Se7en

by Sky Corgan

  “She is.” He nods. “Was.” There’s a touch of sadness to his eyes that makes me immediately regret asking. “She was my mother.”

  “Your mother.” I mouth the word, thinking about the nude painting.

  He snorts, the mood suddenly changing. “Do you think the nude is a bit bizarre?”

  If he can read body language well, then the fact that I tensed up already gave me away. “Why did you paint it?”

  Chandler chugs the last few gulps of the port in his glass before setting it down on the table. “Have you ever heard of the Oedipus complex?”

  “No.” I shake my head, finishing my wine and hoping for a refill. My head is already buzzing with the beginnings of inebriation, which is making me more relaxed around him.

  “It’s basically the theory that every man wants to sleep with his mother. Or in broader terms, that every child subconsciously wants to sleep with their parent of the opposite sex. It stems from the Greek mythological character Oedipus, who killed his father to wed his mother.”

  “I think I remember reading about that in school.” I search my memory banks for lessons on Greek mythology. The story is vaguely recounted in my mind, but it’s still there. “So does that mean…”

  “No.” He laughs. “No, I never slept with my mother nor did I ever want to. I just thought it would be an interesting concept to paint. Challenging myself, I suppose.” Chandler gazes up at the stars. The light reflecting from his eyes makes them seem like endless pools of darkness. “You can see why I haven’t made those paintings public.” He glances over at me.

  “I imagine it might spark some controversy,” I muse.

  “Especially since my mother passed away a few years ago.” He relaxes back against the sofa again.

  “I’m sorry to hear that.” I sulk slightly, once more feeling bad for having brought up the paintings.

  “It was cancer,” he informs me. “Those paintings were in honor of her, something deeply personal that I’m not ready to share with the world yet. Maybe someday.” Chandler picks his glass up from the table, wets his finger with the drop of port still left in it, and circles the rim slowly so that it resonates. The humming draws my attention to his fingertip, to the slow swirl of it. It also makes me think of how skillful he is with his hands. The alcohol is getting to my head and reaching other parts of my body, creating arousal that is filling my mind with irrational fantasies.

  I stare at Chandler under the light of the moon. He’s built so solidly, but there’s vulnerability to his expression. I feel the need to comfort him in the most sexual of ways. On my knees. In a bed.

  What’s wrong with me? I need to forget about it. I’m here for an art project, not to get laid. Besides, he just shared something personal with me. I should be sympathizing with him, not selfishly thinking about jumping his bones.

  I need something to focus on other than him, so I boldly reach out to take the decanter and refill my glass. Before I can get to it, though, Chandler shoots forward and grabs me by my wrist. His grip is so firm that it makes me look at him.

  “No,” he tells me gently.

  “All right.” I recoil slowly when he lets me go.

  “I need you to be sober for what happens next.”

  “What’s happening next?” I bite my bottom lip, suddenly feeling nervous. I didn’t realize there would be a next after this. It’s already late. I figured we’d just have a pleasant conversation and go to bed, not that I’ll be able to sleep anytime soon.

  “Would you like to see?”

  He doesn’t wait for me to respond. He simply stands and offers me his hand.

  I slide my hand into his, yearning for the physical contact. Every time we touch, no matter how subtle, I feel a burst of electricity between us. I wonder if he feels it, too. Probably not. This is all just business to him. This place doesn’t hold the same sort of magic for him because he built it. And I don’t hold any magic for him because I’m plain. He’s likely been with dozens of girls far more beautiful than me. Bona fide models.

  Continuing to fantasize about him is just going to leave me sexually frustrated. And I can’t even masturbate. This week is going to be far more torturous than I could have ever imagined. Maybe caving in to signing up for the contest was a bad idea. Are fifteen minutes of fame really worth a week of wanting to hump everything in sight because I’m trapped in a building with one of the most handsome, talented men on the face of the planet? I’m beginning to think not.

  As soon as Chandler leads me back inside, the warmth is almost overwhelming. I find myself conflicted about whether or not I want to shrug off his jacket. Having anything that belongs to him wrapped around me makes me content, but the alcohol has my body burning up.

  Thankfully, the decision is made for me when he offers to take the jacket back, hanging it on a coat rack just inside the door. I sniff my shoulder when he’s not looking, hoping that his scent lingers on my skin. It’s so fucking pathetic. Maybe when I fully sober up, I’ll be less horny. I’m mildly buzzed right now, and it’s certainly not helping my libido any.

  Chandler takes my hand again to lead me further into the building. The beauty of the scenic backdrop fades, and brown walls close in around us, making me feel claustrophobic. Thankfully, we don’t go very far before Chandler stops in front of one of the doors.

  “Are you ready for this?” he asks with a mischievous glimmer in his eyes.

  “I’m not sure what I’m supposed to be ready for,” I reply hesitantly.

  He responds by pulling his key card from his pocket and swiping it across the door panel. The light turns green, the lock clicking open. He opens the door and turns on the light, pushing the door open but not really moving aside. I have to wedge my body next to his to see into the room, and when I do, I’m utterly confused.

  It’s like stepping into another dimension. The room is barely large enough for the circular piece of furniture inside. Soft piano music is playing, something slow and soothing. The walls, ceiling, and floor are white, the light in the room so bright that it’s almost blinding. The piece of furniture, which I can only assume is a circular bed, is covered in a thick white fur. On top of the fur, meticulously placed in a large circle, are blood-red rose petals, offering the only color in the entire room. It reminds me of a strange artistic target, and I have no idea what any of it means.

  Chandler is watching me intently as if he’s waiting for me to decipher the puzzle he’s laid before me. I’m completely clueless and not the least bit embarrassed about it. He’s the artistic genius, not me. And there’s absolutely zero indication of what he expects from me or how I should react.

  “What is this?” I turn to him finally when it becomes obvious that he has no intentions of explaining the room to me.

  “It’s where you’re going to lose your virginity.”

  My mouth instantly goes dry, and I feel my pinky twitch. I have to have heard him wrong. “Excuse me?”

  “I’m going to fuck you in here.” He nods into the room.

  No, I definitely didn’t hear him wrong. Did he just say…? Yes, yes, he did. I don’t need for him to repeat himself a third time. He said we’re going to have sex in here, and I’m so floored that I don’t even know how to respond.

  “Okay.” I nod… because what else am I going to say? I signed my life away in that contract. Anything he wants, that’s what he gets this weekend. And if he wants to fuck me seven ways to Sunday, then I have no legal say in it unless I just want to leave. And there’s no way I’m leaving. This is better than just winning the contest to be his model. An added bonus. How many girls can say they lost their virginity to the world-famous Chandler Lexington? Maybe a couple, but I certainly don’t mind joining their ranks.

  He chuckles in amusement. “Wow, you’re a lot more compliant than I thought you would be.”

  I lean against the door frame. “Why wouldn’t I be? No questions asked, remember.”

  “This is a pretty big deal for you, isn’t it?” I hear th
e first hint of concern in his voice.

  “Well, you’ve certainly made it a bigger deal,” I admit. “I mean, how many girls are challenged to lose their virginity in an obscure little room out in the middle of nowhere and have it recorded by a famous artist? Forgive me if I have some performance anxiety.” I smirk at him.

  A brilliant smile lights up his face, and he moves aside to allow me to slip past him into the room. “It appears that you’re more than I bargained for.”

  “What? Did you expect me to resist and struggle?” My eyes flash with amusement.

  “I’m not so sure.” He scrubs his hand across his face, assessing me. I can’t tell if he’s happy or annoyed with my lack of resistance, but I choose to believe the first of the two.

  “So how are we going to do this?” I ask, feeling nervous now that he’s allowed the door to close behind us. The room is only slightly bigger than the hallway. My legs are brushing the edge of the bed from the close proximity. Again, I feel the walls closing in around me, but I try to keep my focus on Chandler, thinking about what’s to come.

  “How do two people usually come together?” He crosses the distance between us, cupping my chin and tilting my face up to him. His eyes are already dark with desire, casting a spell over me. It feels like all of my free will drains from me, and I give myself over to him completely. This is going to be a night that I’ll remember for the rest of my life, and though I barely know him, there’s no one I’d rather share it with.

  Chandler’s fingertips brush my shoulders as they reach up to peel off my cardigan. He takes another step forward, and I feel the heat of his body close to mine. “Can I touch you?” My cheeks flame as the words leave my lips. Touching him feels forbidden, though. I need permission.

  “Touch all you want,” he whispers against my hair as he inhales my scent. I imagine that my Garnier Fructis shampoo and conditioner is probably underwhelming to him. But this must be what he wanted when he put together the contest. Not some perfect woman drenched in expensive perfume. Just a girl.

  When he puts his hands on me, I shiver all the way to my core. Every touch is skillful, just as I imagined it would be. He slides his arm around me to draw me to him, and a tiny gasp escapes my lips as my body presses against a wall of hard muscle. His other hand reaches up to rake over my breast, and I immediately feel my nipple bead beneath the touch of his fingertips.

  His lips find my cheek, placing kisses on my skin, and I crane my head for him, closing my eyes and basking in the moment. Feeling bold, I allow my own hands to begin to explore. The material of his shirt is soft, but everything beneath is so solid. I remember what he looked like the first time I saw him on the deck, and I can feel the work he put in to get this body.

  “Kiss me,” I whisper, needing to feel his lips on mine. I’m not supposed to be making demands, but if I’m going to give him my first time, then I think I should be allowed to be greedy.

  He straightens himself, his eyes hooded as our mouths come together. In here, I feel like we’re almost on equal ground. He’s not demanding things of me. Not telling me to be quiet or back off. He’s giving me what I want, and I’m not afraid to take from him. It’s almost like we’ve known each other for a lifetime instead of just a few hours.

  Maybe it’s the romantic setting. Maybe it’s the soft music in the background or the sensuality of his touch, but everything feels right.

  Chandler grabs my ass, pulling me hard against him, and I can feel the front of his jeans straining from his arousal. A blush comes to my cheeks as my mind fast-forwards. I’m going to get to see him naked. Even better, I’m going to get to know what it feels like to have him inside of me. My underwear moistens from the thought, from knowing that his sex is so close to mine—that there are only minutes before he changes me forever with his body.

  “I think you’re wearing too much,” Chandler whispers into my ear before pulling my tank top over my head and tossing it aside. It hits the wall and slides down it, feeling oddly out of place in the colorless room. I don’t have time to pay much mind to it because Chandler pulls one of my bra cups down and circles my nipple with his mouth.

  I gasp from the warm wetness of his tongue swirling around the bud, my fingers flying into his hair to hold him to me. I tilt my head back and moan as he nibbles and sucks until I’m certain my nipples are hard enough to cut through glass.

  His hands reach around me to take my bra off, unceremoniously tossing it against the wall where my shirt is. Then he buries his head between my tits, nuzzling me as he kisses a path to the other nipple.

  I want his shirt off too, but I also don’t want to stop him. It’s not like I’ve never had my nipples sucked before. I may be a virgin, but I’m not entirely pure. But I’ve never experienced it like this. I’ve only made out with boys, never men. Never anyone assertive or who even remotely acted like they knew what they were doing.

  Chandler’s mouth seems every bit as skilled as his hands. He gropes me unabashedly, his focus laser-targeted. His tongue flicks across each erect bud, causing waves of electricity to course below that make me press my thighs together. I feel like I might come just from him playing with my tits. Already, tiny contractions are firing off—a warning that the second he touches my clit, I’m done for.

  By the time he comes back up to kiss my lips, something carnal has taken over me. I’ve never wanted a man more in my entire life than I want him right now. If he tells me that this is all just some joke and we aren’t actually going to have sex, I may rape him. I have very little control anymore.

  Aggressively, I fist my fingers into his hair and crush my lips against his, showing him that he doesn’t have to be gentle with me. My other hand claws at the front of his shirt. It’s probably an expensive shirt. Something that looks like you could get it off the rack at Walmart but actually costs a small fortune. I don’t care if I rip it; he can afford to replace it. He opened Pandora’s box, and now he has to pay for the peek inside. If he wanted some meek, shy thing, he picked the wrong girl for his exhibit.

  I back him up towards the bed with an onslaught of rough kisses before pushing him down onto it. There’s surprise in his eyes. This is not what he expected from me.

  I’m on him before he has a chance to recover, straddling him and kissing him, stealing his breath as my long hair cascades around him. He keeps up with my pace, his fingertips sliding down into my tights. He pushes the waistband over my ass, and I maneuver so that he can take them off.

  “You’re undressing me, but you still haven’t shed a single garment.” I hint to the fact that I want him naked… like five minutes ago.

  “All in good time.” He smirks at me before his eyes trail down my body to my thong. “You are full of surprises, Emma Jones.”

  “I hope that’s a good thing, Chandler Lexington.” I say his name in a playful mocking tone.

  “Exquisite.” His palms rub over the globes of my ass before he sits up and gives each cheek a kiss.

  “Are you an ass man?” I bounce on his lap, wanting to arouse him until he’s going crazy for me.

  “I like every part of a woman’s body.” He gives my backside a hard slap, making me gasp.

  I giggle and moan as he kisses over the welt forming. Knowing he left a visible handprint behind has my pussy drooling.

  Chandler sits with my ass draped over his lap, his hands set on exploring. He squeezes and gropes, spreading my cheeks and spanking me when I least expect it. It’s the perfect mix of gentle and rough.

  Finally, he slides from beneath me, his fingers working to pull my thong to the side. I arch my back slightly, offering him the first glimpse at my exposed pussy, hoping he’s impressed that I waxed. More so hoping that everything looks good back there. I’d never waxed before, but fearing that Chandler might want to paint me nude, I wanted to make sure that my cunt was perfectly hairless. It was painful as hell, but totally worth it now that I’m going to get to feel his mouth on me. And I know that’s what’s about to happen because he
’s looking at me like a man starved.

  I expect him to go straight for my snatch, but instead, I feel the flat of his tongue lap roughly across my asshole. The unexpectedness of it makes my body jolt, but Chandler soothes me with a palm on the small of my back, keeping me in place. It feels strange having the tip of his tongue tunnel into my pucker, but not unpleasant. He definitely has to be an ass man if that’s the first thing he went for, I think. I’m not going to complain, though. To be honest, the spreading sensation is quickly growing on me, and everything he does feels amazing.

  I writhe on the bed, enjoying his mouth slurping at me while I stare down at my tits and the rose petals surrounding them. This is incredibly sexy, and the more we mess around, the more I start to see his vision coming together. If he’s recording all of this, then he’s looking for certain special moments to paint. The thoroughness of it is endearing.

  I reach around and place my hand on the back of his neck, wanting to touch him. Even though his mouth is on me and I can feel his palm on my ass spreading my cheeks, he feels so far away. Still, I moan to spur him on, wanting to feel everything that he wants me to experience.

  After a few minutes, he emerges, giving my ass another hard slap. I get the feeling that he wants to move on to something else, so I come up onto my hands and knees.

  “That felt amazing,” I tell him, knowing that the compliment wasn’t required. His confident expression speaks volumes that he knows exactly what he’s doing.

  “I bet your pussy is getting jealous.” He gives me a smirk that can only be described as sex on fire.

  He’s reading my body like a book, and every turn of the page is driving me more wild.

  Chandler grabs my thigh and my ankle, flipping me over onto my back. I brush my hair over my shoulder, smiling at him and following his lead. He pulls me to the edge of the bed, splaying my legs as he kneels between them. Again I think that he’s still wearing too much, and I have to resist the urge to pull his shirt off, remembering his ‘all in good time’ comment.