by J. J. Sorel
I must admit, I often questioned, silently, Aidan’s obsession with vinyl records. It seemed a little laborious and unnecessary. But I did enjoy staring at Aidan with his brow lowered in deep concentration and those broad shoulders rippling muscle upon muscle.
He turned and held my gaze. A half smile filled his beautiful face. His eyes hooded and aroused.
Aidan stood before me, gloriously naked. His mouth-watering thick manhood stood so hard it seemed it would burst. The promise of many sheet-ripping orgasms to come made blood course through me. Still engorged from Aidan’s fingering, my sex throbbed.
The Doors played, which meant one thing: hard sex.
I swallowed with anticipation as he approached me.
“Lie on the bed, sweetheart. I just want to look at you.”
He shook his head. “How is it you grow more beautiful each time I see you?” He sat by the side of the bed and stroked me. His hooded stare burned through my flesh. He parted my legs and buried his face between my thighs. His expert tongue proceeded to flutter, suck, kiss, and devour me. My legs flopped open wide as my toes squeezed tight.
Trembling into his face, my pelvis lifted, nearly swallowing him. The intensity of the orgasm made me scream.
When Aidan resurfaced, a glow of satisfaction reflected in his eyes. His lips shone with my release. “Mm… that was delicious.”
I could see his cock twitching wildly. I went to hold it so I could return the favor, but Aidan stopped me. “No. I needed to be inside you. I’ve been horny all day thinking about you. Later, we’ll take it nice and slow,”—his hands traced my hips— “one luscious bit at a time. I promise.”
He took his weight onto his strong arms.
As my hands caressed his bulging, sinewy muscles, I buried my head in his shoulder and drew in a deep, mind-altering whiff. I took his pulsating cock into my hand and placed the head at the entrance. His eyes had that aroused film over them as he entered deeply, stretching me to the extreme. The sensation and ache were so tormenting that a long sigh filtered through my parted lips.
“Are you okay, Princess?” His voice sounded hoarse and barely there.
“Yeah,” I whispered. I was more than okay. Oh my, just feeling his cock entering so teasingly slow had all my nerve endings bubbling away, threatening to send me mad.
He pushed in as far as he could, groaning all the way. “You feel incredible, baby. Too much so,” he gasped. “I’m not going to last.”
It was only a matter of a few thrusts before he gushed liquid heat deeply into me.
Panting, Aidan held me tight, his heart beating wildly against my chest.
A jagged breath left him as he stroked my hair. “I’m sorry.”
I remained with my head resting on his cushiony chest. “Aidan, it’s totally fine. We haven’t seen each other for a week.”
“Yeah, well, I’ve had a hard-on all day.”
I frowned. “Why’s that?”
“Because this morning, just as I was going through my emails, I landed on a few images of you in sexy lingerie. And from that moment I was so hard, I had to….”
My eyes narrowed “Had to?” I couldn’t help indulging in Aidan’s raging sex drive. The dirtier the better. My libido loved it. Especially when delivered with that husky, deep voice and his sculptured, addictive lips twisting suggestively.
“I had to play with myself,” he said.
His lips lifted up slightly at one end as he waited for my reaction. “What’s that smirk about?” he asked, tapping my nose.
“I was just wondering what you do with all my panties?”
Aidan pulled back his head and looked at me. “Seriously?”
I returned a raised brow.
“I play with them.”
“How?”
His eyes twinkled playfully. “I smell them.”
My face crumpled in disgust. “What? Please say you’re kidding.”
Aidan laughed. “Oh, Princess. It’s a fucking turn-on. A big one, as are you and this butt of yours.” He slapped it. I laughed and cried out at the same time.
He gazed up at me. “Am I hurting you?”
“No…” I bit my lip.
“But what?” he asked, balancing me face down on his knees.
“Do you do it to hurt me?” I asked.
He sat me up. His handsome brow lowered sharply. I’d hit a raw nerve. “No way, Clarissa. If that’s what you think, I won’t do it again.”
I shook my head vehemently. “No, I like it, Aidan. It’s kind of hot. It’s just that I wondered what you got from it.”
His finger traced my lips, and his eyes softened with that misty, aroused sheen that transmitted all the way down to my core. “Baby, it’s hot for me, too. I love your little chubby ass. And the view’s exquisite.”
“Chubby ass? The view?” I grimaced.
He laughed and turned me over on his knee again. “Yes, the view, your wet and pretty little pussy, sweet girl. I can’t get enough of that. And you have the most perfect-shaped ass I have ever seen. It’s a work of sheer magnificence.” He slapped me again.
“Ouch…” That time it did sting.
He kissed my bottom, and then he turned me around. His lips found mine, and we tripped off again. As he tongued me deeply and devoured my lips, his cock thickened against my thigh.
“Aidan,” I said, pulling away.
“Yes.” His eyes were heavy. He was ready for round two.
“We have to meet Greta and my father for dinner soon. I still have to shower and dress.”
He left a trail of kisses all the way to my breasts and teased my nipples with his teeth.
“I need a little entrée first, sweetheart. Will you allow me that?”
Before I could respond, his head was buried between my thighs, his tongue licking and fluttering away on my bud, and oh my, it burned like heaven.
“Mm…” I moaned. If my man was hungry, I needed to feed him. And as he sucked and tortured me, I opened my legs wide and flooded him with one release after another as I tangled his hair in my hands.
After I couldn’t take anymore, he lifted his head, looking pleased with himself. “You, dear Princess, are divine. I love the way you spurt cream into my mouth.” He wiped his lips on my thighs. I ran my hands over his hard, velvety cock and licked my lips.
I was about to go down on him when Aidan stopped me. “No, on top, baby, I want your pretty little pussy strangling my cock again.” He tapped his footballer thighs. “Here, sit here. Straddle me, so I can look at you. He caressed my breasts. “I need to watch these glorious tits bouncing up and down.”
I moved on top of him and lowered myself slowly onto his big, fat cock, which was sitting upright and obediently positioned to impale.
“Ooohhh…” Aidan’s head fell back.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
We entered the dining room laughing. Aidan had just done one of his ridiculous Bugs Bunny voices. It was something he did often. But only around me, he said. It would always make me convulse in uncontrollable laughter, and the more I laughed the more ridiculous he became. It was our thing. Apparently, he’d only ever shared this craze with one other person, his army buddy, Ben. Aidan told me he’d spent his entire youth mastering Merry Melodies cartoon characters’ voices.
I loved it. I loved him.
Just as we were entering, my father kissed Greta sweetly on the lips.
When they noticed us there, like guilty teenagers, they pulled apart. Greta had that flushed appearance of a woman in love. I recognized it well. I was sure, with my cheeks burning away, I had the same look. Especially after being indulged in multiple, ceiling-hitting orgasms.
“There you are,” said my father, smiling brightly.
I kissed and hugged him. “Hi, Dad, sorry we’re late.” I turned and gave Greta a look of apology.
“It’s fine,” she returned.
As soon as we were seated, Susana came out with our first course. I couldn’t believe it. For once, she was dressed mo
destly. Her sleazy eyes, however, were still on show. Pitched at Aidan, they were as flirtatious as always. She regarded me briefly by flicking a curt smile that went deadpan in a blink.
I waited until she was out of the room and whispered to Aidan, “At least she’s dressing more appropriately.”
Aidan looked over at Greta, and she returned a subtle smile.
Mm… aunt and nephew had their mode of communication. Having learned to read their wordless exchanges, I deduced that Aidan had spoken to Greta about Susana.
“Has Clarissa shown you some of the images of the artwork from the vets’ club?” Greta asked Aidan.
Aidan wiped his mouth with a cloth napkin. “She has. I’m impressed.”
My father looked up from his soup. “Artwork?”
“We’ve created an art program for the veterans,” I said.
“Oh… yes, of course, Greta told me about that. It’s a marvelous concept.” He looked at Aidan before directing his attention back to me. “But you only just set that up recently. Are they already producing art?”
I nodded. “I know, it’s amazing really. And some of the images are just extraordinary. There’s a few that are very Baconesque. They’re dark and twisted. Which happen to be my favorites. But there are many that are exuberant and colorful, making them, in my opinion, highly commercial.”
I had Greta’s and Aidan’s total attention. It meant a lot to both of them that this program worked. For Greta, it was for commercial reasons, whereas for Aidan, it was something deeper. Money didn’t come into it. I suspected its potential to heal wounds mattered most to Aidan.
“What do you mean by Baconesque?” asked Aidan.
“Francis Bacon. He was a twentieth-century artist from Ireland. A firebrand. His portraits of contorted and twisted faces polarized the cognoscenti and art establishment.”
My father nodded. “Yes, indeed. He was fascinating. An implacable, unapologetic artist. Along with Picasso, Bacon was a veritable zeitgeist within the modern art movement.”
“I’ve seen a couple of his pieces. Those twisted-face portraits you’ve just described were up for auction at Christie’s a few years back. I can’t say they were works I could easily live with,” said Aidan.
I nodded in agreement. “They’re pretty macabre. But he’s sought after, that’s for sure.”
“You’re telling me he is. At the time, I think one sold for more than $80 million. That was the same auction I purchased the Godward from, for a substantially lower sum.” Stroking my thigh, he gazed at me with those bedroom eyes. That painting had such a personal meaning for him, given that the model reminded him of me. “I think I’ll take beauty over torment any day.”
My father nodded reflectively. “Indeed. However, I do respect the creative process, which, at times, can be seen as a form of psychological purging. In the end, it’s whether that artwork can exist comfortably in another’s life.”
“I wrote a paper in college just about that—whether art should divert or subvert, “I said.
“Can you elaborate on that?” asked Aidan.
“Let’s just say that there are some people who are content with images of flowers and bowls of fruit. Mind you, I do like a good still life, especially that gorgeous Bruegel upstairs.” I smiled.
Aidan smiled. “Glad to hear that, because I’m fond of it too. Anyway, you were saying?”
“There are also those who need art to rouse and stimulate emotion. The more dramatic and challenging the better. That, being brought to tears, or even being nauseated by another’s form of expression can be equally cathartic for the viewer as it was for the creator. Whether it’s the cry of a twisted soul, à la Bacon, or mass-murder of a civil war like Picasso’s Guernica, art delivers something deep and profound, which at times can even heal.”
Aidan’s eyes glistened with admiration. I could see him gestating over my comments. “I can relate to that. But for me, it’s the mastery that goes behind the creation of a great painting. That lifts my soul. The sheer ingenuity of da Vinci, Michelangelo, and the like. It defies nature. They’re almost godlike. I remember being so awestruck during my visit to the Uffizi, I had permanent goose bumps and even felt a little faint.”
“Ah… the Stendhal syndrome,” replied my father.
“The what?” asked Aidan.
“Stendhal was a writer who, upon visiting Florence, kept fainting due to
an overload of beauty.”
“I probably wasn’t affected to that extent. But getting back to what we were talking about, I don’t think I could surround myself with images that represent the brutality of humans.”
“Nor I. However, humans are really good at airbrushing ugliness by sweeping it under the carpet, leaving those battling demons to feel isolated and voiceless. Art bridges this gap,” I said, taking a sip of wine.
“Yes, yes, well said, darling,” gushed my father.
Greta asked, “So, do you think these twisted images are going to be popular?”
Her characteristic dry delivery, bordering on sardonic, made me want to laugh. Having learned to control this tendency to giggle at the wrong moments, I managed a respectful straight face and replied, “I’m not sure, Greta.”
“I don’t care about that,” said Aidan, putting down his utensils. “I’m more interested in what Julian had to say about art purging demons. If this program enables isolated souls to feel as if they’re not alone, then that will make it successful. I couldn’t care less about the commercial outcome.”
My heart sighed deeply. Aidan was the kindest, most beautiful man on the planet.
I dreamily kissed him on the cheek and whispered, “Well said, darling.”
His lips twitched into a tight, humble smile.
Greta looked at my father. There was something to be said, and she wanted him to say it. Having inherited that same quirk, I recognized the stuttering uncertainty radiating from my father.
My father looked at Greta, then at me and back to Greta.
He took her hand, and her eyes softened with a gentle shy smile. “Greta and I are to be married.”
The announcement didn’t come as a surprise. They were so suited to one another. Nevertheless, my eyes moistened. I felt a lump forming in my throat. My darling father, after years of widowhood, had found love.
I jumped up and hugged him, after which I kissed Greta.
When I sat down again, Aidan grabbed my hand and squeezed it tight. I gathered that was his way of saying, “See, if they can do it, so can we.”
“I’m thrilled for you, Aunt. And Julian, of course,” said Aidan. “Have you settled on a date?”
Greta glanced at my father. “We discussed it and thought it would be nice to do it as soon as possible. Julian suggested we go downtown on Monday,” she said with a chuckle.
I shook my head. “You have to have a proper wedding. I’ll arrange it all.”
Aidan nodded. “Yes, something lavish. We can have it here. No cost spared.”
Greta’s face lit up. I could see that it meant the world to her to have a proper ceremony.
My father shrugged. “If that’s what Greta wants, I’m happy to go with it.”
“Good, leave it to me. I just need a date,” I said, looking at Greta.
“What do you think, Julian? One month from now?” she asked.
“Sure. Let’s do that.” He held up his drink, and we all clinked glasses.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
Aidan and I arranged to meet Tabitha and Evan for dinner downtown. I was curious as hell to meet Evan properly.
Although he didn’t speak much, except about sports with Aidan, I got a good vibe from him. However, it was difficult to erase the fact that he flogged my best friend. I imagined him in a leather mask and gladiatorial gear. I found it hard to look at him.
As always, reading me well, Aidan whispered if there was anything the matter when we were leaving the restaurant.
I shook my head. “No, Aidan, of course not.”
; While we stood on the pavement, Tabitha asked, “Where should we go?”
I glanced at Aidan, who gave me that “up to you” look.
“I know of an exhibition happening,” I said.
“Whose is it?” He asked.
“Works by Chris Wilde,” I said, my tummy tightened. I suddenly became uneasy about Aidan meeting him.
“Who’s he?” asked Aidan.
“He’s our art teacher at the VHC,” I said, avoiding a churlish tone considering I’d mentioned his name to Aidan on a few occasions already.
“He invited you?” Aidan asked.
I bit my lip while nodding. “He called a couple of nights ago to invite me, I mean us.” Shit. Why was that so difficult?
“He called you during the night?”
“Well, it wasn’t that late,” I said, noticing Tabitha’s lips curling.
Despite not having finished with his interrogation, Aidan, seeing that we weren’t alone, regarded Evan and Tabitha. “Do you guys feel like checking out an exhibition?”
Tabitha and Evan exchanged a quick glance and nodded.
Aidan returned his attention to me. “Let’s go then. Is it far from here? Should we take the car?”
“It’s in the Arts District,” I said.
“Car it is, then,” said Aidan.
As we made our way to the car, he whispered, “Does this Chris guy call you often at night?”
“No, Aidan. I’m not into him.”
He put his arm around my waist and drew me in. “You look good enough to eat, Princess. I hope you’re wearing your panties.”
I scrunched my face. “Of course, I am. I’m wearing a floaty dress, Aidan.”
“You look and feel hot, baby. Green’s your color.” He kissed me on the lips. His faint earthy cologne made my flesh pucker, travelling all the way to my nipples. Aidan noticed. “Have you got a cardigan you can wear?”
I laughed. “Oh, Aidan. That’s your doing.”
“Hm…” His eyes hooded.
Tabitha and Evan, a few steps in front of us, were having their little private moment as well. I caught sight of Evan’s hand creeping up the back of her blouse and Tabitha laughing raucously.
