by Ella Goode
“What’s the catch, Jay?” There has to be one. There always is.
“On the weekends and some nights you’ll have to help me with my work. An extra set of hands is often needed.”
“That’s the catch?” That is way too easy.
“And I like you. I want to get to know you better. With how much you work it makes it hard, and I want to give this a shot.” I lick my bottom lip. I want that too. I’m just nervous.
“I have one rule.” I hold my finger up.
“I can’t promise I can keep my mouth off you.”
My body warms thinking about how good that felt. If you think about it, even if this all went to hell I could still go back home. I’m not giving up anything. I could pretend I’m on a mini vacation at a fancy resort for now. If Jay and I crash and burn, at least he’ll be here, and I won’t have to worry about those awkward moments we’d have when we saw each other.
“That wasn't the rule.”
He pushes his body into me. I can feel the hard outline of his cock against me. I tilt my head all the way back to look up at him.
“You’re killing me, sweetheart. What’s the one thing?”
I give him a mysterious smile. “I get the master.”
“Deal,” he agrees without missing a beat. “Now we need to seal the deal.”
Before I can ask how he plans for us to do that, he kisses me. I think this man could get me to agree to anything with a mouth like his. I’m not sure if I hate it or love it. What I do know is I don’t want him to stop kissing me. Ever.
Fifteen
Jay
“I’m not letting you do this, Jay,” my agent barks into my ear. “Canceling a book contract when they’ve already paid you a million dollars. You must be suffering from lead poisoning at that rat-infested apartment you’re in.”
“There’s no rats at the apartment. It’s clean and safe.” I repeat Dove’s words. I crane my neck so the door to the master bedroom is in sight. She was joking when she said she wanted the master, but I wasn’t. I don’t need much space; besides, having this secondary bedroom set up as an office worked out just fine. There’s a third bedroom, but I doubt I’ll use it. It’s clear on the other side of the penthouse, and I want to be close to Dove. If I can’t sleep in the same bed or in the same room, I can sleep one wall away. That’s enough for me right now. When she’s ready for more than kissing, I’m just a few steps away.
“Then you ate something, and it messed with your head.”
“I can pay the advance back.”
“Let’s not be hasty here. As your agent, I need to tell you all the contractual clauses you’ll be violating.” There’s a shuffling of paper, and then Davis clears his throat. He starts to read about the party of the first part owing shit to the party of the second part and the obligations herein, therein, whereforeartthouin. I swing the chair around and lift my feet onto the desk. Davis is worked up, and from experience, I know he needs to release his steam or it’ll blow up later. I flip through my lost city photos with disinterest and know I’m making the right decision. This project doesn’t interest me, and if I put it out now, everyone who picks it up will come away with the same sense of dissatisfaction. That’s not who I am or what I want to put my name on.
“How about a different project?” I say, pausing on one photo of the old man and his granddaughter.
Davis stops mid-rant. “I’m listening.”
“I’ll fulfill my contract, but it’s not going to be lost cities. It’s going to be about connections and it will feature this city.”
“Yeah?” He’s intrigued.
“I’m sending you some images.” I attach the grandfather and send that one and two more off to Davis. There’s silence on the other end as I wait for him to receive it. Then there’s a long protracted quiet that makes me fidgety. I get up and walk over to the doorway. Dove’s been sleeping for a few hours now—or, at least, her bedroom door has been closed for a few hours. It’s two in the morning, and there’s no light leaking from the bottom of the door, so she’s either sleeping or she’s huddled under the blankets with her phone.
I stare harder, wishing I had a lens to see through the wooden barrier. Was she sleeping on her side or on her back? In my apartment, the old one, she slept on her side, with a pillow hugged between her knees. It could be my body between her legs. No. It will be my body. She wants to take it slow, so that’s the pace we’re going at. My dick wants to hammer inside her pussy, but I’m satisfied that she’s here in this apartment with me. Every night I’m the last thing she sees before she falls asleep and every morning, I’ll be the first thing her eyes set upon. It’s all good.
“Okay.”
“What?” I’d forgotten I was on the phone with Davis.
“Okay. You win. I don’t necessarily agree that your lost city film isn’t as good as these photos, but these are incredible. Who is the woman in the last two? She’s…” He pauses, searching for the right word…”arresting. You only see a small slice of her profile, and it sticks with you. Mysterious, magnetic. I fucking love this. I’m taking these to your publisher. We’ll work something out.”
“Good deal.”
“But no more changes!” he commands.
I nod and hang up. Why would I want to change? I’m going to photograph every damn place in this city with Dove as my muse. She doesn’t realize it yet, but she’s my source of inspiration. l cross the room to my camera and pick it up. I shouldn’t do this, but if I can’t touch her, I need to look at her. I need to know she’s still breathing, that she’s still near.
Before my better angels change my mind, I open the door to her room. The master bedroom is huge. Dove looks like a tiny dot in the midst of the large space. There’s almost no light in here and even my expensive-ass lens would have trouble recording an image. I walk over to the windows and draw back the curtains, allowing moonlight to spill into the room. The golden light streams across the bed, highlighting the rise of her hips and the valley of her waist. The camera makes a nearly imperceptible swish as the eye of the lens blinks, capturing her in her slumber.
I won’t publish these. Dove is too vulnerable. Her eyelashes lay like lace on her cheek. Her lower lip is pushed forward in a kissable pout. The sheets are pulled down enough that I can see the rise of her tits, two ripe peaches ready for plucking. There’s a lump between her legs, which I suspect is a pillow. Does her pussy ache there? Is that why she has something shoved up against her sex? The pillow is too soft to provide any relief. She needs my hands, my fingers, my tongue, my cock. If I were in that bed with her, her leg could be draped over my hip while my cock is buried inside her cunt. We’d drench the sheets with her come and mine. And when we were spent, she’d pass out in my arms. I take another photo and then another until the film roll runs out.
Sixteen
Dove
I roll over when I hear the sound of a click. We haven't lived in the new penthouse long, but it is starting to feel like home. Which I know is crazy, considering we barely know one another. I’m here playing house with a man, and my mind is letting me slip deeper into the fantasy of this all being real. Maybe it’s not the place making me feel as though I’m at home as much as it is Jay. He seems to be the missing piece to my happiness. Because that’s how I’ve felt since he’s been around.
I’m spending more time with him than I ever have in my life with any other man, and I actually miss him when he’s not around. We have breakfast and dinner together every day. He even pops in for lunch when I’m at work.
The girls there are getting excited about that. I have to admit that I find myself getting jealous. I thought about telling him not to come anymore, but me wanting to see him outweighed my jealous tendencies. I had decided seeing him was worth watching them burn a hole into him with their eyes. They could look all they wanted. Jay never even acknowledges their existence except to be polite. His eyes and attention are always focused on me.
I slip out of the bed, knowing that I probably
won’t be able to go back to sleep now. When I open my bedroom door, I see Jay watching it. He’s leaning up against the wall with his camera in his hand. If I had to guess, he’s scrolling through the pictures that he’s taken. I love watching him as he works. Who would have thought a man holding a camera could be sexy? Yet Jay makes it that way.
His head jerks up. There’s a look of surprise on his face. “I thought I heard something. Did you know blue jays are both loud and noisy?”
I smirk at him. Jay is far from loud, but he does ask me a lot of questions, always trying to find out more about me. I’ve never met a man like him before. He pushed his way into my life, and now I can’t imagine him not being in it.
“Been reading up on them?” I step in the hallway. He’s in sweats now and a simple white shirt. He’s fit. He says running helps clear his mind. It does a lot more than that, based on his body.
“Some.”
“What else did you learn?”
“When a female blue jay picks her mate they generally stay monogamous for life.”
“That’s interesting. I’ve been doing some reading of my own.” He is always reading. “Doves mate for life too. Did you know that?” He smirks before clearing the rest of the space between us.
“I didn't know that.” I lick my bottom lip. How is this conversation turning me on? “So we both can’t sleep?” I swear the man never sleeps. I reach up and run my fingers through his hair. He likely needs a haircut, but I’m enjoying it like this.
“Lay down with me.” I grab his hand that doesn't have his camera in it and pull him into the bedroom with me.
“Do you mind?” he asks, holding up the camera. “No nakeds.”
“I know, Jay.”
He dims the lights before pushing a button that opens the drapes to reveal the bright lights of the busy city.
“Leave it,” he says when I go to pull my shirt back up that has fallen off my shoulder. “Pretend that I’m not here. Just take in the city. Feel the energy that it gives off.” I place my hands on the glass, looking down at the people below. Most of them look as if they are tiny specs that are moving about. It's so late, but the city is still so alive.
I let my mind drift. It always seems to go back to thoughts of Jay. My first instinct was to run from him, but now the only thing I want to do is run to him. There is something about him. I’ve never felt this connection with anyone. He makes me feel safe. My sister would kill me if she heard that. I’d be lying if I didn't admit that I struggle with her being close to our dad. I know I shouldn’t. She should have that.
Everyone should have a family. My only family was my mom, and after she passed I felt so alone. I take my hands from the glass to turn to look at Jay. The camera snaps a few more times. “I think you missed your calling, Dove. You should have been a model.”
“There hasn’t been one second when I thought you weren’t breathtaking. But here and now you are a vision. It’s not something that could be caught on a runway or modeling. It’s you. Everything about you makes the onlooker want more. You say so much without speaking a single word.” His words have me reaching for the hem of my shirt and pulling it over my head, leaving me in only a simple pair of cotton panties. Clearly I was unprepared for this.
“Can you see what I want now?”
He sets his camera down. “Connection.” He lifts his own shirt off, tossing it away. When I reach him, he pulls me in for a kiss. It's soft and slow, like he’s trying to tell me I’m not alone before pulling me into bed with him. I wrap myself around him, and he holds me tightly against him.
“How can a city be so busy but still make you feel so alone?” I ask.
“You’re not alone, and Avery and I don’t count. Call into work tomorrow. I want to show you the city through my eyes.”
I roll over in his arms. He brushes my hair out of my face. “Okay,” I agree before snuggling more into him. He holds me tight. It’s the kind of hug you give to someone you love.
Seventeen
Jay
I take her to an old railroad bridge on the southeast side of the city. This part is mostly industrial.
“I’ve never been here before.” Dove picks her way gingerly down the broken concrete stairs leading to the embankment. There’s no sidewalk here, only a dirt path that hasn’t been attended to for a long while. The hard-packed soil is disappearing under the creeping growth of weeds.
“Before I left, I did a lot of walking around the city. I’ve probably taken photographs of every corner, every acre of this place.”
“And did you get so sick of it that you had to run off?” She stops and looks back at me. “Wait. You don’t have to answer that. It was rude of me to ask.”
“No. It’s fine.” It wasn’t so much that I got sick of the city but that I was no longer inspired by it. “I think I was looking for something and I didn’t find it so I left.”
I’d been looking for her the whole time and didn’t realize it until I saw her walk into her apartment building. Everything changed the moment I laid eyes on her. The sun shined brighter. The grass was greener. The air smelled better. She would think I was weird—or weirder than I already was—if I admitted that, so I keep it to myself. But it’s true.
“I’m back now, though, and remembering all the little things I discovered.” I lead her down the dirt path and under the bridge until the door appears.
“What’s in here?”
I wiggle my eyebrows. “A hideaway.” I pull open the door. The hinges creak from disuse. No one has been in here for a long time—maybe not since the last time I was here. I duck under the low entry and offer my hand. “Don’t worry. It’s safe,” I add when she hesitates.
She does the cute thing with her nose but takes my hand like a brave, trusting girl and allows me to pull her inside.
“Wow,” she says, her eyes growing big. “I didn’t realize we were that far down.” The hobbit-like doorway that is only about as high as a ten year-old’s frame gives way to a large cavern. Light filters through manholes at the top and long, rectangular openings facing the river. The space is cavernous and deep. Kids used to come here and drink and graffiti the walls, but that generation never shared the secret hideaway with their kids, so it’s now empty with only the faded paint on the walls.
As Dove walks around, her fingers tracing the bubble-shaped four foot high letters and the sometimes profane drawings as I take photos.
“You’re not taking pictures of me, right?” she says without turning back to me.
“Right.” It’s a small white lie. I’m taking photos of the old graffiti, the stone floors, the dust mites dancing in the ray of sunlight. That she happens to be in all of these photos, that it’s her red Converse sneakers against the dark gray cement floor or her hand intercepting the beam of light are coincidences. I take a dozen shots before she comes back to my side.
“Can I see?” she asks, peering over my arm.
I show her the blank view finder. “It’s a film camera, not digital.”
“Oh, how come?”
“Digital cameras process photos even in a raw format. Film never does.”
“Do you always use film?”
“Not always. I shot most of my stuff overseas on digital but back here”—with you, I silently say—“I want the truest version I can get.” I tuck the camera back into my case and swing it over my shoulder. “Come on. Let’s go see a few other places.”
I take her to an old round-about in the cute neighborhood north of the city central. The houses here are all brick and built in the forties and fifties. The center of the neighborhood is defined by a tiny cemetery that the city was once going to tear down during a development phase. The residents fought for the cemetery, and now it’s the center of a round-about. The local residents take care of it, tending to the boxwood hedges that frame the circular space.
After the cemetery, we visit Grant Park in the eastern part of the city. It houses a war memorial for the World War II vets. Behind the memorial is
a small arboretum funded by one war vet’s family who happened to be very wealthy. The arboretum specializes in orchids and other rare flowers. There’s a small butterfly house attached. The owner knows me but is gone today, or I wouldn’t have brought Dove here.
“I know you’re taking photos of me now,” Dove murmurs.
I lower the camera. “Guilty.”
“You’re too far away to get a good photo of the butterflies. Come over here and take a picture of this one. He’s gorgeous. Do you know what kind he is?”
“I don’t.” I cross to her side and bend close to the brilliant blue and black creature. Its wings fold and open at a slow, steady rate. I snap two shots for Dove and then step back. “Let me take one of you looking at the butterfly.”
“Why though?”
“Because the picture is better if you’re in it.”
“Like for balance or something?”
“Something.” Does she not know how beautiful she is? When I show her these photos I’ve developed, maybe she will be able to see what I do. That she’s a muse, an inspiration. The way her hair falls across her face, the delicacy of her fingers, the soft curve of her cheek all stir me up crazy inside. I can’t make love to her with my hands, so I have to do it with my lens. I capture her bent over, straightening, and then staring straight at me through the glass eye of my camera. I drop the equipment away from my face.
“You’re breathing heavy,” she says quietly.
I lick my lips and swallow hard. “Yeah.” My heart is thundering behind my chest. Can she hear it? “I’m trying to take it slow, Dove, but it’s hard.”
She takes a step toward me. The humid air in the lepidopterarium becomes thicker, heavier. “Maybe I don’t want to go slow anymore. Got a higher speed?”
