The Crime of Protection

by Gloria Martin

  Nick’s mouth lingers open an inch away from mine. The hand on my leg drifts upward, grazing the ruffles of my dress, my neck, and cheek until they reach the frames of my glasses.

  “You have beautiful eyes,” he says. “They’re the most dynamic shade of green I’ve ever seen. Are they real?”

  “Don’t make me laugh,” I say. He plucks the glasses from my face and sets them on the desk that my ass currently rests on. Although I can barely see the spectacle of his rugged, gorgeous face, I almost feel like I’m being blindfolded, which only proves to be a bigger turn on. I’m so out of my element that I truly believe I can no longer make logical decisions. All I can do is offer my body to this man and pray that he takes me gently.

  “Don’t worry,” he says. “I’ve felt you trembling since when I shook your hand. There’s no reason to be nervous, here. This is as casual as you want it to be. We’re both Midwesterners on the west coast. There’s no reason to make a big deal out of something so small.”

  “Right,” I say. “No reason.” I look over Nick’s shoulder and I make out the blurry image of Deviled Legs hanging on the brick gallery wall. Its purple is really all I can see, and I wonder if tonight will be my last night with my most beloved possession. Let it go, Carly, I think. There’s plenty of art in the world.

  “Maybe we should go to the storage room,” I say in spite of myself. I’m surprised I got the whole sentence out of my mouth without a single stutter.

  “The storage room?” he asks playfully, bringing is face closer to mine so that he comes into focus. It’s like he’s reading my mind. “Yes, maybe we should go to the storage room. I hope there’s enough room to spread out and get comfortable.”

  “There should be enough,” I say, lifting my ass off the desk, pushing him off of me forcefully, and taking him by the hand. I guide him out of the gallery, through the back hall past the restroom and into the storage room where a dim red light glows up in the farthest left corner. The light is something I jerry rigged to guide to the emergency exit in case something ever went wrong, heaven forbid. Right now the light seems to lend itself to a sexual ambience. It feels wrongfully appropriate, as if telling me to exit the entire life I knew and enter a completely new chapter.

  “So is this where you keep your goodies?” he asks, closing the door behind him. Without the light from the hallway our entire bodies are encompassed in the crimson glow.

  “I don’t know if there are any goodies in here at the moment,” I say. “At the moment all I have is a sleeping bag and a mini-fridge.”

  “Those sound like goodies to me,” he whispers, tip-toeing closer to me. “I’m especially interested in the sleeping bag. How much is that going for?”

  “Not for sale,” I say, not really sure what I mean by that but hoping it makes me sound sexy.

  “Everything has a price,” he says. The palm of his hand presses against the small of my back, and the friction of his skin raises the thin cloth on the bottom of my dress from my thigh line to my crotch line. The exposure of my skin to the cold air makes goose pimples raise up from my ankles to my hips. I’m almost embarrassed about my gangly chicken legs until he lowers his hand from my back to the top of my butt. I can tell that he is controlling the urge to move his hand lower. Personally, I feel like I can’t keep my hands off of him and I know the second my fingers get underneath his clothes I won’t be able to pry them off.

  “Actually, I disagree,” I say, trying to lift myself onto the balls of my feet so that his hand will be forced to cup my entire ass cheek. “Me, for example. You’d better know that the money you threw at me has nothing to do with my body or what happens in this storage room is in no way related to your money.”

  “I thought that went without saying,” he says, leaving his hand pinned to the area just below my waist.

  “I feel like you’re purposely not trying to touch my bottom,” I say, hovering my lips over his. I don’t know how much longer I can go without kissing him.

  “Don’t get me wrong,” he says. “You have a very prominent coccyx. I just like to take time with things that I appreciate. Your body, for example, is in my opinion, finer than fine art.”

  “My tailbone is not prominent, and I want you to take back what you just said,” I say, trying to sound disgusted, but finding it impossible not to smile. Right now I’m about to make the move and there is no way that I can stop it. “If you’re going to treat me like fine art then chances are you won’t fuck me like I need.”

  His eyes go as wide as my legs are about to be. Honestly, I’m just as surprised as he is about what I just said. It was not rehearsed. I’m partially convinced that some sexual demon temporarily possessed me. “You’re right,” he says, lowering his hand to my left ass cheek and bringing his left hand to my right cheek. “I’m going to tear this up. I guess I don’t know what to call that.”

  “Maybe we can discover a title together,” I say, nudging us both backward toward my dingy little sleeping back. “I’m getting a little cold. You think we could get under the blankets?”

  “I don’t know about you,” he says, unbuttoning his floral shirt, “but I’m freezing.” He bypasses me and sits down on top of the sleeping bag. Smiling under the red glow, he crawls underneath the top layer until all I can see is his head poking out. He bites his bottom lip as he fumbles around underneath until finally he reaches his bare arm out with his pants and underwear. Tossing them across the storage room, he sticks his index finger out toward me and wags it two times, begging me to come toward him.

  Before moving any closer to him and the sleeping bag where I know the most lustful moment of my life is about to occur, I slide my left shoulder out from under my dress and release my hair from its bun, letting it drape over my nipples. Now that my breasts are covered, I slide my right shoulder out and the dress falls down my body into a pile around my ankles.

  “I like what I see,” Nick says, resting his head on his hand, posturing himself on his left side so that I have plenty of room to enter the sleeping bag with him. “I can’t wait to experience you first hand, Carly.”

  The way he says my name makes me move forward subconsciously, as if he’s some kind of snake charmer, beckoning my body toward him in slow, slithering movements. “This is the only time in your life a curator is ever going to tell you to put your hands all over the art.”

  “Where the hell have you been all my life?” he asks, that smile bouncing a ray of red off its perfect shape.

  “Across the pond,” I say, wriggling my body down to the ground, trying to keep every motion as sexy as possible. I slide into the cool sleeping bag, but am immediately hit with the heat radiating from Nick’s body. Somehow I am consumed with his energy, and as I lie on my back he floats toward me, above my face, his bangs tickling my forehead.

  His right hand reaches up to cup my breast and he instantly goes for the nipples. Twisting my left nipple, Nick makes sure to cover my right breast with his arm. The warmth from his skin sends a soothing sensation from my head to toes. His fingers caress my areola and slide down the center of my stomach, gliding over the navel, and settling on my groin. Before he lowers his fingers any more, he opens his mouth and sticks out the tip of his tongue, touching his mouth on mine.

  I answer his call by opening my mouth as wide as it will go, inviting his tongue to tango with mine. We kiss, our tongues swirling, while his right hand continues toward my pussy lips.

  Holy fuck, I think, realizing how wet I’ve become. I can feel myself dripping and he hasn’t even gotten near my clit yet. It’s no lie—I haven’t been intimate with a man in over a year. Could it be that a year’s worth of juices are flowing out at once?

  I want him now, and there is no force that will deny me of my desire.

  *****

  Amos

  I’m no fool. Nick may not realize it, but standing on a roadside corner to watch the sunset isn’t as indiscrete as it may seem. I watched him from thirty yards away through binoculars from Bert’s Malib
u penthouse. I nearly spit out my chardonnay at his little ruse with switching out the Jeep and the van. That tactic only made it easier for me to follow him now.

  Driving back toward Los Angeles on the Pacific Coast Highway I keep my distance and always remain at least five cars back. I’ve borrowed one of Bert’s Mercedes, something that would never be my taste in vehicle, which is what makes it perfect for shadowing Nick. I’m not trying to do anything dangerous or illegal, really. I’m just very curious as to what he plans to do with the art in the back of the van.

  Instead of continuing on the highway, Nick begins to turn down side streets, zig-zagging every few blocks but always heading northeast. At this rate I can only assume he’s trying to stay north of Hollywood and make it into Los Feliz. He’s either dealing somewhere directly in Los Angeles or here for a limited time on business. I spent enough money making sure the prick would never board public or private transit again, and I know for a fact that I made it impossible for him to ever get a valid driver’s license again in his life. Part of me feels my trigger finger reaching to dial the police on my cellphone. However, in my core, all I want to do is to follow him until he believes his guard is down, and then strike when he least expects it.

  Murdering Nick Caran and acquiring Lora Zombie’s Deviled Legs will not only be killing two birds with one stone, it will also feel like I am defying the will of the universe and creating my own destiny. It’s only a matter of time before man conquers all.

  ***

  Nick

  I try not to crush Carly with my weight as I slip my tongue into her warm mouth. She’s so petite and fragile looking. I don’t want to hurt her, yet at the same time I want to fuck her totally; I want to possess her. Reaching down a little farther I put the tip of my penis between her pussy lips until I find her clit hiding under a thin layer of moist flesh.

  Wow, I think, she’s already drenched down there. Way to go, Nick. With the first touch she lets out a moan of ecstasy, confirming what I’d thought, that she’s been holding back her sexual energy for a long time. If she’s already on the verge of orgasm what is going to happen once I put my shaft inside her?

  “Be as loud as you want, Carly,” I whisper into her ear. Her blond hair has turned a brilliant neon pink from the glow of the red light hanging above us. To silence and reassure her, I barrel my lips back down onto her mouth, puckering like wild, smacking my lips like a camera taking endless snapshots. She starts to giggle. Now I’ve reached her with my power, my sex appeal, and my charm. I have her right where I want her.

  Allowing my hand to press harder, I rub her clit with the knuckle below my index finger while searching for the opening between her lips with my middle and ring finger. It is so wet down there I will have no problem diving in and curving my hand up into her. Making her squeal is my prerogative at the moment. My own pleasure will come soon enough.

  Carly’s hands grip the sleeping bag, balling up its cheap material in her fists while she clenches her teeth. I hold her bottom lip between my lips, sucking on it like I will her clit momentarily. I enjoy foreshadowing what I am about to do for a woman. It only makes their climaxes that much more memorable.

  “I can’t believe this is happening,” she lets out through a mouthful of her own hair. Her body writhes now that my index finger is in full swing. She thrusts her pelvis forward just like she did with her butt earlier. It is cute how eager she is for me to put my hands all over her and inside her. She literally cannot wait.

  “I want you to feel me enter you,” I say, sliding the tips of my two fingers into her simultaneously.

  “Whoa,” she says, and I nearly laugh because it admittedly sounds like a sorority girl’s response to a first touch. “That’s like, really nice.”

  “Is it nice, baby?” I ask, playing along. I’m not here to judge a woman for how she behaves when she’s intimate. I sealed the deal with the painting and now I get to slay a sexy little urbanite that has no idea what she’s in for. This is turning out to be the perfect end to a perfect day.

  “Yes,” she answers. “It’s more than nice.” Her eyes are closed, which is normally a turn on for me because I don’t like it when women stare. But for some reason I’m longing to look into Carly’ eyes in this dreamlike red atmosphere. I want to reach up and pry them open but I’d rather keep digging my fingers deeper into her center.

  “I want your cock,” she says. Wow, I think. She’s a lot freakier than I thought.

  “You’re going to have to be patient,” I say, freeing her bottom lip from mine so that my face can smooth its way toward the crevice between her legs. I can already get a minuscule whiff her aroma and it’s making my mouth water. “I need to get a good taste of you first, and then you of me, and then maybe I will put my dick inside you. Does that sound good, Carly?”

  “Yeah, that sounds good,” she answers obediently. The right side of her face touches her right shoulder as she watches me descend, tongue stretched out to her flesh. “Oh my god,” she moans. I take my hands and spread her legs open by gently pushing on the bones between her thighs pussy. I stick my tongue out as far as it can go, press it against her clit, and let the tip enter her sweet, hot flower.

  ***

  Carly

  When I open my eyes, I’m still covered in the red glow of the storage room light, but Nick is nowhere to be scene. I can still smell his sweat lingering on me, and I feel the smooth residue of his come on my stomach. We made love gently, yet aggressively, and not soon after his orgasm I fell fast asleep in his arms. How did I sleep through him lifting my head off of him, putting his clothes on, and exiting the gallery? He must have drained me thoroughly.

  Holy shit, I think, suddenly. There’s no way he could have locked up before leaving.

  I stumble to my feet and pick up my dress from its nest on the ground and rush to the storage room door, madly attempting to get the dress over my head. “Nick?” I call out, praying that maybe he just got up to use the restroom. That’s it, I think. He’s just peeing after sex. No big deal.

  Yanking open the gallery’s bathroom door, I shriek to find nobody inside. Maybe a little overdramatic, but I really wanted to believe that he would still be here. “Nick?” I call again. “Are you here? Where did you go, Nick?”

  No answer. All I hear are bells ringing outside and the honk of the horn from the corner fruit stand. Daylight shines through the gallery. I must have slept all night without realizing that I was prone to robbery or attack. For all I know a homeless person could have already meandered in here and hid in the ventilation shaft.

  Don’t be paranoid, Carly, I tell myself. Think of the safety protocol you meticulously prepared for in case of an emergency such as this. I make a dash for the front desk and open the side cabinet, revealing the mess that has accumulated since I moved to LA. I scramble through old coupons and business cards until I find my little pink pepper spray bottle. I take the weapon in my hand, the only form of defense I stupidly have in this gallery, and raise it out at arm’s length like I’m ready to fire a gun. I’m paranoid, I’m frightened. I expect a crazy person to jump out at me any moment.

  My eyes land on Deviled Legs, still hanging on its place on the wall. Last night was the final time I would see the painting in darkness. Right now is the last time I will see it period.

  Well, who knows? Never say never. Right?

  I walk the perimeter of the gallery, checking the front locks, every corner and possible hiding spot for drifters. As I should have guessed, the gallery is completely empty except for me and my irrational fears. Once I calm down, I prepare myself a cup of chamomile tea and take down the Lora Zombie piece while the tea steeps.

  Anytime I touch one of the pieces I own, I wear cotton gloves so that I won’t get any sweat or oil from my hands on any of the work. However, this time I chose not to use the gloves because I want to touch the very paint that Lora Zombie herself touched. Is it awful that since I will no longer own the piece I no longer care about protecting it properly?
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  Or maybe I don’t mind touching it with my skin because I’m subconsciously feeling spiteful toward Nick without saying good-bye. No, I wasn’t expecting breakfast in sleeping bag or anything, but a nice gesture or a wave would have sufficed just fine.

  *****

  Amos

  I look out for Roger’s Hummer, which should be cutting off Nick’s van any minute now from Santa Monica Boulevard. I’ve kept him updated by tagging me on his GPS, so when the right moment strikes we can hit the van. While I take the art, Roger will take care of Nick. I can only pray that he’ll take care of him for good.

  I’m now three vehicles behind him, and I’m getting a little too close for comfort but in this backed up traffic I don’t really have a choice. Something tells me that he’s somehow spotted me following him all the way from Malibu, because he has made a few lefts instead of rights, practically making circles.

  Shit, I think. I can’t fuck this up. Not now. I’ve come too far. I pick up my cell phone and dial Roger.

  “Oi,” he grumbles. “What the fuck does this nut job thing he’s doing? Got you doing figures eights, he does.”

  “I know that, Roger,” I say, turning left on from Fairfax onto Sunset. “What I need to know is what the hell we’re going to do now?”

  “We’re going to smash his fucking head in,” he laughs. I hear heavy metal music blaring on his radio. When he revs himself up for doing damage he goes all out.

  “Don’t forget that I need the painting, Roger,” I scream so that he hears me over the atrocious music.

  “I didn’t forget, mate,” he says. “I know how precious your artsy fartsy stuff is to you.”

  Nick makes another left on La Brea and picks up his speed, no longer caring for rules of the road or speed. He knows that I’m on to him, and he probably even knows that there’s someone else involved, as well. I can tell by the way he swerves around traffic that he has a destination in mind.