Cruelly exposed, Carmen feels all her emotions welling dangerously to the surface and slipping out of her control.
She is going to say something rude… Mike’s eyes grip hers as forcibly as hands, and make it impossible for her to speak as she hears Will comment, ‘That all sounds good to me,’ and Linn laugh softly.
‘Can I take your order now?’
Will gently touches her wrist to get her attention. ‘What would you like, Carmen?’
Meeting her boss’ direct stare was like looking straight at the sun; the dining room seems darker now, closer, and she can’t seem to focus on the menu crawling with small black print.
Will comes to her rescue again. ‘She needs another minute.’
By the time everyone else orders, Carmen has decided on the grilled chicken sandwich because it is the least fattening item on the menu. She is not going to enjoy her food anyway; all the intense emotions her mind is attempting to digest are giving her a stomachache.
Mike forgave her because she was not herself that day, yet she just saw in his eyes that he had come to understand the opposite was true – that she was more herself than ever. What she read in his look was much more than a sympathetic apology for his wife’s behavior.
Linn asks, ‘Are you an art lover, Will?’ She glances at Carmen as if they both know the question is a test.
He shrugs. ‘Some of it’s all right. I like the Impressionists, and Rodin’s sculptures, but most modern art is just a bunch of pretentious shit, in my opinion.’
Carmen has discovered that brutal honesty is one of his most distinguished qualities.
‘My wife’s an artist.’ Mike polishes off what looked like a gin and tonic.
‘Really?’ A stab of jealousy deepens Carmen’s dislike of the woman. ‘What’s your medium?’
Linn looks at Mike. ‘Do you realize she’s the first person who’s ever asked me that? Everyone just assumes I paint.’
‘I don’t know how I managed without her.’ He motions for the waitress.
‘I sculpt,’ Linn replies, ‘in a variety of mediums. It all depends on my mood, but my pieces are all small, no more than eight to ten inches high.’
‘They’re striking,’ her husband says absently. ‘Another of the same, please,’ he tells the waitress, glancing around the table at everyone’s glasses. Will and Linn’s are still half full. Carmen’s is empty. ‘And another Chardonnay for the young lady.’
‘Right away.’
‘I also enjoy making jewelry.’ Linn pauses to sip what looks like white Zinfandel, a drink that makes Carmen ill. ‘A little shop in Bayside has sold some of my pieces for me. Do you have any hobbies, Carmen?’
She stares with mute desperation into the luminous surface of Mike’s eyes.
‘Linn and I are planning to stop in at some of the local galleries after dinner,’ he announces abruptly, ‘why don’t you two join us?’
She takes a quick, heady breath. ‘I’d love to. Um, Will?’ she belatedly consults her date.
‘If that’s what you want,’ his five o’clock shadow suddenly looks a shade darker, ‘it’s okay by me.’
‘That’s very big of you, considering how you feel about art,’ Linn comments sweetly.
‘I like to keep an open mind.’
‘How long have you two been married?’ Carmen hears herself wonder out loud.
‘Eleven years,’ Linn answers sedately.
‘Has it been that long?’ Mike’s surprise seems genuine, and makes him look almost boyishly vulnerable inside the impressive fortress of his physique.
‘Time flies when you’re having fun,’ Will says dryly.
Their respective orders arrive finally, and they all concentrate on the food like primitive people who haven’t discovered language stuck together in a cave. Then Linn says something quietly to Mike, he responds just as inaudibly, and Carmen can’t seem to swallow the piece of chicken in her throat.
‘How’s your sandwich?’ Will asks her in their own private aside.
‘All right, I guess, a little dry.’
‘Are you sure you want to…?’
‘Don’t you like your sandwich, Carmen?’
Mike’s gruff concern both surprises and pleases her. ‘Not really.’ Her honesty verges on defiance.
‘What’s wrong with it?’ Linn inquires mildly.
‘It’s too dry,’ Will answers for her.
‘I’m sorry you’re not happy with it.’
‘I’ll live.’
They all look down at their plates again.
They decline their waitress’ offer of dessert and coffee, and when the check arrives, Will refuses to let Mike pay the entire bill so they split it straight down the middle.
Carmen is infinitely relieved when they get up to go. Part of her regrets accepting Mike’s invitation, but most of her is thrilled by what strikes her as his protective attitude. It could be her imagination, but she senses that he doesn’t trust Will to do right by her. It would be stupid, however, for her to think he might be feeling anything but a kind, essentially superficial concern for her well being. He is not, she tells herself firmly, remembering those few forbidden seconds in his office.
In the shadowy foyer leading out of the restaurant, Will offers her a mint from a tray. She shakes her head as Linn takes one for herself while Mike reaches for the dish beside it. He accidentally knocks it off the shelf, and scatters toothpicks across the dark red carpet.
Linn ignores the mess as Will pushes the heavy wooden door open for her.
Possessed by an inexplicable impulse, Carmen falls to her knees as if to clean them up. Instead, she just stares at the white lines on the dark rug as they come into focus in her brain like some kind of writing.
Will says a little impatiently, ‘Leave it for the busboy, Carmen, and let’s go.’
‘That’s not your job, Carmen.’ Mike doesn’t sound any more sympathetic.
She gets up, and hurries outside.
Linn is standing a few feet away admiring a window display.
Flushed from three glasses of wine, Carmen delights in the breeze that immediately wafts up her skirt. It feels so good that she gathers her hair up away from the nape of her neck, and sighs with pleasure at the evening’s cool caress.
Will and Mike don’t emerge from the restaurant for another minute or so.
Carmen suspects they were talking about her as she lets Will take her hand.
They follow Mike and Linn down to a side street between Miracle Mile and Ponce de Leon.
They enter a small gallery crowded with people. The exhibit is generating a palpable current of excitement as a result of all the well-dressed bodies brushing up against each other.
Carmen finds an empty spot in front of one of the pieces—a large canvas drenched in dark red paint. ‘Excuse me a minute.’ Will squeezes her arm as he moves away.
It is a few seconds before her eyes penetrate the obvious surface layer of paint and make out the coiling form alive just beneath it. A third dimension is created by what could be the imprint of birds’ feet, except that they look crueler, like claw marks.
Mike fills the space Will vacated.
‘What are those scratches all over the canvas?’ he asks.
The image of toothpicks scattered over a dark red carpet is stuck in her mind. ‘They look like runes.’ A white-hot emotion burns the rational edges of her thoughts. ‘I wonder if they really mean something.’
‘How would I know? Is that a snake?’
‘Yes.’ She glances over her shoulder, and spots Linn at the back of the gallery conversing with another woman. Will is nowhere in sight.
‘Strange,’ Mike murmurs.
She glances up at his profile, dramatically hardened by concentration. ‘Do you like it?’
‘Actually, I do.’ He glances down at her. ‘Do you?’
She looks back at the bloody canvas. ‘I’m not sure.’ She follows him over to the next painting, and another furtive glance down the length of the gal
lery tells her that Linn has found Will (she prefers not to think it was the other way around).
Intricately carved dragons’ heads rise from the four posts of a bed covered by a red blanket, on which a beautifully stylized dragon is intricately embroidered in golden thread. A naked woman is sleeping peacefully in its arms, the curves of her pale body following its flaming undulations.
‘Beautiful,’ Mike casts his vote. ‘A modern artist who knows how to draw and paint like a master. I’m impressed.’
‘Look at the exquisite contrasts,’ Carmen puts her finger on the work’s power, ‘in all the colors and textures.’
‘Beauty and the Beast. I like this version better than Disney’s… Carmen, what were you doing back there in the restaurant?’
‘Um, what do you mean?’
‘When I knocked over those toothpicks it… well, it seemed to upset you. You were just kneeling there staring at them. Why?’
She confesses in a single breath, ‘Because I felt, I don’t know, like I should be able to read them. I realize now that they looked like runes.’
‘Runes? Mm, funny coincidence.’
Her respect for him plummets a notch. ‘I don’t believe…’ she stops herself.
‘You don’t believe in coincidence? Come on, Carmen, surely you believe in free will?’
‘I didn’t say I didn’t.’
‘But if there’s no such thing as coincidence, doesn’t that mean everything is predetermined?’
Neither of them is looking at the painting anymore. ‘Not necessarily. I’ve always felt that Fate and Free Will are interwoven, somehow.’
‘You’re talking about Karma.’
‘I guess so, but I don’t think it’s as simple as it’s made out to be.’
A tall woman bumps into Carmen, and unwittingly baptizes her with a cool splash of champagne.
‘God,’ she mutters, brushing at the damp spot on the front of her skirt.
Mike rests a hand on the dead center of her back, and helps her navigate the press of bodies towards the next piece.
A narrow slab of dark wood has been carved into an exquisite bas-relief of tangled vines sprouting animals’ heads. The center of the twining forest is a creature that resembles a stylized greyhound. Its torso and limbs are barely distinguishable from the serpentine growth around them as it sinks its teeth into the neck of its inverted twin.
Mike asks, ‘Is it just me, or does everything in here look familiar?’
It is a rare pleasure to be able to call upon her knowledge of history. ‘That’s because everything we’ve seen so far was inspired by ancient Nordic art.’
‘Is that so? I’ve always admired the Vikings,’ he admits, ‘yet I don’t really know much about them, just what I’ve seen in movies.’
‘That’s not much,’ she agrees.
‘You studied history, didn’t you? Were they really as barbaric as they’re made out to be?’
‘Yes, and no.’
‘What does that mean?’
‘They were complex. No one’s all good or all bad, you know.’
‘That’s true. I’d be interested to learn more about them. Let’s do lunch.’
She is careful not to look at him. ‘Okay.’
She flinches when Will abruptly grabs one of her sore arms.
‘Let’s get out of here, Carmen.’ His breath is hot in her ear.
‘Okay.’ She feels like a thief escaping with the small yet priceless treasure of a lunch date with Mike. Finally, she won’t just be stealing moments of his attention; she’ll have him all to herself.
‘It was nice meeting you,’ Will says firmly.
Mike looks at her. ‘You’re leaving?’
Her eyes fervently tell him it isn’t her idea.
‘Well, I’ll see you on Monday. Nice meeting you, officer. Take care of her for me.’
She surfs a wave of pure elation out of the gallery, but it immediately crashes out on the sidewalk when she remembers that he’s married, and her employer, and that she can’t afford to lose her job, which leaves only a fizzling, frustrated restlessness in her blood.
Will lets go of her, and starts across the street without seeming to care whether she follows him or not. This annoys her, but ignoring her is an effective way to transform the half empty glass of her interest in him into a half full one again.
‘Hey,’ she laughs, ‘wait up.’
He stops, and let’s her catch up with him.
‘What’s the matter?’ She slips her arm beneath his, and holds on to it.
‘Nothing.’
He is wearing a black, short-sleeved T-shirt, and a fine silver chain that makes her appreciate what a strong yet sensual neck he has. ‘Will, you have the most beautiful neck.’
He gives her that colorless, surprised glance again. ‘You just noticed that?’ His gruff tone doesn’t quite manage to cover up his vulnerable pleasure at the compliment.
‘Yes, it looks delicious. Can I have it for dessert?’
‘It’s not sweet,’ he answers shortly. They reach the car.
She lets go of his arm.
He unlocks the passenger side door, and opens it for her.
She clutches the shirt over his chest with both hands, and stands on tiptoe to whisper in his ear, ‘I want it!’ She presses herself up against him. Everything about him is excitingly hard except his vulnerable neck.
‘Just get in the car.’
His cool attitude is working; she wants him desperately. She slips into the front seat hoping he’ll continue to play the hard, no-nonsense cop so she can keep feeling excitingly wicked, and determined to corrupt him.
The only problem is, it’s a very short drive to her apartment.
He slips in beside her, and again she admires the silver bracelet that draws her eyes to his wrist as he starts the engine. This man’s bone structure leaves nothing to be desired. ‘Don’t take me home, Will, not yet.’
He merges with the traffic on Miracle Mile. ‘Where would you like to go?’ He turns right on Lejeune, heading for her apartment.
She asks softly, ‘Can we park somewhere?’
He doesn’t answer. He simply makes a quick U-turn, in the direction of a golf course with a lake.
She slides across the seat to him, and he drapes a heavy arm over her shoulders, letting her snuggle up against him. But his bulging pec doesn’t make a very good pillow, and she feels anything but tired as she caresses his unyielding chest. She savors how warm and hard he is as her hand moves slowly down to his crotch. When her fingers gently insinuate themselves like roots into the firm dark space between his thighs, he doesn’t arrest their progress. He doesn’t react in any way, which deepens her hunger for him and makes her bold. As he shifts his grasp on the wheel to make a turn she quickly unzips his pants.
‘I thought we were taking it slow, Carmen.’
‘Mm.’
‘Can you at least wait until we get there?’
She unbuckles his belt and opens his jeans.
‘This is against the law,’ he says, but doesn’t stop her from pulling his white underpants down out of her way.
How much she enjoyed going down on Jay Thursday night has, she realizes now, left her starved for more. He had a very good reason for flying up to Washington, but it doesn’t matter, she is still angry with him for leaving her, and determined to prove that his dick isn’t the only one that can taste good.
Will lifts his arm from around her to grip the wheel with both hands.
She cradles his limp penis in her hand. Waves of light and dark wash over it, so she can’t really see it clearly, which makes touching it even more exciting. Her fingertips love the feel of it, cool on the surface and yet radiating a subtle warmth. She wraps her fingers around its stiffening length so she can feel it swelling, and it strikes her then that a man’s personality is like his dick, tender yet detached, oddly vulnerable and yet firm, determined. She lightly strokes the top of his helmet with her thumb, delighted at the way his already impre
ssive rod quivers in her hand when she does so. His jeans and underpants press against it, pushing it up against his shirt when she lets go to run a teasing fingernail up and down it. Then she just gazes at it, feeling extremely wicked. Last night she sucked a man’s cock, and now she’s getting ready to blow another man.
‘Carmen, we’re not in the gallery anymore,’ he says hoarsely, ‘it’s not a sculpture.’
‘But it’s beautiful.’ She keeps her eyes open as she gives the sensitive opening in his helmet a tentative little lick. His scent makes her think of the air before a storm, thick with ozone, and above it she detects the clean tang of soap like a sharp flash of lightning. He smells different than Jay, a little more potent, and she likes it. Yet only the tip of her tongue flickers over the drop of semen quivering on his helmet, like the white pearl of his deepening tension. He is so big; she wonders how she can possibly fit all of him in her mouth.
She was aware of the car turning, then slowing down, so it doesn’t surprise her when it comes to a stop.
He turns off the lights, but leaves the engine and the air conditioner running. ‘Come on,’ he says, grabbing the hair at the back of her head, ‘you’ve teased me enough.’ Holding himself with his left hand he pushes his helmet between her lips, forcing them open as part of her suddenly has second thoughts and resists. She plants the one hand not crushed against him on his rock-hard thigh to try and sit up, but he isn’t having it. She has no choice but to swallow him. His dick is thicker than Jay’s, and she hears a small bone in her jaw crack as she opens her mouth as wide as she can to accommodate it. She moans, and slaps his thigh to warn him that she can’t possibly swallow all of him, but he simply puts both his large hands on her head and keeps pushing her face down into his lap. She can’t fight him, there is nothing she can do now to stop him, and the certainty of this mysteriously relaxes her. A wild, out of control part of her wanted this to happen, and now she either gets into it, or chokes on it.
He groans, and she squeezes her eyes shut as she concentrates on relaxing and opening her throat for him. She couldn’t stop thinking about this intensely intimate caress all day, and it’s just how she remembered it, terrible and wonderful all at once. He rests his powerful erection in her mouth for a long moment while she breathes through her nose, already dying to get this over with, and yet also savoring the coming ordeal. Then he braces himself on the steering wheel while his other hand pulls her back up by the hair slowly as she keeps her lips wrapped tightly around him. Like Jay, he takes full control of her movements, and she doesn’t know why this makes the experience so much more exciting. Yet after a while it begins to hurt how wide open she has to hold her mouth to keep her teeth safely out of his way, so that she feels herself grimacing. There doesn’t seem to be any need for the skin stretched painfully taut between her cheeks and her jaw, because all he wants as he moves her face up and down around his shaft is the worm of her tongue.
Thor'sday Night - Paranormal Erotica Page 8
