by M. S. Parker
“Almost where?” I asked.
“Pritchard's Art Galleria.”
Okay, definitely not what I'd expected. Maybe it was some sort of erotic art. I could see Cade thinking it was 'entertaining' to take me into a place full of nude or sexual photography or artwork. Trying to shock me seemed like something he'd want to do. I told myself that no matter what I saw in there, I wouldn't get embarrassed.
“The owner's a friend of mine,” Cade said. “And tonight's the opening for a promising new artist Alejandro is particularly fond of.”
I nodded. When the car stopped, Cade got out first and stretched out his hand to help me from the car. As I straightened, he wrapped my arm around his. I tried not to focus on his warmth but rather on the gallery in front of me. It was all glass and metal, but done in unique designs that weren't like any sort of standard architecture. I liked it.
Other well-dressed people were heading for the entrance all around us and I couldn't help but wonder how many of these women had purchased Cade's services before. How many knew what he was, and by connection, why he was here with me? My stomach lurched as I thought of how they'd look at me, thinking the only way I could get a man was to pay for it.
“What's wrong?” Cade whispered. “You were fine a minute ago, but now you're stiff and tense.”
Damn him and his annoying habit of being observant. I decided honesty was better than trying to deny that I was bothered. “Have any of these women hired you?”
If he was surprised by how blunt I was, he didn't show it, and he didn't seem offended that I'd asked. Instead, he scanned the crowd before answering. “I see two previous clients.” He glanced down at me. I watched as first understanding, then something darker, moved across his features. Neither one stayed long. “You're ashamed to be here with me.” It was a statement. Flat and without any indication as to the emotions behind it.
I lifted my chin. “This isn't exactly the kind of thing I want advertised.” I felt his fingers tighten on my arm, just a fraction but enough to convey that what I'd said upset him. “Cade, it's not...”
“One of those women is here with her husband, who I doubt knows she hired me. The other is here with someone else like me.” There was an edge to the last two words. “Neither one will say a word, and they can't very well look down on you because they were in your same position.” His mouth curved into a humorless smile. “Or a variety of other positions.”
An awkward silence fell between us as he led me into the gallery. We passed a waiter with a tray of champagne glasses and each took one. I drank half of mine at once and a glance at Cade told me he'd drained his and taken another. All of the positive anticipation I'd felt going into this evening had faded. I knew what I'd said had been horrible, no matter how I felt. And that itself was wrong too. How could I look down on Cade for what he did for a living? Was I really so awful of a person that I'd judge someone like him when I was the one paying for his services?
We stopped at the far end of the gallery. Most everyone else was crowded up front and the way the space was set up, we were hidden between a large sculpture and a wall that held a pair of paintings on either side. I turned to face Cade, but he kept his eyes on the painting behind me. I reached up and put my hands on his face, turning his head until he was looking down at me. I surprised myself with my boldness, but it was something that had to be done. He'd never done anything to hurt me and I'd treated him like shit. He didn't deserve it. He was a good man, no matter what he did to make money.
“I'm sorry,” I said. “It's how I was raised, and that's not an excuse. It's just sometimes hard to shake off your childhood, you know?”
He nodded. “I know.” His arms slid around my waist and my hands shifted to behind his neck. “And I'm used to the comments.”
“That doesn't mean what I said was right.” I pulled myself closer to him, feeling the heat from his body against mine. “I really am sorry.”
“Thank you for apologizing. No one's ever apologized before.” He bent his head and pressed his lips against mine.
It was a simple kiss, a chaste one, but I felt the warmth from it straight down to my toes. Then he released me and took a step back. His hand reached for mine and he laced our fingers together. He turned his attention back to the painting and gestured at it, drawing my attention to it as well.
“Alejandro told me about this piece. It's his favorite. Autumn Sunrise.”
“Wow,” I breathed. It was beautiful landscape, not one of those abstract paintings I never really understood.
“I understand why he likes it so much,” Cade continued. “The artist managed to capture the juxtaposition between the beauty of the dying world at autumn and the new beginnings found at the start of the day.”
I looked up at him, puzzled. “Okay, I have to ask. What are we doing here? I thought you were supposed to teach me about... you know.” I glanced around to see if anyone was close enough to hear us. “Sex.”
“Aubree, if you can't say the word, you shouldn't be doing it.” His tone was mild. “That actually goes for pretty much anything when it comes to sex.” He gave me a sideways look, something wicked glinting in his eyes. “If you can't ask me to fuck you or tell me you want me to spank you...”
“Cade!” I hissed, yanking my hand away from his. “We're in public.”
He laughed. “Relax. No one's around.” He took my hand again.
I scowled at him. “So why are we here then?” I went back to my original question.
“Part of your lesson is appreciating beauty.”
“I appreciate beauty,” I snapped. I didn't like how smug he sounded when he said it, like we were in some twisted, NC-17 version of My Fair Lady.
He led me around the wall to stand next to a sculpture. “What do you see when you look at this?”
I studied the figure in front of me. It was a man and a woman, carved from stone that I assumed was marble. She was nude, her hands partially covering her breasts, her legs twisted just right to still be considered modest. The man was also nude, but his hands were on her shoulders, his legs planted shoulder width apart so that everything was exposed.
“I'm not a prude when it comes to art, Cade,” I said.
He pulled me in front of him, standing close enough to speak directly into my ear. “Look at them, Aubree. When you see something like this, do you just see line and symmetry? Can you only appreciate that it's well-formed, with graceful curves?” His voice slid across my skin, caressing it. “Can't you feel the desire between the man and his lover? How she wants him, but is holding back? The beauty of a piece like this, of any piece, isn't merely in what you see, but in the story it tells.”
There was a passion in his voice that told me he wasn't just reciting things he'd read in a book or he'd overheard other people saying. And it wasn't just from a viewer standpoint either. I understood the difference. I taught literature. I loved literature. I could speak passionately about the subject, but I'd heard authors speak on the same subjects and there was a difference in their tone. Something very similar to what I was hearing from Cade right now.
“This isn't just about seeing art, is it?” I turned, feeling a pang of disappointment when he took a step back so that we were half a foot apart. I ignored the feeling and pressed the issue. “Are you an artist?”
The corners of Cade's mouth tightened.
“You are,” I said. “Can I see some of your work?”
He was shaking his head before I finished asking the question. “I'm not an artist. I dabble. That's it.”
“But you have finished pieces, don't you?”
His eyes were hard as he looked down at me. “That's not why I brought you here. This is a lesson in beauty. Part of what you're paying me for.”
This time, I was the one who reached for his hand. I knew it wasn't a good idea to pry into his personal life, but I knew so little about this man with whom I was sharing so much of myself. “If this is about beauty, then show me what you find beautiful. Let me see
the world through your eyes.”
He held my gaze until I wanted to look away, but I didn't. He was searching for something in my face and I would remain steady until he found whatever he was looking for. After what seemed like forever, he nodded.
“All right. Come with me.”
Chapter 8
He asked the driver for the keys to the town car and gave the man what had to have been a huge tip, and then he acted like I was the crazy one for asking where we were going. I'd never seen someone leave their driver standing on the sidewalk. Then again, I wasn't exactly accustomed to having a driver, so maybe it was something rich people did when they got bored.
“Why didn't you just have him drive us?” I asked as he changed lanes.
“Because there's a slight chance that leaving this car unattended will result in it being stolen.”
I gave him a sharp look, expecting him to laugh at the joke, but then I recognized some of the signs along the road. He wasn't kidding. We were heading into a not-so-good section of the city. It wasn't quite the kind of neighborhood where I'd be scared to walk by myself during the day, but at night, I'd be extra cautious and have my pepper spray ready. More vandalism and theft occurred around here than violent crimes against people, but it still wasn't a great place to live.
Why was Cade taking me here? I'd asked to see his work. This couldn't be where he lived. Even I made enough money to stay out of this neighborhood, and that was saying something. He had to live in a better part of the city.
We parked in front of what looked like some sort of abandoned warehouse. The bottom floor was boarded up and the front covered with graffiti and grime. He looked over at me, a half-smile on his face.
“You might not want to leave anything in the car. The insurance will cover it if it's gone when we come out, but it's a hassle.” He got out of the car and walked around to open my door. His hand tightened around mine as he led me to a set of stairs at the side of the building. As we started up them, he spoke again. “It's not really dangerous here, but a sweet ride like that is a temptation few can resist.”
I nodded. It was actually pretty quiet, which I found surprising. My neighborhood was much noisier than this at eight-thirty on a Friday night. A gust of chilly October air made me shiver and then I was following Cade into a dark space that flooded with light just seconds later.
It was an absolutely huge loft. It ran the entire length of the building, which made it almost three times the size of my apartment. The entire space was open, with the exception of what I assumed was a bathroom. A bed was shoved against the far wall, the mattress lumpy-looking even from where I stood. The blankets piled on it must've been a necessity during the winter. It wasn't cold in here since the wind was blocked, but it wasn't exactly warm either. A small kitchenette was in the other far corner with the basics. Fridge, sink, stove, none of which looked like they'd been used recently.
All of that, however, was peripheral. The majority of the room was taken up with what I now realized was the purpose for our visit. Canvases stood on easels and leaned against walls. A half-finished sculpture of some kind sat on a table among tubes of paint. It looked more like something formed from clay rather than chiseled from rock, but I couldn't tell what it was supposed to be. Among the paintings hanging on the walls were photographs, some black and white, some in color. A few were of people, but distant shots. Most were of nature or architecture.
“This is yours.” I made it a statement instead of a question.
“You wanted to see my work.” Cade took off his tux jacket and laid it across the back of a chair that looked like it had come from a thrift store.
“You don't live here, do you?” Somehow, I couldn't mesh the image of Cade in a tux with living here.
He shook his head. “I have a condo in the city.” He smirked at me. “And much nicer furniture.”
“Then what's this?” I gestured around me.
He hesitated and I wondered if he was trying to decide whether or not he wanted to tell me. “This is where I used to live.”
My eyebrows went up, but I didn't say anything. If he wanted to tell me more, then he would.
“Once I began in my current occupation, I could afford a nicer place, but I kept this place for my... hobby.”
The way he said the last word made me think he didn't exactly like thinking of art as a hobby. Instead of pushing, I walked over to the closest painting. It was a portrait of a sad-looking woman with dark brown curls and dark gray eyes. I didn't need Cade to tell me she was his mother. In addition to her curls and eyes, he had her nose and cheekbones. She was young in the picture, not too much older than Cade was now.
“She's beautiful,” I said.
“She was.” His words were clipped.
I suddenly remembered his tattoo, the letters RIP above 'Mom.' I didn't know the story or how long she'd been gone, but I turned to offer my condolences all the same.
“I work with different mediums, as you can see.” Cade turned his back to me and walked toward a stack of canvases, the gesture telling me we were venturing into forbidden territory. “I'm never sure which one's my best, so I try them all. Experiment and see what I can do with each one.”
“Do you develop the photographs yourself?” I followed his lead away from emotionally personal things.
“There's a space downstairs I use for a darkroom,” he said. “It was easier to convert that than try to add one up here. Photography's a fairly new thing.”
“Well, they're really good.” I cringed at my words. Couldn't I come up with something better than 'really good'?
“Thank you.” Cade picked up something from a cluttered table. He moved several easels out from the center of the room and then opened up the cloth he'd picked up and laid it on the floor. “You know,” he said. “I never bring clients here.”
A thrill went through me at his words and I told myself to stop being silly. We just had a different arrangement than he had with other women. It was an on-going teaching relationship, nothing more.
“I appreciate the chance to see your work,” I said, unsure how I was supposed to respond to his statement.
“You’re the only one who ever asked,” he said simply. He didn't look at me as he picked up some paint and brushes and set them on the drop cloth. “But now, I think you need to do something for me in return.”
The atmosphere in the room shifted.
“Let me paint you.”
I swallowed hard, visions of every movie I'd ever seen where a woman reclined on a couch, nude, and allowed a man to paint her. It wasn't the idea of Cade seeing me that made me hesitate. Once it was done, it would be there, available, for anyone to see.
“Cade, I–”
“It's part of your lesson for the night,” he said. “I was going to conduct this in a slightly different manner, but now that I have you here, this is what I want to do.” He took a step toward me. “Everything off. You can put it on the chair over there.”
Since he hadn't given me specific instructions about how he wanted me to undress, I did it quickly and efficiently. I was surprised at how easy it was to take off my clothes in front of him now. It had taken me months to not want to turn out the lights or undress under the blankets when I'd been with Ronald. Now, I easily resisted the temptation to cover myself as I turned back to Cade. My heart thudded painfully against my chest as I saw he was stripping as well. The man was a work of art himself.
It wasn't until he walked over to put his clothes on the chair that I thought to wonder why he was naked as well. Before I could ask, he was giving me new instructions.
“Go stand in the center of the drop cloth.”
I did as I was told, but couldn't stop myself from flicking my eyes down to catch a glimpse of his cock. I licked my lips as I remembered how he tasted and I wondered what it would be like to take it now when it was still soft, feel it grow in my mouth until I couldn't take it all. My pussy grew wet at the thought.
When I turned to face Cade, he w
as walking toward me with a paintbrush in one hand and a palette of different colors in the other.
“My dry cleaner would kill me if I got paint on my tux,” he said. “And this is going to get messy.” He dipped the paintbrush into a dark red color.
I gasped as the cool paint spread across my breast. Definitely not what I had in mind when I agreed to let him paint me. But, as the soft bristles moved over my skin, spreading the paint in circles, I had to admit that I liked the sensation. It wasn't quite tickling, but close enough that I wanted to squirm as the brush started down between my breasts. Cade switched to a deep blue that mixed with the red to make purple, and that was the color he ran down my stomach to my belly button. The brush moved over my hips and around my back.
When it dipped into the top of my crack, my hands clenched. The brush began to zig-zag across my left cheek, then my right until most of my skin was covered. Then it was gone and I heard it drop to the floor. A moment later, Cade's hand was in the middle of my back, the paint slick between our skin.
He walked around me so that I could see him again. His eyes met mine for a moment and then he dropped to his knees and put his hands on my hips. The paint on his palms was black, but it only registered for a moment before he was kissing me.
I cried out as his mouth pressed against me, his tongue delving between my lips to find my clit. I'd never considered how waxing would change the way oral sex felt. It was like there were nerves I'd never known existed and Cade's mouth was finding every single one.
I reached out to put my hands on his shoulders to steady myself and he pulled back. I made a sound of protest, my fingers flexing.
“Get paint on your hands,” he said. “Touch your breasts.”
I cupped my breasts, covering them with my hands and squeezing to make sure my palms were covered with paint. My nipples were hard, aching for attention, and I obliged, rolling them between my fingers until Cade pushed my legs further apart and ran his tongue down to my core. My hands dropped to his shoulders, smearing color across his tanned skin.
