by Daya Daniels
I spin around taking another look at the painting that I changed out for the week.
“It’s a Renoir. It isn’t an original of course.”
Brie nods. “But it’s still pretty.”
“It’s called Woman with a Parasol painted by Claude Monet in 1875. It’s beautiful, isn’t it?”
“Yeah.” Brie whispers, as we both step closer to linger in front of the painting.
“It’s Monet’s wife and son. The work is sometimes called The Stroll. The original is hanging at the National Gallery of Art in D.C.”
Brie takes a sip of the red wine in her glass, while she stares at the painting beneath the ambient recess lighting above.
“It’s pretty, I think.” I say.
She smiles.
“Are you an art collector?” A soft voice asks.
I shift to my left, only to be staring into the most beautiful blue eyes. I narrow my own when I realize I don’t know who she is. The place is full of both Gregory and Martin’s friends, most of which I know but some I don’t.
Max Prentis, places a hand on the small woman’s shoulder and laughs. “Greer, this is my good friend Amelia.” He introduces.
“It’s nice to meet you.” I say, shaking her hand.
Max introduces Amelia to Brie and they exchange hello’s. After a moment, we all return to staring at the painting in front of us, speechless. No one speaks for quite a while.
“This is an incredible replica, Greer.” Max says with a nod.
“Yeah, they’re all incredible.”
“This is a nice party.” Amelia says looking around.
The woman is pretty. She’s around my height with thick, dark brown hair past her shoulders. A delicate gold ring decorates the middle finger of her left hand. If I guessed her age, I’d imagine she’s in her mid-twenties. She gives me a long stare and I wonder if she realizes she’s surrounded by a party full of gay people because that stare almost feels like an invitation.
Her blue eyes blink slowly at me. They’re rimmed by thick brown lashes that brush her cheeks whenever she looks down. She smiles and stares into the glass of white wine in her hands. Brie shifts where she stands, giving me a look that I ignore. My eyes linger on Amelia’s lips. They’re pink and swollen and remind of me of...
“You didn’t answer my question?” She says, jolting me out of my daze.
I widen my eyes and cock my head to the side, running my fingers along the thin scarf around my neck. “I’m sorry.”
“Are you an art collector?” Amelia asks again.
I laugh. “No, not really. Not officially, anyways. I just love looking at them. Sometimes, I swear they speak to me.”
Amelia bites her lip. “What do they say?”
I suck in a breath and exhale loudly. “I don’t know. This one tells me about adoration. The way Monet portrays his wife Camille and son. The sun is out and the landscape in Argenteuil is bright but Monet focuses on his two subjects.
“Bright sunlight shines from behind Camille to whiten the top of her parasol and the flowing clothing at her back, while colored reflections from the wildflowers below touch her front with yellow.
“This must’ve been painted in a single session. His wife and son probably stood there for a few hours. They appreciated his work as much as Monet adored them.”
Amelia slow blinks those blue eyes of hers. “Wow.”
I smile and take another long sip of wine.
“Greer, has always had an eye for art and design. Hence, the reason she’s an interior designer.” Max compliments.
Amelia looks around. “Did you do the interior design of this place?”
“Yeah, I did.”
“It’s nice.”
Amelia runs a hand through her hair, swiping her brown locks over her shoulders.
“Greer, is an NYU graduate just like Martin and Gregory.” Max adds, giving Amelia a look.
The four of us laugh. Brie disappears someplace, leaving only the three of us standing there.
“Where’d you go?” I ask Amelia.
“Columbia, actually.”
I give her a nod. “Did you put your degree to good use?”
“I suppose I have.” She whispers.
“Amelia loves people.” Max slurs out. I’m not sure if he’s being sarcastic, so I only laugh. “I stuck her card on your fridge maybe a month ago. I can’t remember why but I think Martin suggested I get it for you. It was a joke, I think.” He points out, throwing his hands up.
I give him a nod and silently remind myself to find it.
“It’s a gift.” Amelia mumbles in response to Max’s earlier comment.
Brie’s hand suddenly lands on my shoulder. She presses her mouth close to my ear. “It’s ten o’clock. Everyone is wrapping up. Do you want me to stay?”
I give her a long look. “No, I’m quite tired.”
“Okay.” She says giving me a wink, before she places a kiss on my cheek.
When I return my attention to Max and Amelia, the two are already staring at me. Amelia gives me a tight smile and Max is visibly drunk, leaning against the wall next to the Monet.
“Greer! We’re leaving.” Martin shouts as he stumbles his way towards me.
I extend my arms and pull him into a hug. The strong scent of scotch lingers on his breath and burns my eyes.
“I’m going to fucking throttle Gregory tonight.” Martin whispers into my ear.
I giggle and tap him on the shoulder. Most of the guests have already left.
“Well, I’m going to call it a night I think.” Max exhales, pushing himself upright.
“Yeah, me too.” Amelia says.
I shift in Martin’s arms but he doesn’t let go. He’s drunk. He places a harsh, wet kiss to my cheek.
“I love you, Greer.”
“I love you too, Martin. You know that.”
Martin chuckles and runs a hand over his hair. “I want you to find love, Greer.”
I drop my head to the floor and laugh. “Hopefully.” I joke with a comical smile.
“No, Greer.” He says jerking my body a few times. “Like, real love.”
“Oh, like you and Gregory.” I grumble.
“Greer.” He warns in a whisper.
I purse my lips and stare at the Monet again.
“I know you don’t like him, Greer.” Yeah, for good reason.
I give Martin an uncomfortable smile, desperately attempting to avoid getting into an argument with him on his birthday. I couldn’t be blamed for fucking it up if he pushes any further.
“But.” Martin says, yanking me into the side of his hard body. “It doesn’t mean you have to be rude.”
Amelia remains standing in front of us, no doubt listening to every word that is being hissed and whispered.
“I’m not.” I giggle.
Martin presses a kiss to my cheek and taps his index finger on the tip of my nose. I shake him off and run my fingers through my hair, letting out a groan. Martin visibly sways on his way to the door. I laugh at his inability to stand straight. The only thing Martin would be kissing tonight, is the toilet.
“Amelia, I’ve ordered an Uber for you. It’s too late for you to be-. Anyway, I’ve called an Uber.” Max calls out before grabbing his coat from a hook.
“Okay, thanks.” Amelia says, taking another gulp of wine.
I remove my scarf and tug at the hem of my sweater. I head for the bathroom when she sets off for the kitchen.
Greer
“Precious little fuck – tight and addictive. Open and take me in. I descend deeper. I am a part of you.” Amelia says, holding the stack of notes with Regan’s writing on them.
I pad slowly down the hallway to the kitchen, listening to her go on.
“What are you doing?” I question, narrowing my eyes at her.
Amelia holds a glass of white wine in one hand and the note in the other. When I get close, I snatch it from her and tuck it into a book I keep just for Regan’s writing.
�
��Please, these are private.”
“I thought they were beautiful. I’m sorry.” She whispers. “Do they mean anything to you?”
“Yes.” I say, attempting to shake my irritation away.
“I’m sure that means a lot to whoever writes them for you. It’s not easy baring yourself that way, in pen.” She says.
“I suppose it isn’t.”
Amelia chuckles and makes a face.
“I’m surprised I haven’t met you, kind of. I usually know all of Max’s friends.”
“I work a lot and then outside of that, I don’t go out much so, tonight is a new sort of thing for me. I’ve been inspired lately to get out of the house. It’s funny.” She says.
I give her a smile. “That’s good.”
“Yeah.” She whispers.
I look at the clock again and realize it’s getting up to twelve. I stride around my apartment tidying up little things. The rest I would do tomorrow. When I blow out the vanilla-scented candle on the coffee table, I glance out of the windows to Regan’s apartment. I can’t see much since it’s so bright in here. I stalk across the room hitting the lights to the den, throwing half of my apartment into blackness.
“Your Uber should be here soon, I imagine.” I say when I head back towards the wall of windows.
“Yeah.” She says quietly from behind me.
I stand and stare out for I don’t know how long. I can feel Amelia approach but I don’t spin around. I flinch when her lips graze the skin on my neck and her warm breath puffs against the shell of my ear.
“The window shades aren’t going to go down over there Greer, because I’m here.”
Regan
Greer is even more beautiful up close.
I spent the entire night just watching her. I couldn’t find one thing about her I didn’t like. The Monet on the wall is for me. Greer adores me – a woman she hasn’t even set eyes on before.
I drag my lips along her neck, standing just behind her. She doesn’t move. She almost seems frozen. The scent of her skin is intoxicating. It’s a mixture of something soft and fresh. I thread my fingers into the soft strands of her blonde hair, until they graze against her scalp. I fist a section of it in my hands and jerk her head back, exposing her beautiful neck.
“Do you hear me, Greer?”
“Yes.” She breathes out, staring up at the ceiling with parted lips. “Regan?”
“Yes.”
I kiss along her neck, softly and then push my other hand up her sweater, squeezing her breasts. She spins around and kisses me, almost taking my breath away. Her tongue tangles with mine. She tastes sweet like wine and her lips are soft and buttery. Her hands are greedy. They enclose around my neck, right before she slams me against the wall. My hair is a tousled mess and falls out everywhere with the vicious movement. I laugh a little, knowing this is what I would be in for but Greer should know me well by now. I tend not to be how I seem.
She kisses me again and pulls off my sweater, then dips lower to undo my jeans. She yanks on my panties pulling everything down to my knees. Before I can even step out of them, her mouth is on my pussy. I raise my hands over my head, lean against the wall and sink into the feeling of her consuming me. Her mouth is on me and her tongue licks and laps at my flesh. She’s good at this. I’ve never felt it done like this before.
“Greer.” I moan.
I squeeze and tease my nipples, while her blonde head of hair is buried between my legs. Greer pulls away one leg of my jeans and hooks my thigh over her shoulder. She sucks on my clit hard until I’m screaming, near to collapsing. Greer stands with a wet face and looks at me. I give her an exhausted, sated smile and step closer to her. I take in her gorgeous features underneath the moonlight that creeps in through the hallway skylight above. She’s beautiful.
I peel off her sweater and undo her bra, exposing her breasts. I kiss her mouth and then dip down to take each one of her nipples into my mouth. Her hands slide up my neck, caressing my skin. We’re both breathing heavy, almost waiting to see what the other one will do. Instead, we just stand and stare at each other for moment, until I grip the waist of her jeans undoing them. I drop to my knees, pulling everything down including her panties. She steps out of them slowly. I skim my hands along the outline of her soft curves. Her stomach is taut and her legs are toned. She’s fucking perfection.
I kiss her again, hard. We head to the bedroom slowly, occasionally stopping to kiss each other, breathe each other in. I’m certain I’m in love with this woman. I don’t know how she feels but I know I do. We stop at the doorway and I notice my hands are shaking. Her smoky grey eyes look me over quizzically under the light, as if she’s asking me why the fuck have I stopped.
“I-I love you, Greer.”
She laughs and kisses me again. “I love you.” She murmurs against my lips. “I want to know what it’s like to really love you – not as a ghost.” Greer says.
“I know. It’s why I’m here.”
“Okay.” She whispers.
We both laugh a little and move closer to the bed. I sit Greer on the edge and nudge her to lie back, while I feast on her flesh. She’s already wet as I imagined. I run my nose along the inside of her thighs, inhaling the sweet scent of her skin. They quiver a little and I know I’m in for a treat.
I push her to lie back down and dive into her pussy with my mouth and tongue. She’s heaven. Soft and wet and each time I suck on her clit the most hypnotizing sounds spill from her lips. Her soft hand caresses my jaw and then moves to my hair, while I suck and lick her to orgasm. She screams my name when she comes.
She should get used to it.
Greer
It’s quiet. I sit in Regan’s lap, completely naked, melting at the feeling of her warm thighs beneath me. She brushes my hair over my shoulder. Then places a soft kiss there. I glance behind me to meet her lips. I’m not use to being in this position, with anyone but I allow it. Regan’s forced me to do a lot of things I’m not entirely comfortably with lately.
She presses her face to my back and lets out a loud breath against my skin. Her hand reaches up in front of me squeezing my breasts softly. The bed dips when we lean forward. She caresses my stomach and then her hand lowers, brushing the insides of my thighs. I’m desperate to come. I haven’t been touched since Brie and I really only let her lick my pussy. It wasn’t intimate. It wasn’t like this. Regan presses a kiss to my back again and drags her hand along the inside of my thighs. They begin to quiver helplessly. She massages my clit and then runs her fingers along my seams. I moan at the feeling of her fingers on my flesh.
“You’re wet.” She whispers.
I only whimper and force myself to breathe. I rock in her lap when she drags her thumb over my clit again. Then she slips her index finger inside of me, along with her middle. Regan’s warm cheek rubs against my back softly as her fingers slide in and out of my pussy. I rock back and forth until I’m whimpering loud, grabbing for anything I can find to steady myself.
I place my hands on my breasts, kneading and squeezing them, teasing my nipples. The sensation shoots straight to my clit propelling me to rock harder on her hand. I’m wet. So, wet that it slicks the insides of my thighs. Regan moans when I twist again in her lap. She fucks me with her fingers until my pussy clenches and throbs hard around them.
“Come for me, Greer.” Regan mumbles into the skin on my back.
Her other hand rakes through my hair, turning it messy. A cry leaves my lips when her thumb presses hard against my clit. I’m covered in sweat, fucking her hand like a madwoman.
“Easy.” She whispers into my ear, lifting her head.
She takes my left hand in hers, intertwining our fingers. She pushes in and out of me, dragging her thumb over my clit. I’m mumbling things I don’t understand. I scream when Regan does it again. I squeeze her hand tighter in mine and scream when my thighs quiver.
“I want to be your come.” Regan hisses out, nearly crushing my hand in the process.
She s
hifts behind me. Her brown locks tangle with my blonde strands. I’m heaving for breaths when she fucks me harder with her fingers. I grind into her hand harder and inhale a loud breath before I come. I splinter around her, feeling my pussy soak her hand. My eyes are watery and I’m heaving for breaths. The air is thick with how fucking turned on I am. I shift around and take Regan’s face in my hands and kiss her.
I drop down to the floor and she stops me. “I just want to sleep now, with you.” She says looking me over like I’m the most adorable thing in the world.
“Really.”
“Yeah.” She giggles.
I stand and watch her snuggle underneath my comforter. I didn’t think my bed could ever look so perfect with a woman in it. I wrap a robe around me and dizzily head for the kitchen, still breathing hard, desperately in need of water.
Standing in front of the fridge, I glance out the windows to the living room, taking in that Regan’s apartment across the way is still swimming in complete darkness. I scan the façade of the stainless-steel refrigerator in front of me, eyeing all the papers and pictures that litter the front of it. I dip around to look at the sides of it. There it is. I narrow my eyes at the business card stuck there face down that has ‘Amelia R.’ written on the back of it. I take it in my hands.
“R for Regan.” I whisper.
I flip it over, which reveals a sleek blue and white design and an address right in Midtown. ‘Dr. Amelia R. Keller – MA, PhD, Psychologist, Clinical Psychiatrist.’
“What the fuck?” I snort out with a laugh.
-THE END-
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ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Lover of words. Poetry glutton. Cynic. Idealist. Art collector. Lip gloss addict. Wife. Mommy. Music fan. Book whore. Beach Bum. Water rat. Wine drinker. Bermudian. Las Vegas resident -wannabe. Hopeless romantic.
I'm an independent author who had this crazy idea during one very, very hot summer to start writing books and I haven't stopped. I'm loving the ride and I appreciate all the readers who take the time to enjoy my stories.
