by Fifi Flowers
Moaning “oh god” he awakened every inch of my body. He gently ground his pelvis into my bare mound, rotating slowly, as he moved in and out of me taking me higher and higher. Climaxing around his throbbing cock I felt him explode deep inside of me. I wanted this moment to go on and on. I wanted to beg him to stay within my walls forever. He filled me perfectly.
And just as I was making my way down from the clouds, Emerson pulled out of my body abruptly and questioned, “Breakfast?!” Actually, now that I think about it, it was more of a demand.
Trying to get my head around the idea of vacating this magical bed, I muttered, “sure,” as he jumped out of the bed showing off his loveliness. Damn! That man was hard everywhere. Not an ounce of fat to be seen anywhere. Why couldn’t he just climb right back next to me and fuck me until we could no longer breathe or walk?
“Julia… Julia… get dressed now!” Another command.
“Uh… uh… What about a shower first?” I groaned moving slowly to the edge of the bed and sitting up.
“No. I want to smell you. I want to smell us.” He leaned down and captured my mouth and then backed away.
“Oh… But…” I started to protest, I wanted more but if I wasn’t going to get him I wanted to clean up and added, “But… I’m still sticky from last night.”
“You smell sweet and sexy as hell. Dress, now!” He said strutting to his amazing walk-in closet.
“Get undressed… Get dressed,” I said giggling to myself pulling on my jeans and Emerson’s dress shirt; tying it at my waist. Then digging through my oversized tote bag I produced a pair of leopard ballerina flats with a red tie. I owned a variety of ballet flats to select from. Never left home without them!
Returning to my side, Emerson kissed the top of my head and tugged on the shirt I was wearing. “I hope you don’t mind,” I said looking up at him with a slight smile painted on my lips.
“Not at all. I will enjoy taking it off of you after I have my fill of coffee and whole wheat flapjacks,” he said maneuvering me to the freight elevator.
Out on the bustling street, we walked a couple blocks and rounded a corner to a European looking cafe. If you told me I had been teleported to Paris, London, or Rome, I would’ve believed you completely. I certainly didn’t think I was in the US of A looking at a charming large outdoor dining area covered by a midnight blue with light grey striped awning. I loved the black wrought iron fencing and posts that surrounded the area and supported several copper planters filled with ivy and yellow daffodil flowers. Sitting at one of the many cafe tables with black and tan rattan weaved chairs; Emerson ordered two large cafe au laits as I studied the menu intently. Knowing he had his heart set on a stack of pancakes; he refused a menu.
Hoping to draw Emerson out of his shell, I began asking him questions. At first it was almost like pulling teeth, he wouldn’t give me more than a couple word answers or a nod of his head. He was baffling. Frustrating. The complete opposite of Mr. Talkative Curator. However, I refused to give up.
“Did you go to art school?” I asked.
“No.”
“How long have you been painting?” I asked.
“A few years.”
This was the gist of our exciting conversation until I asked the right question or the question he was willing to answer. Either way I was happy to listen to more than three words uttered from his lush lips.
“Why did you start painting?” I asked… and I finally received.
“I was a professional wrestler for years. Then one night the lights went out in the center ring and my booming career was over. While I was recouping and rehabilitating and going out of mind, stir crazy sitting around, a therapist suggested I pick up a sketch pad. I never knew I could draw. I submerged myself in capturing everything around me. The same way I trained in the gym, I applied it to sketching. I became obsessed. But then the drawing wasn’t enough for me and I grew bored. I needed another challenge and it came in the way of canvas, brushes and tubes of paint. When I left the rehab facility, I bought the loft. End of story.” Wow! I got a whole paragraph out of him and then he shutdown. Yes, the guarded man was back.
Returning to Emerson’s loft, he quickly stripped me of my shoes, jeans and under garments then put his shirt back on me leaving it unbuttoned. Moving me to a chair, he posed me, and began sketching on a sketch pad. Seated, I peered around the wide open space and suddenly I totally understood why Pierce wanted me to meet him at this loft. Painted canvases were everywhere. Hanging on walls. Leaning up against walls. I saw them in the dark last night, but I could see the details or the brilliant colours. In the light of day they were amazing. They were soooo stunning. I had to get up next to them and without Emerson’s permission I launched myself out of the chair and rushed from one to the next. “Oh my!” Escaped my throat over and over. When I made my way to the last painting, I turned and exclaimed, “Oh Emerson, they’re all incredible! Wonderful! If someone told me these were Matisse paintings uncovered from an unknown vault I would not bat an eyelash.”
Quickly, Emerson was at my side, taking me into his arms. Grabbing a fist full of my hair, crushing his lips to mine, he explored my mouth with his tongue hungrily. Reaching up, I ran my fingers through his hair and held on tightly. With a growl, he lifted me up and I wrapped my legs around his waist. Walking me to his work table, my cell phone began to ring and I ignored it until it started ringing again and again. Deciding it might be important, Emerson went to retrieve it for me. Bringing it back, I saw that it was Pierce and along with the phone calls, I had received a few text messages, including a new one that was now being delivered. “Julia, please come to the museum as soon as you see this message. I have limited time to show you around the exhibit.”
Jumping off the high table, I announced, “I have to go. I have to meet Pierce, and I need to go back to my hotel to change first.” I rushed to grab my bag, my pumps, my sweater, all of my undergarments, pulled on my jeans, buttoned up Emerson’s shirt and headed toward the freight elevator. I didn’t want to leave him, but I was in Chicago to meet with Pierce and see the exhibit in progress, I couldn’t not go to him. Looking back, I saw that Emerson had turned away and was busy working on something. I called after him, “Thank you for breakfast.” What a stupid thing to say, but I couldn’t think of anything else. He didn’t bother to look my direction. Apparently, I was being dismissed.
Back at my hotel, I quickly hopped in the shower and got ready for my meeting with Mr. Marten. Dressed in a tan pencil skirt and a white blouse with taupe pumps, I popped into a taxi. Arriving at the museum, I went directly to the information desk and asked where I might find Mr. Pierce Marten. Making my way to the business offices, I found an attractive redhead stationed in front of a door labeled “Pierce Marten, Post-Impressionism Curator.” As she looked up, I introduced myself and informed her that I had an appointment.
Lowering her head to look at her computer screen, “Yes, I see.” Then refusing to acknowledge me, she coldly instructed me, “Mr. Marten asked that you meet him in the modern art wing.” Then the rude redheaded beauty turned in her chair to attend to paperwork on her desk. Apparently, I was bothering her.
“Sorry to trouble you again, but could you point me in the right direction,” I asked refusing to cow-tail to her.
Again, without looking at me, she answered, “Does this look like an information booth? Do I look like a docent?” Then she tossed a museum map in my direction and turned around, giving me her back.
Sarcastically, I thanked her for her time and strode away. Shaking my head, strolling through the various corridors, I thought; someone needed to cut back on her caffeine intake… or needed to be fucked properly. Probably the later.
Walking passed works of art by Picasso, Van Gogh, Miro, and Kandinsky, I made my way to a roped off area marked “exhibit closed.” Pushing through a heavy plastic drapery, I could see that Pierce was deep in conversation with a few crew workers dressed in construction garb and hard hats along with another g
roup of suited men. Nodding in my direction, he held up a finger. I smiled and gazed about the room filled with scaffolding, ladders, extension poles, paint can, brushes, several crates and gallery risers. The room I was standing in was a blank canvas waiting to be painted with great works of art.
Shaking hands with the various men, they quickly gathered up their equipment and exited the exhibit hall, nodding as they left. “Looks like there’s still a lot of work to be done,” I said gesturing with my hands to the naked walls.
With a smile, gazing about, he replied, “It will all come together beautifully. It always does. There are several rooms to this exhibit. Let me show you one that is complete.” Taking my hand, he guided through yet another heavy plastic drapery into heaven! That was the best word for what my eyes had privy to… a room partially filled with the mastery of Henri Émile Benoît Matisse. My mouth gaped open and my nipples hardened excited by the art that surrounded me, and by the hard body pressed against my backside. “You like these, Julia,” his hot breath asked against my ear. Nodding, he continued, “I have one more room to show you.”
Guiding me with his firm hand in the small of my back, we entered the room that had been completed and was doubling as the exhibit conference room. I believe that was what he called it. Mesmerized, I only heard a few words escape his lips. Around the room hung portraits of several women reclining and one pedestal with Matisse’s “Reclining Nude II” bronze sculpture. “These are stunning,” I said breathlessly as Mr. Marten lead me to a work table in the center of room piled with diagrams, notes, brochures, maps, floor plans, photos; basically the blueprints of the exhibit.
“Stay right there, Julia… don’t move,” he implored me as he walked across the room to an item draped on the wall. “Close your eyes, Julia and keep them closed until I say to open them.” With my eyes shut, I heard his footsteps drawing near me. Standing behind me once again, his body pressed up behind me again, and I heard, “You may open them now.”
What was concealed under the drapery, you ask. I asked too. “Is that the reclining nude painting you have been telling me about?”
“Yes,” he said running his hand down my body, from shoulder and beyond. “She’s magnificent, isn’t she, Julia?” He asked, moving my legs apart with his knee.
“Yes,” I whispered as his hand reached under my skirt and pulled my panties down my thighs. Lifting one foot at a time, I stepped out of them. Pushing my skirt up around my waist, I heard him say what a beautiful ass I had. Rubbing my sides with his smooth strong hands, he skimmed the inside of my thighs with his fingers avoiding where I wanted them.
Continuing his assault, I felt my juices run down my leg. “Mmmm… you’re very wet, Julia.” Bending me at the waist, I leaned over the work table and he rewarded me with a lovely swipe across my folds. I sighed and closed my eyes. Hearing the tear of foil and then the zipper of his pants, he freed himself and plunged his erect cock deep inside of my pussy in one swift motion. I nearly screamed when he whispered, “You must be quiet, Julia. Now open your eyes and study the Reclining Nude while I fuck you, Julia.” This was not going to be easy I realized as he drove into me hard and deep.
“Touch your clit, Julia. I’m not going to be gentle and I’m not going to last long.” He was so sexy and he made me hotter as he continued to speak in my ear. “I want you to come with me, Julia. Do you understand, Julia?” I nodded and he continued to pound me as I pinched, pulled and rubbed my aching clit. “That’s right, Julia.” I panted softly as I started to tighten and spasm. “Oh Julia… that’s so good. Just like that… good girl, Julia,” he groaned and released as the last wave of orgasm left my body. My legs were weak and shaky and I wanted to crumble to the floor. I wanted to have him hold me, but that was not to be. He pulled out of me, rearranged my skirt, leveled me on my feet and with his arm around me walked me back toward his office.
It felt good but it was like a business transaction. No tenderness. No emotion. He was the wham-bam-thank-you-art-man; I thought to myself and laughed lightly.
“You ok, Julia? I hope you liked the tour,” Pierce stated as if he was my personal docent not the man that just fucked me over a table.
Replying to him, I used the same nonchalant tone he was using. “It looks like it will be spectacular.”
“You will have to come for the gala and see for yourself.” This was not a question… not an invitation but an instruction… a command… a demand.
“I would love to,” I answered in a calm, cool and collect tone rather than squeal like a teenage girlee.
Still in his matter-of-fact tone, he continued informing of what would be happening. “Good. An invitation will be sent to you and of course you will be my guest.” Arriving at his office, he announced, “I need to get some work done,” strutting away from me and starting to open his office door.
“Okay,” I said starting to back away toward the exit. Our time together had obviously come to a conclusion. When he was done… he was done!
I stopped abruptly and as he turned back in my direction and let me know what I would be doing next. “I’ll see you tonight… Emerson will be joining us for dinner.”
My eyes widened thinking about last night and the idea of being together with those two alpha males again. “Oh no… I’m not sure about…”
Cutting me off, he assured me, “Don’t worry, Julia. I know what you’re thinking, but I said dinner, not dessert.”
Blushing speechlessly, searching for the right words, “okay,” was all I could manage.
“Go now. Get ready. We will be at your hotel at seven o’clock sharp.” Then reaching inside of his suit jacket he produced my nude lace panties. Dangling them in the air, he asked, “Forget something, Julia.”
Stalking toward him, I snatched them from his fingers and turned to walk away. I did not move fast enough to make a stylish getaway. No, he clasped me in his arms for a sizzling goodbye kiss and then pushed me to the door. Damn! I was being dismissed again!
Chapter Five
Promptly at seven o’clock on the dot my hotel telephone rang. Dressed in a hunter green form-fitted, long sleeved, jersey dress, I exited my room and made my way down to the lobby. As the elevator doors opened, I saw two gorgeous men dressed in dark custom suits. I’d already seen Pierce in a suit, but the site of Emerson’s statuesque body in a fitted suit was a pleasant surprise and I almost stumbled as I stepped forward not watching where my feet were treading. Both men greeted me with a warm hug and kiss; they smelled equally delicious. I was thinking that perhaps we should skip dinner and make use of the big king-sized bed in my room. Feeling my face heat and my panties moisten, I suggested we make our way to dinner.
Out on the curb, we popped into a waiting taxi that deposited us in front of the John Hancock building just down the avenue. My heart beat wildly seated between these two hard-bodies; the ride was too short. Exiting the taxi, Emerson extended his hand to help me out of the car and flashed me an earth shattering smile. I melted right there on the sidewalk; thinking how will my feet ever carry me forward. Thankfully my question was answer when Emerson tucked my arm in his. As we began to walk toward the entrance, Pierce was quickly at my other side. Lord help me, how the hell would I ever make it through the night with no delectable dessert?
Jetting up to the top of the glass building, entering The Signature Lounge at the 95th, we made our way to a corner black lacquered cocktail table with a fabulous view of the city lights. As a tall, long-legged blonde server greeted us, Pierce asked placing a hand high on my thigh, “What will you be drinking this evening, Julia? We’ll have a couple drinks here and then we have reservations at Grace.”
“Grace… oooh… I read all about that place. The photos on their site are stunning. Everything looks too pretty to eat…”
“Julia, what would you like to drink now?” Pierce asked with grin on his handsome face.
“Sorry…” I said running my finger down the specialty drink menu. “Oooh… I will try the Peaches in Paris
… sounds delish!”
“You heard the lady,” he informed the server with a wink and added, “Bring us two Grey Goose on the rocks with bleu cheese stuffed olives.”
I was truly enjoying the company of these two gorgeous, mouth-watering men. They were both making me laugh; telling stories of how their friendship developed. Apparently, while Emerson was going through his rehabilitation period, he began sketching three to four times a week throughout the museum where Pierce worked. Sitting on one of the many benches scattered about the different galleries of the museum, he would have his sketchbook open on his lap furiously creating with his black tattered messenger bag, coloured pencils, and thick black markers next to him. He looked so out of place; Pierce thought as he watched him. This big, muscular man dressed all in black; sweatshirt, track pants and tennis shoes looked as though he should be in a gymnasium punching a bag, skipping rope; not sitting and sketching. Knowing the days Emerson frequented the museum; Pierce began to wonder about him and searched the galleries for him. At this point in the story Emerson began to tell me that he thought Pierce was stalking him. “I kept waiting for him to ask me out.” They both laughed.
Then one day Pierce finally approached him, peering over his shoulder and nearly stumbled backward. As a true Matisse enthusiast, Pierce thought he had found the reincarnation of Henri Matisse in the form of Emerson. No, Emerson was not recreating works by Matisse. He wasn’t even familiar with the artwork of Matisse until Pierce began to question him. Surprised that he did not known of said artist, Pierce promptly asked Emerson to join him the following day in the Post-Impression wing of the art museum. Standing in the middle of several Henri Matisse pieces, Emerson was instantly enchanted by the paintings that surrounded him. It was on that very next day that he filled his loft with paints and materials to stretch large canvases. The two became fast friends, and Pierce introduced Emerson to many of his colleagues within the art world and beyond.
