Family Affairs

by Pamela G Hobbs

  But Dev’s shoulders were tight, his “tell” that something wasn’t the way it should be. Hell, maybe it was just his body’s way of saying, “Sit the fuck down and relax, you idiot, the work is done.”

  But Dev didn’t think so.

  Half the show was focused on animals, the other half on the human variety. His goal was to show that feelings were visible to the naked eye if we just took the time to look. He had the luxury of studying faces for a living and he wanted others to see what he did. His family featured in many of the works – all having agreed to be on view. Those, of course, were not for sale, but most of the others, with a few exceptions, had pretty hefty price tags.

  For a show this size most were one-offs and sold as such. There were some in the collection that were offered as part of a limited run and thus slightly more affordable. Dev made his living working as a tutor and on assignments for magazines and publishers – that was his bread and butter. But his agent who searched for the best fit for him also found individuals willing to pay for an exclusive Fitzgerald portrait, be it of their pet or themselves or even on one memorable occasion, a boat.

  The US VP’s wife’s shoot had been a sheer stroke of luck – someone knew someone who knew someone else who recommended Dev, and the positive fall-out from that had rocketed him to fame in the following years. He glared down at the numerous works on the ground as if they were supposed to be an answer but were being unreasonable and unyielding.

  He reached for a swig from a now almost warm beer and grimaced as his door buzzer went. He stepped over his work, his bare feet making little noise on the wood, and crossed the loft. Then he reached out and hit release without even answering. The pizza guy was early tonight, thankfully, he thought as he lifted papers and files looking for his wallet. His stomach growled in anticipation as he grabbed a twenty-euro note and went to open his door.

  “Thanks, mate, keep the chan—” He stopped, the money in his outstretched hand, as he took in the vision before him.

  Cheeks slightly flushed, her glorious hair a cloud about her head and a somewhat tentative smile on her lips, Frankie Jones snatched the money and winked cheekily at him. “Thanks, mate!” she said as she sailed past into the open space behind him. “Wow. Wow!” was all she said as she turned in a circle to take in the whole loft, Dev suddenly seeing it through her eyes.

  Would she like it? The massive windows all along one side had the evening light flooding in with its pink tinges, colouring the whole room in warmth. The glossy wooden floor was littered with works of art, some propped against an old leather sofa, some against the rows of bookcases. Others lay flat on what appeared to be a large Turkish floor rug, which was woven and brightly coloured.

  The three other loft walls were a soft cream and, other than the one covered in bookcases, were covered in paintings and photographs. Several large white screens were angled to one side, upright and slightly open as if they were expecting to be folded tightly. There was a counter and kitchen nook to her right and three doors further down towards the windows, one of which was open.

  “What are these for?” She trailed her hand across the front of the white screens as she wandered casually about his huge studio.

  Dev gulped, his throat dry, that warm beer having done nothing for him, obviously. He wandered after her.

  “For light reflection,” he answered almost automatically.

  “And these?” She gestured to the corner, where a bunch of what looked like silver garden umbrellas stood propped in a metal stand.

  “Same,” he croaked.

  “Oh, that, now that is just gorgeous!”

  She crouched in front of a photograph propped against the window wall. Her worn jeans stretched invitingly across her delectable ass and the black filmy blouse popped out from the waistband. Dev swallowed uncomfortably as a flash of creamy skin tempted him briefly as she adjusted herself into a seated position.

  She reached for the image in front of her. “May I?” she asked, almost an afterthought, as she held the 60 x 90 cm picture in front of her.

  It was taken about ten years ago and not really for this exhibition, but it was a favourite of Dev’s so it was, in his mind, in contention. It was a black-and-white close-up of Toby as a toddler. His adorable sleepy face, just awake from a nap, looked up lovingly at his uncle Dev, a much-hugged rabbit tucked under his chin. His enormous chocolate-brown eyes held all the wonder of childhood, and the tiny smile was one of contentment and love. It was the perfection of innocence – a timeless moment.

  “You should give this to Caro.” Frankie turned to look over her shoulder at him.

  “She has a copy,” he said shortly.

  “Silly me, of course she does. It’s so beautiful, Dev. Really special.” For some unaccountable reason her eyes filled with tears. She quickly replaced the image gently against the wall and hauled herself upright once more. A smile pasted on her face, she turned to Devlin. “What does a girl have to do to get a drink around here?”

  “Jesus, sorry, yeah, of course. Fuck.” Dev was practically tongue-tied seeing her standing there.

  In front of him.

  In his place.

  Gorgeous.

  “Right, a drink.” He moved to open the fridge door. “I have Canadian beer, New Zealand Sauvignon Blanc, Coke, or . . .” He turned to a wine rack and absently read off the labels. “A Rioja, a Carménère, a not very successful Merlot or an Oregonian Cab.” He reached for a large wine glass with one hand and a bottle opener with the other.

  “A glass of the white, please, Dev,” she said as she made her way around the space, stopping and studying certain images closely, bypassing others.

  Dev watched her surreptitiously as he poured, wondering, wanting to know, what she thought. Why did some capture her, make her pause, and some hold no interest whatsoever?

  She made her way to the wall of paintings and photos and stopped at one of the Bens, obviously done from the top of Errisbeg. Maybe she was remembering the day they’d climbed it and had their picnic. And their fight.

  She turned to take the glass from him. “You can be incredibly dense, you know,” she said apropos of apparently nothing.

  He sipped from a fresh beer and studied her from beneath his furrowed brows.

  “Why are you here?” He could wonder no longer.

  A drip of wine lingered on her lower lip and all he wanted to do was lick it off. If she didn’t state her business and get going he was going to do something incredibly stupid. She licked that lip and took another drink, a larger one, more like a gulp, in fact. Was she nervous? The thought popped into Dev’s head as he sauntered to the window and propped himself against it, one arm bent back on a window sill, one bare foot crossed, oh so casually, in front of the other.

  His eyes were, rather naturally, he thought, on her chest. The black, practically see-through, blouse was open at the neck by several buttons. Even without the bit of lavender-coloured lace peeping through the gap, he could see her lacy bra beneath the blouse. As could everybody else.

  “Where did you park?” he thought to ask.

  “I came by DART,” she said innocently.

  Christ. Everybody on the bloody train had seen her bra. Enough of this, he thought. Enough.

  “Why are you here?” he asked again, looking up, directly into her face.

  Why, indeed. Frankie remained silent for a beat. She put her half-finished glass on the large square coffee table. She wasn’t her usual assured self, Dev thought now. She appeared awkward, unsure, terrified, excited. Hell, what did he know? Was he projecting his own rush of emotions?

  “Can’t a pal drop by for a chat?” she countered. “And anyway, I wanted to see your studio before I left,” she added, trying to distract him with her upcoming departure.

  Dev was confused – was he supposed to focus on the chatting pal part or the visiting the studio bit? All he knew was that if she didn’t leave, he was going to . . .

  Without warning, Frankie strode towards him, gr
abbed his beer bottle, put it on the window sill and, placing her hands on either side of his face, kissed him full on the mouth. Stunned, but never slow on the uptake, Dev instantly responded. One hand went to the back of her head to hold her steady while the other wrapped around her body, pulling her flat against his lean frame.

  Her mouth was soft and luscious, tasting of the crisp wine she’d just consumed. She tasted of heat and pleasure and tangled sheets. His breathing ratcheted up several notches as she shoved her hands into his messy hair and groaned into him. She let her tongue dance with his, each touch causing them to cling even tighter to each other.

  Dev deepened the kiss, slowing the pace and lingering deliciously on her mouth, causing gasps of pleasure from both. His hand moved down, grasping her bottom and pulling her flush against his rigid length.

  “Jesus, Jones, you’re killing me here,” he moaned. He kissed her cheeks, making his way along her chin, then proceeded down her neck, nipping and tasting as he went. “I can’t do this any more. If you want this to stop, you’d better say so now as, oh, God, you taste so good.” He nibbled her neck near her shoulder and her head angled back in bliss. “Seriously, I can’t keep doing this and stopping. I just can’t.” He moved his way up again, placing tender, gentler kisses as he went. Hovering over her mouth, breathing into her, he held her face between both hands and, staring into her eyes, said, “Decide.”

  Frankie stared back into the face of the man she trusted most in the world. Her breathing was rapid, her heart thundering through her chest. Could she do it? Could she take the next step? Should she? So many questions, so many unspoken fears, so many everythings. She studied the intense blue eyes watching her, holding her, his chest rising and falling rapidly as he hung on, her Dev waiting to let her choose.

  “Decide,” he said again.

  “Don’t stop, Dev, please don’t stop.” She put her mouth to his and whispered, “I want this.”

  Dev growled as his mouth once more devoured hers. An able partner, she used her tongue to torture and tempt, prompt and retreat. Her blood was on fire as he reached between them both to unfasten her blouse. His fingers trembled as he undid the buttons and his tongue traced along the lacy edge of her bra. He slipped the black material off her shoulders and let it slide to the floor while pushing the delicate bra straps out of his way. His hands moved gently over her firm, smooth shoulders and he pulled back a little as he looked his fill.

  “You’re so beautiful,” he murmured, reaching around to unclasp her bra.

  It fell to the floor, landing on top of her blouse, and he kicked them aside carelessly.

  Her own hands busy, Frankie let out a gurgle of laughter. “They both cost a fortune, you know,” she said as she hauled his T-shirt from his jeans and pulled it up.

  He grabbed the ends himself and yanked it over his head, tossing it away. Mere seconds later and she could finally feel him, skin to skin, her breasts crushed to his chest as they kissed and kissed, wet, noisy, gasping kisses, hands feeling and discovering shapes, touching and tracing new territory.

  Pulling his mouth from hers, Dev bent his head to sample the delights of her perfect breasts. He licked his way across one while his hand traced the shape of the other. Swirling his tongue about one nipple, his fingers equally occupied on its twin.

  Frankie arched her head back as her heart raced and feelings swam chaotically in her stomach. She kneaded his shoulders, strong muscles flexing beneath her searching hands. Her groan of desire was the only sound in the loft as he took her tingling nipple into his mouth again, sucking deeply, forming an answering tug in her lower belly.

  He traced his lips across to her other breast, capturing its awaiting companion and using his teeth to elicit another groan of pleasure from her as he tugged gently on the taut point.

  Dev pulled away and, swooping her up in his arms, walked directly to the open door of his bedroom. Without stopping to close the door, he practically dropped her on the large bed and promptly reached for the button of her jeans. He was almost at boiling point – every nerve straining for release. He was throbbing and hard and all his body wanted was to be buried inside this woman.

  Now.

  He peeled the jeans and lavender scraps of lace down her legs, aware he was being anything but a gentleman. He’d reached the point of being unable to use rational thought, only vaguely aware of her shoes hitting the floor as she reached for the fly of his jeans. He brushed her hands away as he urgently pulled them down himself, his boxers following. He kicked them off with careless abandon and then just stopped.

  He looked down at this amazing woman lying stretched on the bed before him and his heart skidded to a stop. This was it. His holy grail. Every woman he’d ever lain with was leading him to discovering her. Frankie. She was staring rather fixedly at his straining erection, pulsing on its own, eager for fulfilment. He leaned over her to grab a condom from his bedside table drawer and, tearing it open with his teeth, sheathed himself quickly. He propped one arm on either side of her head and looked down intensely at her.

  “I can’t wait,” he groaned into her mouth, kissing her deeply and nudging her knees apart, settling himself between her thighs.

  Frankie returned his kiss, savouring the taste and urgency of his mouth. She was acutely aware of the heat pooling between her thighs and the frissons of excitement that leapt through her at his touch. Using one hand, he angled his length at her moist opening and, intuitively, she wrapped her legs around him, urging him inside. Her breath was coming in bursts as she felt him inch inside her. Her hands roamed his back, feeling the bunched muscles straining as he held himself above her.

  “Oh, Christ!” Dev whispered hoarsely as he finally gave up all restraint and drove into her.

  Frankie winced at the unaccustomed feel of him, adjusting to accommodate his size. Although impressed by what she’d seen so briefly before he’d entered her, making her a little anxious, it seemed now as if she’d been right to be concerned. Would he fit? Gah! Now wasn’t the time to wish she wasn’t so inexperienced.

  Dev pulled out slightly and drove back to her silken depths. Frankie shifted beneath him again – that was better.No . . . She angled herself slightly differently. Ah, that was good.

  Dev moved swiftly within her clasping heat and he groaned with what she hoped was pleasure as he pushed her limit each time. Frankie felt hot and tingly, her body reaching for completion as she struggled to move with Dev, to find her own rhythm. She rocked with him, feeling tighter and tighter, like a spring was about to uncoil within her. The pressure of his body on hers, just where they joined, caused the most delicious ache, a hot, twisty feeling that usually escaped her.

  His mouth bent down to capture her lips as she strained to reach fulfilment. His tongue swirled and tasted as he continued moving within her, pushing her higher, then with a loud grunt and another deep push, he collapsed on top of her, his heart beating fiercely, his breath fast and uneven.

  Frankie stroked his back with her fingertips as her own breathing slowly returned to something resembling normal and Dev’s slumped body relaxed into hers as if it were made to be there. He was heavy, but oblivious to his weight, she closed her eyes and tried to absorb the feelings in her mind as her hand moved languidly across his smooth skin, delighting in the very feel of him, followed swiftly by disappointment. In herself, not Dev.

  She hadn’t even tried to give her usual performance – it just hadn’t occurred to her to moan and groan and gasp at the “right” moments, to tense her muscles and shudder in ecstasy at the “right” times. She’d simply forgotten to, in the wonder of knowing and feeling the man above her, the man inside her. And, Jesus! she’d also forgotten to attend to his needs though, by all accounts, and judging from the relaxed man atop her, he seemed to have managed just fine.

  An insistent buzzing noise sounded from the main room in the loft. Frankie edged herself away from Dev’s collapsed form – he grunted but remained face down on the pillow. She yanked on her pant
ies and grabbing his T-shirt, pulled it on quickly, tugging it down to cover her body. She hurried to the loft door and released the buzzer, allowing, she assumed, the delayed pizza delivery person access to the building.

  Grabbing the discarded twenty-euro note from the coffee table, she opened the door, standing behind it as modestly as she could, and exchanged money for food. The aroma from the pizza was making her tummy growl and she realised how hungry she was. But now what? Wake him? Eat now and then wake him? Eat and scarper – her favourite idea? Or bring in the pizza box, as casually as if she slept with her almost-brother-cum-best-friend on a regular basis, and climb into bed to share the pizza while sipping wine in a civilised fashion?

  Oh, dear God, what have I done?

  Dev rolled over on his side, automatically reaching for Frankie – nothing. His eyes popped open and found only rumpled sheets and an empty bed. He dragged himself from his prone position and his brain kicked into action. Dimly, he heard drawers opening and the clink of glass – Shit! The pizza! Unsurprisingly, considering very recent events, he’d completely forgotten about his earlier order.

  He moved silently to the bathroom and, leaning over the sink, splashed cold water on his face. Looking up, he saw his image staring back at him – Jesus, he thought, rubbing his hands briskly back and forth over his face. What a selfish, thoughtless, greedy bastard I am – oh, did you mention selfish? he asked himself. Oh, dear God. He dropped his hands to the edge of the sink, his head dropping forwards in despair.

  What have I done?

  “Dev, pizza’s getting cold,” Frankie called in a casual “I do this all the time” voice.

  “Be right there!” he answered in his “I’m not the most selfish bastard in the world” voice.

  Dev walked into the main loft space wearing his hastily donned jeans. His hair was mussed and his five-o’clock shadow, the very one that had recently scraped along her breast, was rough under his hand as he dragged it across his face. God, he hoped he hadn’t given her beard-burn. His eyes went straight to the woman at the bar counter.