CHAPTER 33
Dirk’s hot hand carelessly caressed Sophia’s damp belly, occasionally straying down to tug on her pubic hair, as they sprawled on his bed, lethargic after their exertions. Drops of blood speckled the virgin white sheets.
“Life is so vivid with you. We’ve spent so little time together, but I can’t imagine my life without you,” Sophia said, propping herself up on one elbow to face Dirk. She drank in his astringent piney scent like a draught of strong spirits. “I can’t lose you now that I’ve found you,” she said, fat salty tears coursing down her cheeks.
“Zophie,” he said, turning on his side to mirror her, “you won’t lose me. We’ve known each other for a long time. We recognized each other. That’s why we came together so naturally.”
“Three months until we meet in London. That’s too long.”
“It’ll fly by. Tell me about your husband, Barth, and your daughter,” he said.
“I’ve enjoyed listening to you. Gambling adventures, grand forgeries, and a misspent Austrian youth. I don’t like to talk about myself. I’m boring.”
“Nonsense. I couldn’t have such exciting sex with a boring woman. And believe me, I’ve had a lot of sex with a lot of boring women.”
A frisson of jealousy swept her up in its salty wake while she beamed at him blithely. “I’ve had a comfortable marriage,” she said, hoping to dispel visions of a naked Dirk, satyr-like, cavorting with a host of beautiful skinny mindless women. “Barth and I are heading for the nine mile marker, so we’ve become friends, almost like brother and sister, relaxed, content in our routines.”
“Now that sounds boring,” he said.
“Until, until,” Sophia reached across to caress his thick lips, “I stumbled upon him enjoying a blow job in the garden.”
“Who was blowing him?”
“That’s where it gets interesting. A much younger man. His student, my colleague’s son.”
“A man,” Dirk said.
“A man who turned out to be unhinged. That act of self-indulgence put Barth and myself in grave danger and caused the deaths of two people. I keep talking about it to get past the trauma, but I can’t talk about it anymore. I’m all talked out.”
“I’m sure you’ll tell me everything one day. When you’re ready.”
“Yes. One day.”
“One more question. One act? Do you wonder if Barth has a secret life?”
“I do wonder. I’ll always wonder. Until he shows up one day holding hands with a tall husky lover begging for a divorce.” She grinned, her lips stretched tight with bitterness. “I’m taking my vengeful pleasure. I never dreamed of cheating on Barth. Or on my first husband, that cheating sack of shit, may he roast in hell.”
“Hang on. I need a snort. Let me refill your champagne glass,” he said, bounding out of bed.
She admired his flat stomach and heavy hanging cock as he tossed his head back and snorted his coke with a rapid one-two motion, not a trace of white lingering beneath his nostrils.
His jittering eyes refocused nicely as he poured them refills before hopping back to bed to propose a toast to their vivid life.
Sophia, pleased by his toast, readjusted her pile of pillows and settled back, luxuriating in her nakedness, like an innocent Eve before the serpent’s temptation. She tried to ignore her burning buttocks.
“Now tell me about your daughter,” he said, licking his numbed lips.
Sophia, ever the deflector, asked, “What about yours? You told me you lost her?”
“No. No. You first. We’ll save my Monica for London. There you can tell me about the danger and the two deaths too.”
“You’re a good listener,” Sophia said.
“When I’m on the right drug cocktail. Okay, let’s save your daughter for later too. It’s time to talk about us. I’m not giving up on that piercing. That’ll make you all mine. And enhance your pleasure. We want to keep these sexual highs going.”
“I’m in no mood to be pierced with anything. Except your dick, lover.”
“I’ve been thinking. This should not be our last meeting before I leave. Remember when we encountered each other at the gala? You proposed that I see Barth’s latest painting. Then we got wrapped up in each other. But why not? I’m curious. He’ll be flattered. Let’s not waste my last two days in town. We can see each other, even if we can’t have sex. Or maybe we can find a way. Barth is quite the worker bee.”
“He will be flattered,” she said, hesitating, confused. “The whole thing makes me nervous. What if he senses something? What if…oh, I don’t know what if? Just what if? It’s risky.”
“It’s all in your mind. There’s nothing risky about it. Barth, like all good artists, is self-centered. He won’t be thinking of you and me. You’ll see. Let’s make it happen,” he urged.
“I can’t say no to you. I’ll try to arrange it,” she said, her anxiety skyrocketing, then plummeting when Dirk grabbed her, his bristly goatee scraping her cheek.
“Let’s make this New Year special. Let’s cut ourselves, let our blood, and drink a blood toast to our undying fervor,” he said, his eyes smoldering with anticipation.
“Is that safe?” Sophia asked.
“Of course it’s safe. We’re both clean. I’ve been savoring your blood. Believe me. It will fire you up, leading to the hottest sex imaginable.”
“Have you ever done it?”
“No, but I’ve dreamed of it for a long time.”
“Okay,” she said, her heart beating a timorous tattoo.
Dirk wasted no time. He led her to the bathroom, expertly razored a small horizontal incision on each of their wrists, collected the blood in two miniscule crystal glasses, swiftly bandaged up their wrists, and then presented her with his blood while swirling hers up to the light, as if it were a fine wine.
“Let’s crisscross arms like so and drink to fire in the blood.”
“Fire in the blood,” she echoed, tossing off Dirk’s blood as he tossed off hers.
The sweet rusty aftertaste was pleasant. It reminded her of earthy borscht.
“Let’s hope that 2014 is an improvement on 2013. I hate those odd numbers,” Dirk said.
“Do you practice the dark arts?” Sophia asked, enthralled by the ritual.
“Poppycock,” he protested, eyes flaming, lips blood red. He frog-marched her into the bedroom, tossed her on the bed, and turned her over.
CHAPTER 34
“Fabulous. Explosive. Thrusting into the modern age while paying homage to the past.” Dirk admired Barth’s work the next day. “It reminds me of the Pre-Raphaelites. This metamorphosis is about gender, not turning into a tree. So vivid,” he said, winking at an uneasy Sophia.
The previous evening, when Barth told Sophia he had invited Jack to view the painting, it was the easiest thing in the world to propose that Dirk join them.
“I’m so pleased!” Barth glowed in the spotlight, savoring Dirk’s praise like a fine after-dinner brandy in a balloon snifter. “For a while there, I thought no one wanted to see it. Lili, my stepdaughter, never did see it. I’ll bring pictures when we go to Rouen.”
“Rouen?” Dirk asked.
“Our Lili married and moved to Rouen. We’re visiting in the spring after our yearly pilgrimage to London. Can’t wait to see Normandy and the happy couple.”
“Sounds like lots of good fortune,” Dirk said, looking askance at Sophia.
“Later,” she mouthed as Barth turned back to admire his work.
She noticed Jack watching her and Dirk.
“Jack darling, let me get you another drink,” Sophia said.
“What? Oh sure. I was lost in thought,” Jack said.
I’m sure you were, Sophia thought. Wondering if Dirk and I are fucking.
Barth was too engrossed in admiring his work to notice any tension generated by Sophia’s anxiety. Sophia thought Dirk was toying with Barth like a deliberate cat worrying a mouse before devouring it.
“Your wife tells me this
is a departure in style for you,” Dirk said. “A propitious new beginning?”
“Yes. I was sick of tiptoeing through the tulips. Flowers, birds, beautiful women,” Barth said, breaking away from studying his painting. “How did you two meet again?” he asked.
“I noticed an extraordinary woman sitting alone at Van Dyke’s and introduced myself. We happened to meet again at your gala. I was there as an art dealer, and Sophia invited me to view your work.” A facile Dirk growled out his explanation.
It was as if Barth awakened from a deep sleep. He suspected something in an instant. Recognition, jealousy, and anger scudded across his eyes in rapid succession like restless dawn storm clouds. Now Dirk’s husky voice and cavalier manner inflamed him.
“You’re an extraordinary man yourself. There’s something familiar about you. I can’t place it,” Barth said, his voice simmering with a slow-boiling rage.
In the blink of an eye, Barth stepped up to Dirk and slapped him hard, knocking his drink across the room.
“Uncalled for, I’m sure,” Dirk said, as he slapped him back harder, leaving a blazing imprint of four fingers on his left cheek. The thumb missed its mark.
Barth retaliated by a swift kick to the shins, using his clog-shod foot to full advantage.
Dirk kicked back but without the distinct heft of a clog. The clog assault had escalated Dirk’s anger. He lunged at Barth, tossing him to the floor, where he proceeded to throttle him. Barth, not to be outdone, began to wrap his hands around Dirk’s sinewy neck. They were rolling around, attempting to wrestle, and abandoning their strangleholds.
Both men, endowed with abundant heads of hair, inspired by the same impulse, began pulling each other’s hair.
“Okay,” Jack yelled, “now you’re fighting like girls. That’s enough. Break it up!” Jack said this as if the girlish fighting were the last straw.
They obeyed in unison, sitting up like two sheepish schoolboys.
“I’m not a fighter. I’m a lover,” Barth declared, defensive and red faced with Dirk’s finger marks burning bright.
“You took the words out of my mouth,” Dirk gasped as he began rearranging his disheveled hair. “I’m not Zophie’s lover though, if that’s what’s burning your ass. There was no need for—”
Dirk never finished his thought because that regrettable turn of phrase, “Zophie’s lover,” incensed Barth like a red cape inciting a bull. He pushed Dirk back to a prone position and began pummeling him. Dirk was reaching for Barth’s eyes with difficulty when Jack stepped in, Sophia hovering behind him.
“Enough, boys. I mean it,” Jack said.
“Stop, you two,” Sophia chimed in, furiously pulling on her ear, the anxiety overwhelming her. “I can’t believe two such educated, sophisticated men of the world could sink so low,” she scolded.
“It’s time I took my leave,” Dirk said, scrambling to his feet.
Sophia, after a moment’s hesitation, followed him out of Barth’s studio and down the stairs. At the front door, Dirk pinched her left nipple through the thin fabric of her shirt, jolting her with a dose of lust.
“That Barth is one jealous firecracker,” he said, reaching around for her buttocks with both hands for a quick, painful squeeze. “Call me tomorrow, Zophie,” he breathed hotly into her ear.
And with a flourish, he was gone.
“He enjoyed that,” Sophia said aloud, undeniable excitement heating her up as she leaned against the door.
CHAPTER 35
Sophia climbed the stairs with measured steps, willing her heartbeat to decelerate and her ardor to dampen. She found Barth sulking on his couch, holding a damp facecloth to his injured cheek while Jack prepared to beat a hasty retreat.
“Not so fast, Jack,” she said. “Why are you rushing off?”
“Come on, Sophia. This is a great time to leave. I’m sure you two have a lot to hash out.”
She was looking at his back as he bounded down the stairs. Funny. A homicide detective who can’t stand conflict, she thought. Well, maybe not so odd. A busman’s holiday for him. There goes my buffer.
Barth rose from his studio couch, still holding the cloth to his cheek, his eyes burning, and his face contorted with rage.
“It dawned on me that you are fucking that snarky sack of shit,” he bellowed.
“You are full of shit. I’m doing no such thing. Get a hold of yourself and stop shouting. Sit back down,” she said, patting the sofa cushions, trying to be a calming influence. “I’m going to pour you a large cognac and refresh your cloth.”
She returned with two large brandies, placing them on the coffee table, shoving aside Barth’s inevitable clutter.
Barth had returned to his seat. When she attempted to apply the refreshed cloth to his cheek, he slapped her hand away. “I’ll do that. I’m not an invalid.”
They sat silent for a while, sipping their drinks, consumed by their own thoughts.
Barth piped up first. “It reminded me of my boarding school days. A sudden eruption of anger. Fighting. Everything out of control. Not my thing,” Barth said, throwing the facecloth to the floor.
“You never talk about those days. There’s so much I don’t know.”
“What’s there to talk about? Misery. Cast off by my jealous father. Now, he liked to fight. He couldn’t even share his wife with his only son. He couldn’t leave a child with his mother. Cold bastard. He abandoned me and forced my mother to do the same. When I was out, he was gone. Dead of a heart attack. Miserable scoundrel.”
“Did Dirk remind you of him?”
“No. Now that you ask, he reminded me of you. Similar facial structure. The middle of the face. The eyes, nose, and cheekbones. Not the coloring,” he said, looking up at her.
“What? You’re always doing that. Drawing facial comparisons I don’t see. Oh, the plumber looks like Al Pacino. The waitress looks just like Sharon Stone. Nutty.”
“I’m the artist. Not you. I see these things.”
“A lot of times, it’s a stretch.”
“Not to me.”
“Look, Barth, don’t get angry again. I want to ask you something now that you’ve brought up boarding school.”
“I promise. The adrenaline isn’t pumping. The brandy did the trick. Ask away. The fighting sort of cleared my head.”
“Did…did you get a taste for it then? In boarding school?” she asked, stuttering with apprehension, immediately regretting she had brought it up.
“A taste for what? Fighting? I told you. It’s not my thing.”
“Not fighting. Blow jobs. Blow jobs from guys?”
“I told you. I don’t have a taste for it. It just happened. Twice.”
“Come on, Barth,” Sophia said, caressing his hot, pink cheek, looking into his eyes, searching for the answer.
“Okay, Sophia the shrink. You got me. It started in boarding school. The only warmth and comfort in a frigid world.”
“And since then?”
“Since then, nothing. Keith and once before. Before you. Way before you. What do you think? I was running off to the bars for blow jobs whenever your back was turned? South Beach is so convenient for that sort of thing. Lucky me.” He was heating up again.
“Now is not a good time to pursue it. Sorry I brought it up.”
Barth, flushed from the brandy, the fighting, and the turbulent emotions, grabbed her arm. “Let’s go to bed now. The jealousy’s a turn-on. You’ve put me off too long. I want you now,” he said, pulling her toward him and kissing her as if he had never kissed her before.
Sophia, aroused by his uncharacteristic forceful desire, bruised buttocks forgotten, led the way to the bedroom, holding on to his hand.
Barth mistook the loud groan she emitted when he held on to her backside as he entered her for a cry of pleasure.
After a short doze, they awoke in each other’s arms.
“I’m so relieved. I thought you were never coming back to me,” Barth murmured.
“I’m relieved too,�
� Sophia said, not elaborating on the reasons for her relief. Barth hadn’t seen her ravaged butt, and she didn’t have the piercing, which would have been impossible to explain.
She admired Barth’s nakedness as he got up to replenish their cognac. She couldn’t help it. She was comparing dicks in her mind’s eye. Shapely. Not as thick or heavy but very nice. Giving herself a mental slap, she broke off.
Barth handed her the snifter before climbing back into bed. “Let’s drink to our reunion,” Barth said, clinking his snifter against hers.
After they drank deep and replaced the glasses on the night tables, Barth turned to Sophia, stroking her curls, pushing stragglers back from her forehead. He knew she loved it when he played with her hair. She was purring.
“Sophia darling. Now that we’re comfortable with each other, there’s something I want to discuss with you.”
A wisp of fear brushed against her ear.
“I want to paint that photo. I can’t stop thinking about it. I can’t move on to any other project. It’s consuming me. It’s so right. It fell into our laps. It’s destiny. It’s seared onto my eyeballs. Say yes.”
Before she could say anything, he rushed on. “I have it all planned out. I won’t go to London with you. I’ll continue painting straight through, and we’ll meet in Rouen. You’ll be occupied with your conference. I’ll plan on finishing by Rouen.”
He was playing into her hands. She wouldn’t have to find a way to negate London with him. He was doing it for her. But at what price?
“Okay,” she said, letting out a long sigh. “You beat me down.”
He hopped out of bed to perform a victory dance around the bed, his pretty penis jiggling along in time to his inner music.
“Now one last thing,” he said, bounding back into bed.
“What? There’s always one more thing with you. You’re a bottomless pit of need. You know that?”
“Hush. I want to translate the letter or whatever it is. Your stumm mother left it behind. Isn’t it calling out to you? How can you leave it to rot? Aren’t you burning up with curiosity? I am.”
“Of course I’m curious. But I’m scared.”
“Of what?”
Time's Hostage: The dangers of love, loss, and lus (Time Series Book 1) Page 24
