater, dangerously close to plummeting into the fiery streams of molten rock below. She gasped, simultaneously registering hot, wet mouths on her breast and between her legs. A rush of pleasure engulfed her as she gripped the dark hair of the woman sucking her. Becky’s friend. Nina. Her tongue was exquisite, teasing ever so lightly over the sweet spot that made Melinda swell and ache.

  “Nina,” Melinda whispered, lifting her hips to slide her clitoris deeper between Nina’s lips, “Nina, take Becky while you suck me. Inside her. Hurry, darling, you have me very close.”

  Since Becky had arrived just after midnight with an eager playmate in tow, Becky and Nina had climaxed multiple times in multiple ways, leaving them drained and Melinda replete. They’d all drifted into a somnolent haze of sexual satisfaction moments before, but apparently her two resilient young lovers were still hungry.

  “Oh God,” Becky moaned, jerking as Nina entered her. She rolled Melinda’s nipple feverishly between her fingers and pumped her sex on Nina’s hand. “Feels so good.”

  “You’re going to come soon,” Melinda told Becky. “She’s going to make you come.”

  “Oh yes. Oh God, yes. Fuck me, fuck me please. I’m coming.”

  Nina set her teeth around Melinda’s clitoris and sucked. The tendrils of Melinda’s orgasm unraveled in a burst of heat and light, sparks igniting behind her nearly closed lids. Becky wailed and Melinda groaned, her control annihilated.

  “Becky, kiss me.” Abdomen rigid, Melinda thrust her hips to meet Nina’s eager tongue. “Kiss me. Come with me.”

  Writhing in the throes of her climax, Becky sealed her lips to Melinda’s and poured her passion into Melinda’s waiting mouth. Melinda drank, filling herself with Becky’s abandon as she emptied herself over and over into Nina. When Becky fell away, spent, Melinda reached for Nina.

  “Satisfy yourself, darling,” Melinda urged. “Let me feel you come.”

  Nina crawled up to curl against Melinda’s other side, plunging her hand between her legs. Melinda stroked her face and skimmed the tip of her tongue over Nina’s lips, tasting herself in the shadows of Nina’s pleasure. Beside her, Becky stirred and reached down to languidly fondle Melinda’s clitoris. Melinda’s lids fluttered as her sex tightened beneath Becky’s fingertips.

  Nina, her mouth twisted in a grimace, undulated in the tangled sheets, her legs spread wide and her fingers strumming her clitoris. She whimpered. “Hurts.”

  “You need to come so very badly, I can tell.” Melinda caressed Nina’s breast, plucking her taut nipple. “You want to come now, don’t you.”

  “Yes, oh please, yes,” Nina gasped, open-mouthed against Melinda’s throat. “Want to come…for you.”

  “Faster, darling. Let me have you. Come for me.” Melinda drew Nina’s tongue into her mouth and sucked. Nina’s arm blurred. Becky stroked Melinda harder. Nina arched, unleashing a string of broken cries. Melinda closed her eyes and rode the river of molten pleasure.

  *

  Rooke was cold, so cold her bones were about to shatter. The hands coursing over her were ice, the limbs entwined with hers slick and frigid as the marble that jutted from the snow-covered ground inches from her face. Twisting away from one writhing body, she slipped into another’s fervent embrace. Lips trailed fiery kisses down her throat, burning through the bitter frost to singe her blood. Two hands, four, caressed her breasts, her abdomen, between her legs. A tongue coated her sex with liquid flame and she convulsed under another mouth, biting at her neck. Teeth tugged at her nipple, clamped down on her clitoris. The earth heaved and broken stone rained down on her, bruising her flesh and bone. A terrible madness churned inside, and she fixed on the pale surface of the grave marker. Help me, she pleaded, but got no answer. Clawing her way free of the chaos that raged inside her, tearing her apart, she made one last desperate attempt to reach the sanctuary of the stone. Her grasp fell short.

  At the moment darkness claimed her, Rooke’s eyes flew open. She was still in darkness, but she was no longer cold, and no stranger’s body hovered over her. Her skin was coated with sweat. Her heart hammered in her ears, in her chest, in her sex. Ignoring the aching throb of blood pulsing in her center, she swung her legs over the side of the bed and turned on the bedside lamp. She padded into the living room in the sleeveless gray T-shirt and loose sweatpants she’d worn to bed. She found a pencil and pulled a pad of paper from a haphazard pile on the low table in front of the couch. Bending forward, she rapidly sketched the gravestone from her dream, including as many of the symbols as she could remember. When she was done, she stared at the name she couldn’t read.

  *

  The wall phone in Rooke’s shop rang just as she was putting away her tools. She’d been working since four, too disturbed by the distorted dream-collage of figures twisting on a snow-covered grave to sleep again. She’d put the women and their icy touch out of her mind as she drew warmth and strength from the figure emerging from the stone. She could almost see her clearly now—a woman standing with legs spread wide, one arm raised, her head thrown back in victory. A warrior, perhaps, or a savior.

  Rooke gave the figure one last look, wishing she could see her face, and answered the phone. “Hello.”

  “There’s someone here to see you,” Pops said. “We’re in the kitchen. Come on over.”

  Rooke didn’t have time for questions before the call was disconnected. She hurried upstairs to wash her hands and change into clothes that weren’t covered with stone dust. Tucking the tails of a black button-down-collar shirt into her jeans, she hustled downstairs and headed for the house, not even bothering with a sweatshirt. She never had visitors. A familiar ache stirred in her chest, but this time she felt only fire. Maybe Adrian had come.

  She didn’t see the Jeep or any other car in the driveway, but she was in too much of a hurry to consider what that meant. She barged into the kitchen and then stopped abruptly. Melinda sat at the table with her grandfather. Unlike Adrian, who had fit as naturally into the comfortable kitchen as Rooke and her grandfather, Melinda looked completely out of place, as if she had taken a wrong turn on her way to a cocktail party. She wore wide-legged, black silk slacks, black heels, and a royal blue sweater that caressed more than covered her full breasts. Her blond hair was loose and artfully mussed, as if she’d just gotten out of bed. When she turned toward Rooke, her eyes slowly traversed every inch of Rooke’s body. Her mouth lifted into a pleased smile.

  “Please tell me I didn’t drag you away from your work,” Melinda said, her voice intimately low.

  Rooke resisted the urge to push her fists into her pockets, as if hiding her hands could somehow safeguard what she created with them. Instead, she crossed to the counter and poured herself a cup of coffee from the pot her grandfather had already made. The clock over the stove showed it was almost nine. She’d missed breakfast. After taking a sip, she turned back and met Melinda’s mildly amused gaze.

  “You aren’t interrupting. I was just finishing up.”

  “Good, because I would hate to disturb an artist while in the midst of creative passion.”

  Rooke averted her gaze, but she knew it was already too late to hide what Melinda must have seen in her eyes. He
r work was her passion, the most intense experience of her life, touching her in ways no human being ever had. Liberating the figures from the stone both aroused and satisfied her, physically and emotionally. She’d managed to live without the same kind of intimacy with anyone, without seeking a connection even when her need was so sharp she bled from it, because she was waiting. Waiting for the moment when she would experience with a woman the perfect union, the total harmony, she shared with stone.

  “Is it always enough?” Melinda asked softly.

  “I don’t know.” Rooke glanced at her grandfather, who was leaning back in his aluminum-legged kitchen chair, observing them with casual curiosity. “I guess Melinda explained about her gallery in New York City.”

  “A little.”

  “I told Mr. Tyler that you are an exceptional artist, but obviously, he doesn’t need my opinion to know that.” Melinda opened a briefcase and extracted a folder that she laid in the center of the kitchen table. “I brought a contract for you to review. I’ve already purchased the sculpture that was part of the estate auction. Mr. Barnes delivered it last night. It’s even more beautiful than I expected. As it happens, I had a solo showing scheduled later this month and the artist is unfortunately unable to appear due to a sudden illness. I want your work to fill that slot.”

  “You haven’t even seen the rest of my sculptures.” Rooke was having trouble grasping Melinda’s offer. She’d never really thought about what she was eventually going to do with her sculptures. It had been enough to create them. While she was absorbed with the work, her mind was clear and her body at peace. When she was finished, she could gaze upon the embodiment of her dreams and desires. That had been enough.

  “I was hoping we could rectify that this morning. Why don’t you show me?” Melinda stood, placing her hand on Rooke’s arm. “I’ll leave the paperwork for you to review later. You’ll want your attorney to look at it, of course.”

  Rooke shot a glance at her grandfather, who lifted his shoulder, telegraphing that it was her call. She could say no and he would never bring it up again. Melinda regarded her expectantly and when she looked into her eyes, she caught fleeting glimpses of tall buildings, bright lights, and intimate, shadowed recesses with women pressed close around her. For just an instant she saw herself in the center of a crimson-draped bed, naked, a woman beneath her whose face, like the woman in the stone, was hidden from her. Startled, Rooke blinked and then there was only the swirling green-gold of Melinda’s eyes.

  “How many?” Rooke’s throat was dry and her voice came out husky. “How many would you want?”

  Melinda’s expression became avid, intense. She curled her fingers around Rooke’s arm and leaned into her. “Why, all of them.”

  “I can’t.” Rooke braced herself, feeling as if she were suddenly under attack. She had the almost overwhelming urge to lash out, to defend herself against some danger she couldn’t fully perceive. A wave of sorrow and loss threatened to choke her. “I…not all at once.”

  “All right,” Melinda said quickly, stroking Rooke’s arm. “Six, then. Take me to them. You can choose.” She glanced over her shoulder at Rooke’s grandfather. “You won’t mind, will you?”

  “It’s up to Rooke.” Pops regarded Rooke steadily. “I’ll be happy if you stay right here, the way things are, for as long as you want. But I always thought…” He paused and cleared his throat. “I always thought there was more out there for you.”

  “I’m not leaving,” Rooke said to Melinda. “This is where I live. Where I work. I need to be here.”

  “Of course. We can talk about all that later.” Melinda slipped into her long leather coat and took Rooke’s hand. “Come on, now. No more teasing.”

  Rooke led Melinda along the icy path to the garage, still uncertain as to what she should do. Melinda had a way of making her want things she’d never thought she wanted. The idea of bringing her sculptures out of hiding so that others could see them, own them, was both frightening and exciting. All her life she’d been dismissed. Laughed at. Pitied. What would it be like to be respected, to have what she did, who she was, mean something?

  “You have nothing to be afraid of,” Melinda said, as if divining Rooke’s indecision. “I know who you are, what you are. When people see your work, they’ll know it too. They’ll want more. They’ll want you.”

  “That’s not why I sculpt. I’m not interested in being wanted that way.”

  Melinda laughed. “All right, then. I promise to keep you safe from the clamoring crowds. I’d rather prefer to keep you all to myself anyhow.”

  “In here.” Rooke slipped her arm from Melinda’s grasp and opened the side door, reaching inside to flip on the light. When Melinda followed her inside, she said, “Wait here. I’ll get them.”

  “No.” Melinda stopped her by tugging on her arm.

  Rooke turned and was taken aback to find Melinda very close to her. So close that Melinda’s breasts brushed her chest. “What?”

  “I want to see,” Melinda murmured, resting her palm flat against Rooke’s chest, just above her heart. “I want to see them. I want to see where you work. I want to see you touch them.” As she spoke, she leaned closer until her pelvis almost rested against Rooke’s.

  Melinda’s hand was hot, hot enough to kindle the fire simmering in Rooke’s belly. Sweat trickled down her throat and onto her chest, her barriers melting, her defenses crumbling. A pulse beat madly in her throat and Melinda brought her fingers up to trace it.

  “You have so much power, so much life.” She brought her mouth close to Rooke’s. “I saw it in the sculpture. I felt it last night when I held it. I felt you.”

  Rooke saw Melinda’s lips part, felt a rush of heat flash from beneath Melinda’s fingers and settle deep inside her. She instantly tightened, stiffened, engorged. In another second, she would taste Melinda’s desire and Melinda would know hers. Rooke backed up until Melinda’s hand fell away. Her stomach was tight and she recognized it for what it was. She’d walked away from arousal before. Many times. But never had it been this difficult.

  Melinda’s breasts rose and fell rapidly as her breath came in short, hard gasps. “Nothing makes business more satisfying than when it’s mixed with pleasure.”

  “I wouldn’t know.”

  “Not yet.” Melinda folded her arms beneath her breasts. “There’ll be time for that later. Let me see what you’ve been hiding.”

  Rooke paused a moment longer, knowing without quite understanding how, that she was about to take a step that would change her life forever. Melinda waited, her gaze burning hot on Rooke’s face. Rooke unlocked the door to her sanctuary, but she did not bid Melinda to enter. She would not give her everything.

  She chose a series of four female nudes, each almost three feet square and weighing close to seventy-five pounds. One figure reclined on her back, the other on her side, one sat with a leg drawn up, and the last knelt, neck arched. With each there was a sense of another woman close by, perhaps having just touched her. A kiss, an intimate caress, lingered in their smiles, in the thrust of their breasts, in the languid pose of their limbs. These were women who had loved and been loved well.

  Melinda’s expression went from excitement to supreme satisfaction as Rooke carried them out and placed them one by one on the rough wood surface of her workbench. Melinda extended her hand.

  “May I touch them?” Melinda’s eyes seemed almost feverish.

  Rooke said gruffly, “Go ahead.”

  Melinda skimmed her fingertips along the curve of a breast, down the long plane of an abdomen, over a gently rounded thigh. Her breath escaped in a long, sensuous sigh. “Oh yes. These are exquisite. So powerful. You have such power.”

  “I’ve only uncovered what was already there.”

  “You know there’s more,” Melinda whispered. “The pleasure, the passion, you carved from this stone is just waiting to be called in the flesh. Waiting for you.”

  “I haven’t decided what I’m going to do yet.” R
ooke fought down the excitement that shot through her while watching Melinda caress the figures only she had ever touched.

  “I know. I’m leaving this afternoon. I’ll wait.” Melinda lifted her hand, warm from the stone, and stroked the edge of Rooke’s jaw. “I’ve waited a long time already.”

  Chapter Eighteen

  Adrian stopped in the midst of sweeping the newly fallen snow from the front porch to watch the red truck pull up her driveway. Rooke. She hadn’t expected to see her until later in the week when Rooke was scheduled to start work on the roof, and a warm buzz of anticipation fluttered in her depths. Damn, and here she was in ratty old sweatpants and a shapeless flannel shirt. As soon as she caught herself having that uncharacteristic concern, she laughed to herself. What was she, fifteen with her first crush on the center of the basketball team? Rooke climbed out of the truck, and Adrian forgot all about Marcie Fitzgerald and high school basketball. The real thing was so much better.

  Rooke looked tight and tough in her black jeans, black hooded sweatshirt, and work boots, and the flutter turned to something hotter and more urgent, deep down inside. Adrian didn’t want to think about the whys or the wherefores of her reaction. She’d spent enough time doing that the day before and hadn’t found any answers. Leaning her broom against the wall, she started to wave and then halted, frowning as Rooke circled around the front of the truck to open the passenger-side door.

  Adrian’s euphoria shattered like thin ice over black water as Melinda gingerly stepped out onto the snow-covered drive. When Rooke reached out to steady her, Melinda casually looped her arm through Rooke’s as if she’d done it a thousand times before. Even from a distance, Melinda looked hot, her every movement a study in seduction. Melinda’s proprietary claim on Rooke drifted on the air with the feral scent of ownership. If Adrian had hackles, they’d be standing up like a ridge of razor blades down her back. Folding her arms beneath her breasts and planting her legs at the top of the stairs, she watched them approach. Rooke’s gaze was fixed somewhere to the left of Adrian’s face, but Melinda’s eyes were on hers, alight with amused laughter and sultry challenge. Adrian’s mood wasn’t helped by the fact that they looked stunning together—Rooke’s dark good looks were the perfect contrast to Melinda’s shimmering gold hair and glinting emerald gaze. Pheromones twisted through the bitter cold air and Adrian’s temper lashed when an unwelcome heat blazed between her thighs.