“I’m curious about something,” I said.
“About what, beautiful?”
“You said you had other dreams, besides running the investment firm. If you could have done anything, what would you have done?”
Derek blushed, shaking his head. “Oh, I don’t know.”
“Derek Rittsman,” I said, sitting up, “you definitely know. I can see it in your eyes. What did you want to be when you grew up?”
“It’s embarrassing,” he said, “and unrealistic.”
“So? I told you my dream, and you helped me. You bought me a camera. So now it’s my turn. I’ll help you.”
“Uh-huh.”
“Tell me!”
“Fine!” He threw up his arms. “A painter. I wanted to be a painter.”
Now, that took me by surprise. I laughed a bit. “Really?”
“Yeah. I actually went to art school.”
“And what happened?”
“Well, for one thing, my father wouldn’t speak to me. And for another, I flunked out. It was a rough few years.”
I grinned. “The things you find out about people. Wow. I never would have expected that. Do you still paint?”
He nodded sheepishly. “Every now and then.”
“Do you have any of your art here?”
“I see where you are headed with this, Amy. No. Absolutely not. I never, ever show any of my drawings or paintings to anyone. They’re off limits.”
“Please,” I cooed, kissing his cheek. “I want to see!”
His lips twitched. “You will laugh. It’s not good. I’m not good.”
“I doubt that you’re that bad. Come on.” I jumped up from his lap, tugging on his hand. “I’ll make it worth your while.”
He lifted an eyebrow. “Oh yeah?”
“Yes. Now, show me the art.”
“Well, it’s a room. An art room. I have a studio here.”
“What? And you’ve been hiding it from me?”
Derek chuckled. “If you want to look at it like that. There are a lot of rooms in this building.”
I rolled my eyes. “Excuses. Lead the way, Picasso.”
Chapter 16
Derek
I couldn’t believe I was about to show my art to Amy. I had never shown anyone this room—I’d even insisted that Aneta need not go in to clean it. Now here I was unlocking it, Amy giggling behind me. God, this woman, she could get me to do anything at the bat of an eye.
She had forgiven me, and that was more than I could ever ask for. She listened to me, understood me, and even empathized with me. I wasn’t used to being so emotionally open with someone.
“Remember, you promised you wouldn’t laugh,” I said, as I put my hand on the door knob. “And I warned you. I’m really quite a hack.”
“Yeah, yeah. Just let me in.”
Sighing, I opened the door. Amy practically skipped in, bouncing with excitement.
The room was chaotic. Canvases—some blank, some half-filled, and others complete were sitting here and there. There were paintbrushes, paint bottles, notebooks, pencils, and art tools strewn about, on tables, shelves, even on the floor. One wall consisted entirely of windows, rendering a fantastic view of the property, and giving the room ideal natural lighting.
“Jesus. I thought you were an organized person,” Amy remarked, stepping over a collapsed easel.
“In most parts of my life, I am. I guess this is where I… unleash everything.”
“Interesting.”
I watched nervously as Amy walked about the room, stopping at each and every one of the canvasses and studying it, as if she were the world’s most speculative art critic. Finally, she completed her tour around the room.
“Well,” Amy said, her voice tight with amusement. I could tell by her eyes that she was restraining herself, trying not to laugh.
“I know, I know,” I said. “It’s really bad. I told you I flunked out of art school. I couldn’t get the techniques down. I was the worst.”
“Oh no, I like them,” she said. “They’re very modern. And modern art is in. Usually though, modern art turns me off. I just don’t get it. But I really, really like your work. It’s different.”
“Whatever.”
“I’m being serious! It’s not what I was expecting. But that’s the great thing about art, it’s all up to the artist. And you’re brilliant.”
“They’re just strokes of paint. They don’t even look like anything.”
“Yeah, and they don’t have to. It’s about how they feel. They’re emotional paintings.”
I raised an eyebrow. “That’s ridiculous. Maybe I’ll try sculpting.”
“Actually, I think you’ve really got something here.” She lifted up one canvas, splashes of muddy orange and blobs of red on a midnight blue background. “This one is my favorite. It’s sensual, and secretive. It gets me in the mood, if you know what I mean. This painting is the aphrodisiac of art. It’s visual Viagra. This is some powerful stuff, Derek.”
I couldn’t tell if she was joking or not, but it did raise my spirits. “Oh, yeah. You’re right on the money. I call it, ‘Sexual Sensations.’ It’s up for auction right now, if you want to place a bid.”
“Oh, definitely. This painting is going right above my bed, and no one can do anything about it. Sixty-nine million dollars, in cash. Or… another kind of payment… if you know what I mean.”
I laughed. “It’s all yours.”
“Good.” Amy set it down by the door, and looked around the room. When she turned back to me, she had a mischievous glint in her eyes.
“What are you thinking?” I asked, stepping toward her.
“I want you to paint me,” she said, her voice provocative.
“Yeah?”
“I want you to paint me. Nude.”
“Oh.” I was speechless for a moment, surprised. “Okay.”
“And this one is going on my living room wall. It’s gonna be the first thing you see when you walk into my room, so it better be damn good.”
“My first commission,” I said. “No pressure.”
“You’ll do it?” She bounced on her toes in excitement.
I laughed. “Of course I’ll do it, though I can’t promise it’ll be good. But I shall try.”
As she undressed, I found everything I needed. A blank canvas, some paint and a palette, and my easel. By the time I was ready, Amy was lounging on the floor on a white sheet, naked and posed. She was reclining back, her legs spread casually, her body stretched, so that I got a very, very good view of her body.
Her eyes flitted down to the quickly growing bulge in my pants, and she smirked, clearly pleased with herself.
I carefully began mixing my colors, focusing on getting them right—and trying hard not to get distracted by her.
Once I was satisfied with the palette, I looked back at her, my eyes scanning her, taking in every inch. God, she was perfect. I crouched down and reached out my hand to brush the hair back out of her face. She held my gaze, her eyes both innocent and alluring.
I dipped the brush into the fleshy tone I’d created and pressed it against the canvas, keeping the strokes smooth and curvy, like her body.
I had admired her body plenty of times before, but never so analytically. Studying her now, I realized how poised and proportional she was. She looked like a living, breathing Greek statue, like Aphrodite come to life. Fluid, elegant, real… I was captivated by her exquisite perfection.
Her hair fell over her shoulders in soft curls, like the ocean on a starless night. Her eyes glittered like gemstones, temptation solidified. Her lips were a gateway, a Mona Lisa smile, inviting in its mystery. Her cheeks were cherry blossoms, her upturned nose blessed with freckles, like constellations in a summer sky.
My eyes moved down her body. Her slender neck and graceful shoulders were reminiscent of a willow tree. Her breasts, perfectly sculpted and angled upward, her nipples flushed and pink. Her skin flowed smoothly down her wide hips, her curves vo
luptuous. Her thighs parted, revealing her female flesh, blossoming like the rarest flower. Her femininity was paradoxical, both vulnerable and enduring.
I worked on the painting, paying more attention to detail than was usual for me. I was determined, for all my lack of skill or finesse, to make something that was even a fragment of her worth and beauty.
I’d always been a messy painter, as the disorganized room reflected. I smeared the paint with my fingertips. I’d touched her, after all, memorized her body. Maybe I could translate that memory to paper.
As I worked, she watched me with that unnerving gaze of hers, perfectly still as I reimagined her body onto the canvas.
Almost two hours later, I was near satisfied. The canvas was filled with blooming colors.
I set down my paintbrush and looked at Amy again, my mind returning from its free-flowing artistic state to reality. She looked relaxed, meditative. I stared at her, appreciating her all over again.
She noticed that I had stopped, and shifted. “Done?”
“Almost,” I said, kneeling beside her. I ran my thumb across her cheek, leaving a paint streak of brilliant viridian green in its path. Unable to resist her any longer, I leaned forward to kiss her.
Immediately she responded, wrapping her arms around my neck and pulling herself up onto my lap. I sat back, holding her, allowing her sweet taste to sink into me. I slid my tongue into her mouth, taking over as my hands dropped to squeeze her backside. In response, she rolled her hips on my lap.
My teeth scraped her bottom lip, and I slapped her ass lightly, testing the waters. Amy jumped a little, and moaned, kissing me more intently. So I spanked her again, harder. She gasped, and squirmed, and begged for more.
“Harder,” she whispered into my lips, so softly that I barely heard her.
“Mm, you like that?” I lifted an eyebrow, my voice dropping. “Get on your hands and knees for me.”
Amy didn’t hesitate a moment before slipping off of my lap, turning away and providing me with a perfect view of her ass. I chuckled when I noticed the colorful handprint left behind from my hands.
I quickly undressed, throwing my clothes to the side before kneeling behind her. I began to massage her ass as I leaned to whisper in her ear.
“Tell me if I get too rough, okay?” I said.
She looked at me with a provocative ferocity that surprised me. “You won’t.”
Smirking, I sat back, and admired her perfect, round cheeks before I drew my hand back. Every time my palm hit her ass, Amy gasped, arching her back and moaning my name. Each time, it came a little harder, which only seemed to arouse her more, until she was practically writhing with pleasure.
Her strong reaction drove me absolutely crazy. I was overcome with lust for her. It was primal. It was raw. It was us.
“Fuck,” Amy groaned, her hands knotting into the sheet on the floor. “I want you inside me, Derek. I need you inside of me. Please. Now. Fuck me. I need—”
She was interrupted by her own moan as I suddenly thrust myself inside of her, unable to contain my desire any longer. Immediately, I fell into a fast, almost brutal pace that had both of us moaning loudly.
While fucking her from behind, I continued slapping her ass with one hand. With the other, I reached forward and grabbed a fistful of her hair, pulling her head back. Her front was pressed completely against the floor, while her back was arched perfectly, her ass in the air, providing an angle that was hitting just right.
“You’re so fucking tight,” I grunted, my full length buried. “You feel so good, baby.”
Loving her like this, rough and unrestrained on the floor, was thrilling. My paint-covered hands ran over her body, eager to take her all in. I wanted her, all of her, to be mine.
I stood up and pulled her with me, pushing her up against the wall before entering her again. My body trapped her in place, so that she was pressed completely against me, her body trembling with pleasure.
Our passion was potent. The sexual tension between us built up—fighting, making up, hours studying her naked body. Fucking her now was like a storm finally breaking. It was intense.
I came hard and without warning, that sublime pressure bursting in my core and seizing my body, running through my blood like electrical currents. I thrust hard into her and held her as tightly against me as I could, until the pleasure pulsed and faded into my bones.
Letting Amy go, I fell on the wall next to her. We each took a moment to catch our breath and calm our shaking bodies.
“Wow,” Amy finally said, her voice airy.
“Yeah.”
“I liked that.”
I smiled. “Me too.”
I started pulling on my clothes. When I turned around, I saw Amy staring at the painting, her expression unreadable. I stuttered, nervous.
“I, I know it’s not… realistic. It’s more interpretive,” I tried to explain.
“This is how you see me?” she breathed, brushing her hand on the edge of the canvas. I moved beside her.
“Yeah,” I said. “At least, how I imagined it coming out. I’m not sure I got my mental picture onto the canvas very well.”
“It’s beautiful,” she said, her voice cracking.
“It’s you. You are.”
“I mean… you turned me into a… a garden. A forest. Alive and growing, lustrous and… and beautiful. I’ve never seen myself like this. Never.”
I wrapped my arms around her and kissed the back of her head.
“Well,” I said, “I do.”
Chapter 17
Amy
I got called into work early this morning—apparently it’s a ‘business emergency.’ I wish I could have gotten out of it, but they need me. I’d much rather spend the day with you. I’ll be back this evening, as soon as I can escape. I left you the keys to one of my father’s vehicles and you still have my card, so you’re not stuck. Enjoy your day, beautiful, and I’ll see you tonight.
-Derek
Derek left the note on the bathroom mirror for me to find when I woke up. I read over it a couple of times, trying to contain my disappointment. It wasn’t fair for me to want to have him to myself. But I only had one week with him, so even a single day was precious.
Even if I had more time with him— even if I had an infinite amount of time with him— one day without him was one day lacking.
Still, I was determined not to waste the day. I took a quick shower and got dressed in one of the more casual outfits that Charlotte had given me. It was still more elegant than anything I had ever owned. When I was ready for the day, I made my way downstairs.
Derek’s father was in the sitting room by himself, sipping coffee and reading a newspaper. I knocked on the door to alert him of my presence. He looked up, and immediately a smile spread on his withered face.
“Amelia,” he said, setting his cup down. “Good morning.”
“Good morning, Walter,” I said, smiling as I entered the room.
“Do you have time to have a cup of coffee with me?” he asked hopefully.
“Of course!” I responded. “Derek had something pressing at work, so I’m on my own for the day.”
“Work? I thought he’d taken some of his vacation time.”
“He did,” I said. “Apparently it was an emergency.”
Walter sighed. “That boy and his work. I’ve never met anyone with a more industrious spirit. He spends all his time at the damned firm. He’s letting his life pass him by.”
His concerns surprised me, so I prodded a little.
“It seems to me that he’s taking after you.”
“Me? Of course he is. I spent my whole life in that building, and you know what? I hated it. It ruined all my marriages, ruined my relationships with everyone in my family. I’m proud of my work, I won’t lie. I was successful. I was good at it. Derek is too. But he ought to learn from my mistakes, and spend a little more time living—especially when he has someone like you to spend his days with.”
The strai
ned relationship between Derek and his father was making sense to me now that I’d had a chance to get to know the two men. Derek had watched his father and yearned for his approval, so he tried to be just like him. Walter, however, only wanted his son to live a better, fuller life than he had. It was a misunderstanding the whole time.
“I think,” I said, choosing my words carefully. After all, this was their relationship, and I should keep my nose out of it. “I think he is. I think he will.”
“I know I snapped at him last week,” Walter said. “About the family ordeal. Perhaps I shouldn’t have been so harsh, but I wanted him to get it into that thick skull of his, to understand what is really important in this life.” He counted on his fingers. “Family and honesty. I had neither.”
“You have a son,” I said.
“A son. I’m afraid I messed that up too, and I don’t have enough life in me to set it straight.”
He looked so wistful, full of regret.
“It’s not too late,” I said. “I may not have known Derek for as long as you have, but I know enough about him to see how much he cares about you. You’re his father. And you did set him up to have this amazing, wonderful life full of opportunity and luxury that a lot of people would do anything for. You did a lot for him.”
A sad smile appeared on his face. “I tried. I really did. I never looked back. Not until I discovered I was dying. I didn’t always have regrets. But now all I can think of are the should-haves and could-haves… all the things that I messed up.”
I reached forward and squeezed his hand. “Please don’t. If you’d done anything differently, and he were a different person, I might never have met him.”
“You’re right,” he said, sitting back. “I suppose I have done something right, to have you as the mother of my precious grandchild.”
His words felt like a punch to my gut. I didn’t hear the rest of what he was saying as he continued speaking. I was frozen, zoned out, and reeling with guilt.
“So,” Walter said, setting down his cup of coffee. “What are your plans for the day?”
It took me a few moments to respond. “I’m not sure. Any suggestions?” I forced a smile onto my face, hoping he couldn’t see the guilt in my eyes.
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