by L. A. Fiore
One of his new pieces was of the view from the house where Greyson stayed when in Mendocino. One of my dreams, one I’d never put a voice to, was to live in that house with Greyson and our family. I could see it so clearly, dogs running around the yard, children playing, Greyson in front of an easel. I loved New York, but one day I wanted to go home, wanted to start a family with Greyson in that house and not just because it was incredible and the location was without equal, but because it was a piece of our story.
It had been over an hour since we arrived and Greyson had been unable to break free of the crowd. I watched him from my place across the room. The last time I’d seen him in his element, I hadn’t noticed the little things. Under the polish, he was exhausted. That didn’t stop him from posing for pictures or signing the countless programs. Every person who approached him, he took a moment to talk to. He appreciated the attention, was grateful for it, but he was fried and after five years of this I understood.
Most took him to a specific work to discuss, but there were a few women who were there for the man not the artist. A few even bold enough to tuck something in his pocket, likely their phone numbers. I couldn’t help think of that woman who had gone so far as to invade his privacy by sneaking into his hotel room. Groupies even for artists, a chill moved down my spine. Who would have thought? But then when the artist looked like Greyson, I guess I wasn’t really that surprised.
“Good evening.” My gaze shifted to the older man who appeared at my side. “You must be Alexis Owens. I’m Colin Rogers, Greyson’s agent.”
Stately came to mind, refined, elegant. He didn’t have the Irish cadence, but his voice was cultured. This was Callum’s friend. I smiled to myself because I could see them being friends. “Hello. It’s very nice to meet you.”
“And you. Are you enjoying the evening?”
“Very much. His work is beautiful. I thought he was amazing as kids, but his newer work is exceptional.”
“And he hasn’t even come close to hitting his stride.” Colin turned his attention to Greyson. “I’m going to break him free in a minute. Perhaps you should make your way to the door. I’ve called for the limo.”
“Does that happen often?” I asked, gesturing toward the crowd around Greyson.
“Only when the events are open to the public. Collectors are more subtle.” He turned to me. “I feel I know you with the number of times I’ve caught Greyson sketching…” He lowered his eyes and pink spread over his cheekbones. “I suppose I shouldn’t have said that.”
Greyson sketched me? My own cheeks burned but not from embarrassment. “I’m glad you told me.”
“He has worked very hard, sacrificed a lot, you both have, but he can see the light at the end of the tunnel.”
Did Greyson discuss me with his agent? I wish I had been a fly on the wall for those conversations. “We both had paths to follow, but I’m seeing the light at the end of the tunnel too.”
“I’m happy to hear that.” He took my hand and like Callum had done, kissed the back of it. “Maybe I’ll see you before you go. We could do lunch.”
“I’d like that.”
“Wonderful. All right, I’m going in. You best make your way to the door for the getaway.”
Alexis
Unlike his normal gait, Greyson moved like he was on fire after Colin freed him from the masses. He took my hand as he walked past, and pulled me outside to the waiting limo. The driver was already holding the door. As soon as we climbed in, Greyson dropped his head on the seat back and closed his eyes.
“I’m exhausted.”
“What’s it feel like?”
He rolled his head to me.
“They were all there to see you. They dressed up, made their way to that museum, bought tickets, waited in line to talk to you about your art.”
His expression shifted to one of awe. “For as long as I’ve been doing this, it still boggles my mind when I see the crowds. It’s humbling and awesome and terrifying.”
“Your painting of the house in Mendocino is exquisite.”
He teased, “Your favorite?”
“No, the painting you sent me, the one of the jetty, that’s my favorite. You captured it, what made the spot so perfect, what lured me in as a little kid, what kept me coming back year after year…you recreated it. I have it hanging in my living room and every time I look at it I think of you. I think of the most perfect time in my life and how one day I want to get back to us, want to live the life our youth gave us a glimpse of.”
Love and longing looked back at me. He shifted into me, his big hand cradling my cheek as he pulled my mouth to his. As soon as our lips touched, every moment from that perfect year came back. There was a reason there had been no one since him, because he was all I wanted.
He didn’t take the kiss deep; he tasted me like one would a fine wine or a favorite dessert. I moved closer, curled my fingers around the hand that held my cheek and drank him in. His free arm wrapped around my waist, pressing me tight against him as his tongue traced my lips, teasing but not penetrating. I appreciated his restraint because it had been a long time and feeling what I did for this man I wasn’t feeling as disciplined.
He broke the kiss when the limo stopped. He didn’t wait for the driver, climbing out and pulling me with him. I was running to keep up, but that only meant we’d get to the room faster. The elevator was empty; as soon as the doors closed, he had me up against the wall, pulling his hands through my hair before he kissed me, sweeping my mouth with his tongue. I moaned as his taste filled me, my tongue as eager as his. So lost in the kiss, we didn’t realize the elevator had stopped until someone cleared his throat. Greyson managed a smile and a greeting. I wasn’t feeling as charitable. We reached the room and my body gave a delicious shudder at the idea of ripping each other’s cloths off, so I was confused when he released my hand and walked farther into the room.
“Greyson?”
I had never seen him looking unsure when it came to us, but he was now as he rubbed a hand over his head, the muscles of his arm straining the silk blend of his tux. “I’m sorry.”
Sorry? “For what?”
“I’m acting like a fucking wild animal. It’s been too long and tasting you again…that doesn’t make it right.”
He looked adorably contrite and for no reason. He could have taken me in the limo, with the driver looking on, and I wouldn’t have protested. I didn’t move from my spot across the room, but I did smile as the memory teased me. The words he once spoke to me I offered back to him. “All you have to do is close the distance, Greyson, and I’ll put us both out of our misery.”
His head snapped to me, those pale eyes several shades darker. The smile he offered stole my breath as he remembered too. My blood was rushing through my veins when he closed the distance. He moved right into me, curled his spine and kissed me like he’d die if he didn’t. Passion turned hotter when he reached for the zipper of my dress. We moved toward the bedroom; I yanked his jacket down his arms and started on the buttons of his shirt. We tore at each other clothes but we never broke the kiss. My dress slid down my body and only then did Greyson pull his mouth from mine, his hot eyes devouring the sight of me in my black lace bra and panties.
“You are fucking beautiful. I want to paint you, just like that.”
My tummy quivered at the hunger in his eyes. “Not right now.”
He grinned and reached for me. “No, not right now.”
Feeling his hands on me again set off those little fires under my skin. In the bedroom I worked on his pants, but I was taking too long. He stepped back, yanked his shirt off, kicked off his shoes, pulled his socks off and dropped his trousers and briefs. I just stared because gone was the long, lean body of the boy I knew. He was wider and thicker; his was the body of a man. That realization brought a wave of sadness over the years we’d missed.
“Alexis?”
“I hate that we lost all those years. That I didn’t get to witness you become the success you are.
” I walked to him, traced his pec muscles. “That I didn’t get to see you change from a boy to a man.” My gaze met his. “I want those five years back.”
He palmed my neck, lifting my chin with his thumb to bring my mouth to his. He took his time, his lips, tongue and teeth as he drew out the pleasure. Drugging, consuming, my body coming to life like a spring bulb under the heat of the sun. We weren’t frenzied or rushed. It had been years, both of us hungry for the other, but we took our time. Savoring the other. I touched him, the expanse of muscles along his back, the deep ridges of his abs, the V that cut his hips. He twisted the clasp of my bra and pulled the straps down my arms. Without breaking our kiss, he cupped my breasts. I moaned into his mouth when he swiped my nipples with his thumbs. He dropped to his knees, tonguing my nipple as he tugged on the lace of my panties and dragged them slowly down my legs. He kissed the valley between my breasts, down my stomach, over my hip.
“Step out of them,” he whispered.
He traced a finger up my leg; his focus was on the triangle of curls between them. Fingering my clit, he lifted his gaze to my face to see what his touch was doing. I drew my lower lip between my teeth as my hips moved into his touch. How I had missed this. His thumb replaced his finger working that nub of nerves as he slipped his middle finger into me. My legs went weak, my hands grabbing his shoulders to hold myself up. Another finger joined the first; my hips were pumping, as pleasure uncurled in my gut. He sucked my breast into his mouth and I lost it. The scream tore from my throat as waves of pleasure crashed over on me. He stood, lifted my leg and thrust into me. Sparks danced behind my eyes feeling him inside me again. My back hit the mattress; he came down on top of me, lifted my hips and slammed into me again. Over and over he pulled out, only to sink in deeper. Tears ran down my cheeks from the beauty. Another orgasm followed the first before he sank in deeper; his body went still as he found his own release.
It was several minutes later when Greyson said, “I didn’t use a condom.”
“I’m on the pill.”
He liked that when his eyes grew dark. He kissed me, sweetly at first but it had been a long time. Sweet turned passionate as we started the climb all over again.
We sat on the floor of the suite, the television on in the background, a feast from room service spread out before us. Greyson had the bed sheet wrapped around his waist; I wore his dress shirt.
The deep-dish pizza was good, but I preferred a New York slice any day. Greyson reached for his beer and took a long drink. My body warmed watching him. He’d already gifted me with four orgasms and still I wanted him. The beauty of us, even being wild for the other, it was like it had always been. Easy and comfortable.
“Do you remember the first time we made love?”
He gave me a look. “Do I remember?”
“Okay, stupid question. This is kind of like that, though we never did finish those sandwiches I made.”
“Not when something so much sweeter was in reach.”
I actually felt my bones turn to liquid.
“I’m ready to go again if you are.” The same words he spoke then.
“I need fuel.”
He chuckled, but helped himself to the steak sandwich with melted cheese, peppers and onions oozing from it. Sex, when done right, really worked up an appetite.
I studied him, taking note of the small differences in his face, the new laugh lines around his mouth and at the corners of his eyes. We were the same but different. The last time we’d been here he was still a dreamer and now he was Greyson Ratcliffe, a rising star. “When you thought about your future as a kid, did you see yourself being as successful as you are?”
“No, and honestly I still scratch my head from time to time. It’s amazing, don’t get me wrong, but it’s more visible than I thought. And I know that is in part because of who buys my stuff, actors and rock stars encouraged by their brokers to buy art as an investment. Their celebrity rubs off.”
“Sure, that may be part of it, but you are as hot and sexy as any actor out there. And you’re more attainable.”
His bottle stopped midway to his mouth. A mischievous look entered his expression. “You don’t say.” He took a drink then asked, “What about you? You’re graduating soon. Have you written your novel, submitted it?”
“I am working on a novel. It’s a labor of love.”
“What’s it about?”
Us, but I didn’t want to share that yet. “Just something of interest to me. I have written a few plays over the years. The one I’m working on now for a class, my professor loves. He’s got some feelers out to some companies Off-Broadway.
His joy for me was seen first in his expression. “That’s amazing, Alexis.”
“I don’t want to jinx it.”
“What’s it about?”
“The foster monsters.”
I’d never seen an expression shift so fast. He didn’t like them, but that look said more. He hated them. “Why would you write about those assholes?”
“Because the best stories are the ones that mean something to the writer. I lived it. I survived it and I took that and made a parody that draws on all the emotions of my childhood while shining a light on a problem that isn’t a new one.”
I couldn’t read his thoughts and wondered what he was thinking. I didn’t have to wait long. “I wasn’t kidding. I want a life with you.”
It was my pizza that stopped midway to my mouth. Loved washed through me. “I want that too.”
He separated the cotton of the shirt I wore, his hand slipping inside to cup my breast. “When do you graduate?”
I had trouble focusing on the conversation as he played with my nipple. “June.”
“It’s February. I have commitments through August.” He rolled my nipple then pulled. My eyes glazed over. “We have to get in our fill to last us until September.”
I dropped my pizza on the plate and climbed into his lap. “We better get started then.”
Focus was a problem for me since I returned from Chicago. I wished for September, the month I had circled in red on my calendar. The month where Greyson and I would be at a place to pick up where we left off. Five months and hopefully we would both be on the same coast, in the same city and the same apartment. My email chimed.
I had Pop-Tarts for breakfast. They’re as nasty as I remembered.
I laughed out loud at his email.
Try Toaster Strudels. They’re delicious. I worked it out and am coming home for spring break. Please say you’ll be around the week of April 16th
My phone rang. I grinned and answered on the first ring. Greyson didn’t even let me say hello. “Damn it. I’ll be in Europe.”
I was disappointed, but I knew it was a long shot.
“Maybe I can cancel—”
I cut him off. “Colin would have a stroke.”
“Likely.”
Despite the humor in his tone, he sounded tired. “How are you?” I asked.
“I’m ready to slow down, to see you every fucking day.”
“I was just thinking about that. How we only have five more months before we are hopefully on the same coast.”
“Five months too long.”
He wasn’t wrong.
“There is a magazine that wants to do an interview with me,” he said out of the blue.
“And you’re thinking about not doing it?”
“No, it’s just…”
“Just what?”
“Don’t laugh.”
“I won’t.”
I heard his exhale over the line. “I can’t stand the groupies, but if I do the interview I’m asking for it.”
I had witnessed his fans. At first glance, it seemed flattering but I think a daily diet of it would get old fast. “You do seem to attract them. Did even in high school.”
Silence followed before Greyson said, “Oh, Stephanie. I forgot about her.”
I hadn’t.
“I saw some ladies tucking their numbers in your pocket at your
show.”
“Not just their numbers, but photographs, resumes on why they are my perfect match.” He exhaled before adding, “I’ve had sixteen marriage proposals.”
I laughed at how irritated he sounded.
“You’re laughing.”
“So it’s not your favorite part of the business.”
He didn’t answer. He didn’t need to.
“You should do the interview. I understand your thinking, that if you don’t put yourself out there you won’t attract groupies, but you already put yourself out there through your art.”
“That’s what Colin keeps saying.”
“You should do it. I’ll definitely buy it.”
“So, tell me, Alexis, what are you wearing?”
I glanced down at my sweats. “A NYU tee and black sweatpants. Oh shit, some of the filling from my strudel dripped on my shirt. Damn it, this is my last clean shirt. Now I have to do laundry. I hate doing laundry.”
He chuckled.
“What? It’s not funny. I loathe laundry.”
I was grateful phones had not advanced to videophones so he wouldn’t see me licking the filling off my shirt. It was strawberry and delicious. It was while I behaved with absolutely no manners that the true meaning of his question dawned. I felt like such a dope. It must be how Dominic felt all the time. I snickered to myself.
“You weren’t really asking me what I was wearing.”
“No.”
“Can I change my answer?”
“I was hoping you would, though the filling stain added a nice touch to the visual.”
“Okay, ask me again.”
“What are you wearing, Alexis?”
“A leather bustier and thong. Wait, no a thong is dental floss for your ass and leather doesn’t breathe so how is that sexy? Getting to the prize and she’s all sweaty and gross. And I sweat. I don’t perspire.”
He was chuckling again.
Ah shit. I sucked at this. “Let me try again.”
He deadpanned, “Maybe we should order dinner. I have a feeling we’re going to be here awhile.”
I almost peed myself from laughing so hard.
