by Suzie Nelson
I picked up my wine glass. “That’s what I want to do for as many people as possible. Help them escape this crazy world. That’s exactly why I paint.” I toasted again. “To artists.”
Giggling, she tipped her glass. “To artists.”
I sipped some of my champagne. “Are you published?”
“I am and everywhere. I’m pretty much a literary prostitute, whoring myself out to every publisher that will take me.”
I chuckled and raised my glass. “To literary whores.”
She could barely say the words as she laughed. “To literary whores.”
The waitress came by and set our first dishes in front of us. A spoon full of something delicious sat on each crystal plate.
“This is your amuse bouche for the evening,” the waitress said. “This is lobster tartare topped with osetra caviar. It is paired perfectly with a Taittinger non-vintage.”
We ate it together, both groaning at the deliciousness of it all.
When I finished, I asked, “Does your family like your erotica writing?”
“I haven’t told anyone. My family is normal. Very boring, but loving and sweet as hell. Most of the men in my family are cops. Most of the women are homemakers with little side businesses like selling make up and wine. Everyone works and loves hard.”
“I think it would be fun to meet them.”
She blinked. “It would.”
The waitress took our empty dishes.
“And your family?” she asked.
“My father is a sculptor. My mother is his muse. He never got as big as he should have. The art industry is unpredictable that way, but we never starved.”
“Interesting. Does he still sculpt?”
“Yes, and Mom is still the only one that he ever uses. I asked him privately if he ever got bored.”
“What did he say?” she asked.
“Dad said, ‘Son, as humans we change all the time from month to month, years to years. I’m no artist. Your mother is the masterpiece. I’m just copying the image like a con artist and selling the creations of her.’”
“So romantic.”
“He thinks he’s the biggest romantic on the planet. He’s always giving me advice on how to woo women.”
She raised her eyebrows. “And do you take it?”
I gestured around the restaurant. “This is our first date, what do you think?”
“You’ve swept me off my feet. It started with the flowers and the beautiful dress. I couldn’t believe. Do you always spoil a woman on your first date?”
“Never.”
She looked at me skeptically.
“I’m serious. I don’t buy gifts either.”
The waitress arrived again with our dinner. “Beef tenderloin, summer vegetable succotash, and roasted potatoes.”
“Thank you.” I nodded.
Melody shook her head in amazement as she studied her plate. “This meal is insane. Everything is so beautiful and smells so good.”
“I’m glad you love it.” I tasted the tenderloin. “What’s your writing process? Do you write with pen and paper? Laptop?”
“It’s embarrassing, but I’ll admit it to you. I write with a typewriter for no reason at all, but to channel Hemmingway.”
“Hey, nothing sounds crazy, when you create.”
“You have to lose your head,” she said.
“That’s right. And writing with a typewriter sounds classic. It’s a homage to the greats.”
“As well as a pain in the butt, when there’s a problem with the keys or something breaks. Editing is horrible too. Not the ease of a laptop where you can just press delete or highlight, copy and paste.”
“So, you take your time with each word and sentence? You reflect on the words before you commit to them?”
Shock filled her eyes. “Yes. A typewriter forces me to do that. And I think that process alone elevates my craft.”
“It does,” I said. “We’re the same. Both tortured and dedicated artists with the audacity to use creation to make money.”
Giggling, she cheered to that one. “An audacity indeed.”
We continued with the meal, talking about the last movies we loved and the ones we hated, describing our childhoods and even admitting some of our nightmares. After the waitress took our empty plates, I studied Melody and my whole chest swelled in pleasure.
I pushed the glass of champagne away, not wanting to taste the heavenly nectar anymore. Instead, I wanted to taste Melody, lick between her thighs and hear how sexy she moaned.
Take it slow. Remember?
“I like you,” I said it with no hesitation or break in the sentence. “And I know this is quick. I’m not an instalove type of person. We’re talking about dating and taking our time, but I like you a lot and I want to see you more.”
Shocked, her lips parted. She was going to say something, but the waitress returned with our dessert.
“And we’ll finish the meal with the chef’s signature crème brulée.” The waitress set our dishes down and did a quick bow. “Enjoy.”
Once the waitress left, I directed my attention again to Melody. “Your thoughts on me wanting to date you more?”
“I don’t like to mix business with pleasure,” she responded without a hesitation.
“Me neither, but can you feel this energy between us? This isn’t the type of situation where we should turn away from it. There’s money. There’s art. And then there’s the perfect possibility at love. And when that perfect possibility comes, we cannot ignore it.”
Not touching her back, she traced the stem of her glass with her finger. “I like you too.”
“Is a but coming?”
She smiled. “No. However, we should take this slow.”
“I understand.”
“And we should wait until after the painting series is complete to date again.”
Disappointment hit me, but I kept the smile on my face. “And why do I have to wait?”
“Because...” She bit her bottom lip.
“Because?”
“It’s hard to be with you tonight and not want you inside of me.” She picked up her fork, took a piece of the crème brulée, and put it in her mouth in the most erotic way, sucking slowly at the fork, before sliding it out of her mouth. In that moment, I imagined my length was the fork. In that moment, I was willing to agree to anything that she wanted just to watch her take another sensual bite.
I swallowed down my rising horniness. “I understand. We’ll wait.”
Chapter 4
Melody
After our first date, our sessions became more intense. However, we kept it professional, although he snuck in a few gifts here and there. Completing his series came along with no problem. He was so talented. Each painting took my breath away.
At our last session, I drowned in expensive furs on the floor. It must’ve been forty of them all over the place. And I swam in them, laughing as Hugo told me jokes. He’d already finished the last painting and just wanted me there as he did a few touch-ups to the canvas.
“And now I am...” Hugo placed the paint brush down and grabbed the bottle of champagne he’d set out for the occasion. “Done! I’m officially done.”
I continued to lay on the rub, bringing one of the coats up to keep covering my breasts. “Good job.”
“I try.” He took the unbuttoned shirt off and walked over to me. He wore those same low hanging jeans that looked like they were close to falling and exposing what I hoped to be a big instrument. “And does the good artist get a lovely kiss to celebrate the moment?”
“I don’t know.” I batted my eyes. “We’ve only dated once. I’m not that kind of girl.”
“It’s true.” He poured two glasses of champagne. “We’ve dated once, but we’ve also been getting to know each other for over a month.”
“True.” I sat up and grabbed a glass of wine.
“To finishing my project.�
�
“To your beautiful paintings.”
“To my beautiful model.”
After we finished our glasses, he lay down on one of the coats near me. Light hit the layers of muscle on his chest. He was enchanting. He had flawless skin and dripped gorgeousness, but most of all, he was sweet and caring and every minute with him made me fall for him more and more.
He rolled to his side and faced me. “I demand my kiss.”
I lay down right in front of him, my body burning with desire. “I’ll think about.”
“Is that so?” And then he kissed me. His tongue explored my mouth, delivering warm lust to the space between my thighs.
I moaned against his lips.
“Melody,” he whispered and kissed me some more. “Do you yearn for me as much as I crave you?”
“I do.”
He ran his fingers through my hair. “It scares me how much I want you.”
“Why?”
He slipped his hands along the soft fur coat covering my naked body. “Because, it’s hard to not fuse sex with emotion.”
“You’re not the emotional type?”
“I wasn’t. Now...I’m open to it.” He pulled me closer to him. “I’m open to an emotional connection with you.”
“And what does that mean, Hugo? In the diner, I’ve not only heard about you being a famous painter, I’ve heard that you were a playboy too.”
He smirked. “That’s what you heard?”
“Yes. Some of the waitresses said that you’re always around the city with a new woman each time they see you.”
“Interesting.”
I held an invisible microphone in front of his face. “Your response?”
He cleared his throat. “Well...”
I giggled.
“I haven’t dated since I’ve met you.” Hugo slipped his hands under the fur coat draping my breasts. Lust sparked wherever he touched. My nipples hardened under his fingers. Another moan fled my lips. I craved him so bad. I needed him instantly moving inside of me.
“I haven’t been with any other woman since I laid eyes on you. I haven’t gone on a date with anyone else.” He toyed with my nipples. “I haven’t talked to anyone.” He squeezed one hungry point and I went wet between my thighs. “I’ve only spent all my free time with you.” He kissed me, devouring my mouth, and I writhed under his lips’ caresses.
When he pulled back, confidence and hunger blazed in his eyes. “Have you heard that? Have they told you how much I adore you?”
My heart boomed in my chest. I couldn’t wait anymore seconds. I didn’t want to be patient or responsible.
“Make love to me,” I whispered.
“It’s all I’ve thought about since the first time I sketched that beautiful face.” He yanked those fur coats away from me, throwing them all around us as if insane to see my naked body. And when he finally completed his mission and I lay bare in front of him, he licked his lips and swooped down to devour me.
Oh my God.
He was more than a skilled lover, he’d mastered the game. He could teach a class and hold a seminar.
“Oh, Hugo.” When I closed my eyes, it was like he had several hands. He caressed my body everywhere, squeezing and massaging. I blazed in hot lust. He nibbled. He bit. He lapped and licked, and I went so wet and hungry for him, begging, “Please, Hugo, please.”
Such a tease, he positioned himself between my trembling thighs and whispered, “What do you want, Melody?”
“You. Inside me. On me. Making love to me.”
“Oh, Melody, I’m going to do everything to make sure we work. Your voice. The softness of your skin. Your smart little mouth. You keep me hard. You keep me spilling pre-cum in my pants and stroking the tip, when I lay in bed at night.”
Shivers of pleasure passed through my body.
He positioned his length at the opening of my sex. It was so thick and long.
“Wait,” I whispered. “We need protection.”
“Fuck,” he muttered under his breath and dragged himself away. His muscles flexed as he rushed back like a mad man, tearing away the packet and putting the condom on him.
And when he took me, he did it like no other. Sensually slow and dreamlike. Piercing me with his thickness and driving my orgasm over the edge. I rocked with him, humping as he thrust into and stroked my insides.
“Yes, Melody, yes,” he moaned.
And I groaned in lust with him, falling over the edge with no intention to be saved. Together, we floated in hot passion, our moans filling the air. The rest of the fur coats rolled away from our love making. Our bodies molded together. We became one energy of erotic lust, exploding into each other. My head went dizzy. My heart hammered to the rhythm of our sensual movements.
And then we came together, hard and groaning so loud I was sure his butler heard us. Never had I felt so blown away. So utterly consumed.
“I want more,” I whispered as we lay in each other’s arms, exhausted and full of pleasure.
“Good. I want more too.”
“I heard a saying that an artist should never date another artist. Too many egos in the bed.”
“I’ve got another opinion.”
“And what is that?”
Chuckling, he shook his head. “See. There’s this big door.”
“Oh god, not another door.”
“Yes. And on the other side of the door, is your destiny.”
Playing groaning in annoyance, I tried to pull away from him.
He stopped me and whispered, “Melody.”
“Yes, crazy man.”
“Lose your head.” He captured my lips and devoured me once again. “Just lose your head, my sweet Melody.”
THE END
Underneath His Mask
Chapter 1
Angie Wilde flopped onto her couch with a sigh, kicking off her black high heels. They might make her ass look great but they certainly did not help her get this job. The interview had gone terribly, as always.
“And what makes you so sure you won’t repeat the ‘incident’ if you work for ACTV, Ms. Wilde?” she mimicked the interviewer’s question snarkily. “Ugh! Your tiny cable TV network should be so lucky to have me! God, it was a year ago. Give it a rest, people! Move on! Isn’t there anything on Twitter to distract you from one tiny little screw-up? ”
Angie threw one of the throw pillows at the far wall in frustration. “Apparently not,” she sulked, slouching further into the welcoming embrace of her gray linen couch.
Angie sighed and looked up at her ceiling as if hoping it would somehow provide her with a divine solution to her problems. It didn’t. She sighed again.
A few years ago, Angie Wilde had been one of the entertainment industry’s hottest up and coming journalists. She’d talked to everyone from Prince to Kim Kardashian. But, just over a year ago, her blossoming career had come crashing down around her ears. It had all started with Josh deciding that his fragile ego couldn’t handle playing second fiddle to Angie.
“Look, Angie, it’s totally normal. This is totally normal,” Josh told her, raising his hands as if that would keep her calm.
Angie raised an eyebrow, her hands firmly on her hips. “How is this normal, Josh? How is it normal? Explain it to me.”
“Men need to feel like they’re in charge,” said Josh, misreading the signs and lowering his hands slightly. “Your job is emasculating me, Angie. How am I supposed to feel confident in my masculinity if you insist on undercutting me?”
“My job is emasculating you?” Angie repeated. “What the hell does my job have to do with your masculinity, Josh? The last I checked you were the only person in charge of your own self-confidence.”
“Yeah, but, like, Dr. Matthews explained that because you’re so well-known and make so much more money than me that it’s having a negative effect on my self-image. I feel like I’m no longer in the position of power.”
“Oh, that’
s what Dr. Matthews said to you, is it?” Angie asked rhetorically. “And tell me, did Dr. Matthews say why, exactly, you should be in a position of power in the first place? Or is it simply because you have testicles?”
