by R. F. Allie
I couldn't feel my hands anymore, he was relentless, he pushed in and out, paused for a beat when I was about to come the first time. He circled his hips taking me over the precipice; the blood was boiling in my veins. He grasped my hair at the nape of his fists, and arched my back up.
"Let go of the sheets baby."
He growled.
He leaned a beat, and we were both standing on our knees. He bit at my earlobe then took each nipple and squeezed them really hard. I winced, and he soothed them gently, and then did it again. I was going to come apart; it was torturous, pleasure and pain simultaneously taking control over my body. The most bizarre thing was that once he stopped, I wanted more of it, more of the panacea of sensations taking me over the edge. I instinctively brought his hands back asking for more and he did it again and again, his thrusts speeding up, and his pinches hard and delectable.
I screamed some baffled words; I could’ve sworn that my head was all over every inch of the place. I clenched around him endlessly, and he came with three more thrusts calling out my name against my neck.
I threw myself against the pillow. His erratic breathing racing mine; my mind crashed like it was thrown from the hundredth floor of the Empire State Building.
It was, astounding, mind-blowing, all-kind-of-crazy. I couldn't think anymore. I was a mess; trying to understand what had just happened.
It wasn't gentle or slow or anything like it had been yesterday. It was disturbing in the craziest way. I was experiencing so many things, the pleasure in the pain, transcending.
It weirdly reminded me of Poe's writing, the feel of darkness in which I lost myself.
I turned to look at the man beside me, his heaving calmed, his eyes close. He felt different, nothing peaceful about him despite his look; he was silent and lost in his thoughts.
I couldn't fathom his mood, so I crawled and put my arm around his waist. His eyes flew open, and he flinched. I couldn't understand the look in that mysterious gray gaze, nor the reaction he’d had. I was only glad he didn't push me away, because, at that moment, he felt so far away from me; from us and from this room altogether.
I didn't speak, just pushed against him, and placed my head in the crook of his neck. He didn't say a word for a long time, but at some point he squeezed me in his arms pressing his lips to my forehead.
"We won't do that again, baby."
He announced his voice somewhat mournful, as if he was in pain.
What the Hell?
I was taken aback by the statement. I couldn't understand it. Did I give him the impression that I didn't like it, because as disturbing as it was, I did more than like it?
"Why?" My voice came out small. I was puzzled.
He breathed out then looked at me, his gaze serious and intense.
"Because that isn't how it's supposed to be between us."
He explained
Now I was really lost.
"I don't get it. How is it supposed to be?"
"It's supposed to be intimate, tender, and sensual. Just like you."
I was at a complete loss, his words were so truthful.
What we’d just done might not be smooth to tender as he said, but it was intimate, sensual and way more intense.
"This was violent."
He was frowning, his eyes dark.
"Did it hurt you?"
You've got to be kidding me!
"Did it look like I was?"
My tone was sarcastic, because the guy was either completely insane, or a complete idiot.
"Just answer my fucking question Clea!"
Landon urged; his voice angry. His jaw tightened.
"No it didn't."
I was frustrated.
"Well it did... It's weird really, but I liked how it felt."
I conceded.
He just nodded and put his head back on the pillow. He seemed puzzled by my admission, as I was too.
Really what was that?
I wasn't going to lose my day thinking about it, I'll put it to rest and think about it later.
"Are you hungry?"
He finally said.
"Famished!" I admitted.
Last night and this morning, I was in serious need of a sugar boost and coffee.
We took a shower and I slipped into my yoga pants and tank top.
We got downstairs; the smell of coffee and pancakes was filling the air. It was probably Alison, he had said she'd be there in the morning, but she was nowhere to be seen. I looked at the clock and noticed it was eleven.
How long did we sleep? And how long have we been upstairs. Landon went straight to check his phone, and I decided to do the same.
I had several calls, from my mom and a message from Jude checking on me. I answered my friend's text to reassure him on my slightly-more-than-well-being and called my Mom. She had a tendency to freak out every time I don't pick up or call in the following hour.
She answered after the first ring.
"Bonjour ma Chérie."
She seemed in a good mood, which was good. She was really sad when I left, heartbreaking.
"Bonjour Maman."
"How are you darling?"
"I'm good mom, you? Is everything okay?"
I knew from her tone that despite her cheerful mood, she had something to say; something that worried her.
"You know me so well mon bébé. But it's not the time for any serious talk, other than the reason you are in Chicago right now."
She was an impatient woman, she must have called Jenna.
"It's a long story Mom, why don't you tell me yours instead."
I offered to change the subject. I wasn't about to explain anything with Landon standing three feet away.
"Well, since neither of us is going to speak on the phone, we'll do it face to face. Next week."
Okay, I was definitely worried.
"I've been gone for only two weeks mom. What's going on?"
"Oh stop it darling, everything is fine, I want to come spend my daughter's birthday with her, is there any objection?"
"Oh mom you don't have to, I'd rather you spend Christmas with us."
"I won't be able to this year, I'll tell you about it next week, don't buy new clothes, I have the perfect dress for you, you're going to love it."
"You know you didn't have to mom, I haven't been through everything you got me."
"Nonsense, anyway I have to go. I'll email you my flight details during the week, see you next Friday baby."
"Okay Mom, take care, Love you"
I couldn't figure what was going on with my mother, and I knew it would be eating at me the whole week. I did know my mother all too well; she had something important to tell me, that much was clear. But since I couldn't decipher her mood or tone, I wasn't able to figure out whether it was something good, or bad.
Hopefully good, I didn’t think I could handle anything bad right then.
Why wouldn't she be able to spend Christmas with me? She was always nagging when I altered with Jenna, and when I was going to spend it with her, and she had a mysterious reason not to.
Something was wrong, something was really wrong.
"Good morning Miss Dane."
I jumped at the intrusion on my thoughts and turned to see a young blond, she couldn't have been over twenty five. The apron around her waist told me she was Alison. She could’ve been a model, straight features, blue almond eyes and perfect teeth. Ryan would leap if he saw her.
"Hi, you must be Alison" I extended my hand and she shook my hand with a genuine kind smile.
“Calvin told me so many things about you; I was eager to meet you.”
Her smile broadened.
“Oh, he’s very smitten with you. It was a first.”
She leaned and spoke discreetly.
“I couldn’t help a glint of jealousy though. He’s usually so cold and neutral.”
I beamed at her.
“Oh I could tell. Trust me, no need to be jealous; I’m the one who should be. He’s completely under you
r spell.”
Her eyes sparkled; she was definitely under his spell too.
“Thank you.”
I acquiesced.
"I made breakfast; Landon is waiting for you in the garden. I made pancakes, eggs and bacon, also coffee and tea, since I didn't know what you would like to have."
Oh that was nice...
"You shouldn't have to, I'm easy Coffee and some pancakes sound great."
"I'll keep that in mind, and please if you want anything, you don't hesitate Miss Dane.
"Thank you, I will, but please call me Clea."
I insisted. She was no more than two years older than I was.
"Okay Clea."
I joined Landon on the porch. The garden was way more beautiful under the sunlight, with a clear view of the lake. I stopped at the fountain. It was gorgeous, it felt alive.
The marble was full of life, the figure of a woman draped in Lilies, subtle features, smooth lining. Every detail taken care of, the water flowing skimming the statue's every inch, like she was marveling in the feeling.
Landon's arms came around me, his cheek against mine; he pressed a soft kiss at the corner of my mouth. I loved the feeling, and it got me thinking about our earlier conversation.
That was what he wanted; he wanted soft and tender, nothing like earlier, that intense sex full of mixed sensations. But I loved it, and as much as I loved this, it was something I wanted to do again, and I had to figure out a way.
"I thought you were hungry."
I was, but the fountain and that moment were too damn good.
"I was just admiring your garden, especially this piece of art. The person who made it has an exceptional eye for details, it feels alive."
"I knew you would love it, but you haven't seen everything just yet."
I turned in his embrace to face him.
"What else could you possibly show me? I'm already blown away."
I grinned.
"Mr. Davis, you sure know how to show a girl some good time!"
He returned a wide grin.
"For your eyes only baby, now let's eat then we'll see if we can improve that good time you were talking about to something better."
"Did I say well? I definitely meant exceptional! But let's see if you can trump that"
"Challenge accepted!"
We sat under the sun for breakfast, everything looked tasty. I was completely starved from last night and the morning's activities. So was Landon, we ate our plates clean. I couldn't wrap my head around how young Alison was to be a housekeeper.
Landon insisted that she was way more than that; as did Calvin back in New York. I couldn’t understand the term ‘household manager’. He explained that she took care of all his properties, and that she supervised housekeepers. She only cooked for him, because she wanted to, and because she knew all of Mrs. Davis’ recipes.
Landon also told me that her mother used to work for his family but Alison was actually attending culinary school, and she asked to work for him in order to pay for her studies.
"Do you want some coffee with your sugar?”
Landon tut his head in disapproval. It was funny, I had a habit of consuming lots of sugar once a week for energy boost, but I usually drank my coffee sugar-free.
"I need the boost."
I said peevishly.
"That isn't good for you, nor is the caffeine for all that matter.”
I noticed he drank tea.
"You don't drink coffee?"
"No I'm not in the habit of damaging my brain cells or add to my stress."
"Well, excuse my humanity Mr. Davis; my caffeine dose is important for me. It's my weak spot."
I grinned at his condescendence.
"Finish your coffee.”
He said wryly.
I pushed my tongue out.
“I am in the mood for taking up that challenge Miss Dane."
He stood up and motioned for me to follow him.
We got to the third floor; he opened a door at the end of the staircase, his eyes fixated on my reaction. I grew curious; his sheepish smile didn't do anything to calm my anxiety.
He stopped then gestured for me to walk past him into the space.
I walked inside and blanked at what I’d seen.
Wow!
"Welcome to my safe-haven baby."
I blinked at him; I thought I was probably dreaming, because what I’d seen could only exist in my dreams, and nowhere else.
An open-space much like the ground floor of the house, except, there were nothing separating it, no walls to speak of.
An impressive art collection. Impressive didn’t really cut it, there were lots of paintings scattered around against the walls. But the most captivating ones were hanging, in a crescendo, in a variation of colors, the intensity and tone of the paintings got intense from one canvas to the other. I was floating all over the room.
It was simply not possible!
"How can you possibly possess these?"
I was astounded and scared that he might own some of those illegally, surely he must’ve been pursued by people, museums, or FBI agents.
"Don't freak out baby, it's all part of my private collection, for example this Monet was found by my great grandfather in Bulgaria, and has been in my family since world war I."
But it was; crazy he walked to an unmistakable Botticelli, the painting should’ve been in the Uffizi gallery, but instead it was in the middle of a townhouse in Chicago.
"This one was a gift from a client, a very wealthy one that is."
Must’ve been a Mafioso; but even the mafia wouldn’t let go of that kind of treasure.
I saw lots of his work in Italy and in Paris, in their rightful place, for the world to see.
"You shouldn't have these in here, I understand powerful men acquire arts to show off their money, but all these belong in a museum, this is selfish Landon. And please tell me that isn't a Rembrandt because I might faint or report you to the IRS."
I gestured to a painting behind him.
"You really know how you wound me Miss Dane."
I could tell he was, but I didn’t budge. I knew people who would love the chance to lose themselves in some of the history and stories behind those paintings. Jenna would’ve gone mad if she’d seen any of these paintings.
We’d traveled a lot for art; it was something we both got from dad. He did have some expensive ones acquired around the world, some were real, but others were replicas, perfect ones, and I never saw the harm in it. I would visit a museum, admire Madonna and a Child for hours and go home and find the same sight enjoyable.
Well, not as much, but it was better than nothing.
"Would it help if you knew that these are the only remaining seven paintings that were part of a much, much bigger collection, and that I donated most of them?"
I could hear the hurt in his voice, and it did help.
"I only saved the ones close to my heart and my family, all the others are works of contemporary painters, some even by me, and others by my mother."
Oh...
"You ... You paint?"
It was news.
"Yes I do, and let me tell you something Miss Dane."
His tone was dry.
"I'm not some self-centered, narcissistic asshole who gets some ego boost by acquiring some art to expose it around my home. What you saw in the penthouse, it was a little collection, all the paintings acquired legally. But these..."
Landon gestured at the paintings and I could decipher some anger.
"These are rightfully mine, I worked hard to buy some of them and chased people around the world. The rest is mine and my mother’s.”
He let out a condescending snort.
“I brought you here thinking you'd appreciate it, you're the only one other than my family who laid eyes on it, and they are in my tax return. So go ahead call the IRS!"
He strode out of the room.
Chapter XIII
I stood there, shocked by what’d j
ust happened.
"How stupid can you be? Really?" I scolded myself silently.
He brought me there to show me something that he thought I would appreciate, and I ruined it. I criticized him without letting him talk about it. It was clear that he was passionate about art, I could see it in his eyes last night, which was one of the reasons I bid on the Dubois sculpture in the first place.
I thought it better to let him cool off before I went to see him. I walked around the vast room; the collection was exposed in a graceful manner. Each wall had a story; I was in complete awe at what I was witnessing. I could live in there.
One of the walls held shelves full of art material, everything you would need. A sound system and a seemingly endless shelve of vintage vinyl.
There were also a collection of guitars, mostly acoustic.
He played music too?
I couldn’t wait to hear him play, if he did.
I decided to take a look at some of the other paintings, most of them were landscapes, one held a signature of with Landon's initials; it was a replica of Water Lilies from Monet. There was no doubt that he had an exceptional artistic eye.
Another one was a painting of two little boys standing in front of a lake, the scenery seemed familiar. It was the garden downstairs, the fountain, the flower bed around it. It must’ve been one Mrs. Davis' and those two boys must be Landon and Simon, the painting transpired light and love.
I put it down and continued looking around, I was taken by a portrait of my dark and angry lover, and he looked gorgeous. Whoever painted it; was full of admiration, they’d put so much soul in the piece that the sight was transcending; it made my heart beat faster.
Some paintings were covered, behind nothing other than a Kuhn-Bösendorfer piano.
It was a freakin’ museum…
I walked past the expensive piece of carved woods and gems and took off the sheet. I swallowed.
They were nudes, women. But they were disturbing, especially the scenery.
Dark walls, crosses, pinned figures on crosses, suspended ropes and torture tables. It was too dark, something out of a movie or a Salem witch tale.
They all held Landon's initials; those must have been drawn while he was in a very dark state of mind. Nonetheless, his imagination had apparently no limit.
