by Suzie Nelson
All night, I dreamed of her.
By the early morning, I could no longer resist the urge that was burning in my veins. The urge to create. And so, I sketched and painted the images of Melody the whole day, taking just a few minutes off to send her a gift. It was a Bali couture dress of exquisite craftsmanship—beige tulle embellished with rose beads and frayed chiffon. I respectfully asked her to wear it that evening and delivered an arrangement of fresh pink roses to persuade her even more. I knew it would be worth the eight thousand dollars I spent, to see her in it that evening.
She’ll be lovely in it.
When the set, my nerves flared on edge. I arrived at her place an hour early and just waited outside.
What the hell is wrong with me?
And when I finally went to the door and she opened it, my heart stopped. The dress didn’t make her more beautiful, she complimented the dress. My fingers yearned to rip that tulle off her. The elegant gown left her shoulders bare. I imagined it slipping away from her body and falling to the ground. It was so tempting to decorate those bare shoulders with soft, slow kisses.
I opened my mouth, but no words left.
She blushed. “Thank you for the dress.”
I calmed the desire rising in my chest. “Thank you for wearing it tonight.”
I had more to say, but it would’ve been nothing gentlemanly.
Chatting about our day, we headed to South Beach where I’d made reservations at Midnight Fairy.
I hope she likes the place.
It was a restaurant serving high end southern cuisine—gourmet fried chicken and the best cornbread on the East Coast. Miami Daily had awarded them with their signature soft shell crab dish as the must-eat of the city. At the height of decadence, the space displayed elaborate lighting and lavish furnishings. Midnight Fairy was located right on Ocean Drive. Our table was on the balcony, facing the full moon as it bathed the beach in a haunting glow.
“Aren’t you Hugo Vale?” The waitress flirted with me, staring for too long, batting her eyes, and even stroking my shoulder.
“Yes, I am,” I smiled. “Can I have a few minutes of privacy with my date?”
“Oh, of course, Mr. Vale.”
After she left, Melody said, “She looks like she likes you.”
“That’s why I wanted some privacy. Should I ask for a different waitress?”
“No.”
“I want you to be comfortable.”
Her smile widened. “Thank you, but I’m not worried.”
“Good, and understand this, you’re the only woman I’m interested in this evening. No one else will take my gaze from you. Trust me.”
Maybe the waitress understood why I’d been taken aback because the rest of the evening, she kept it professional, returning minutes later and pouring two glasses of complimentary champagne.
I raised my glass.
Melody followed.
“To an amazing evening,” I said.
“Yes, to an amazing evening.”
“At Midnight Fairy, there are no menus,” I said. “The chef gets inspired the day before and decides on what he’ll serve everyone, before the restaurant opens.”
“Wow. This should be fun.”
“I hope so.”
She took a sip and then asked, “Did you paint today?”
How funny that all the women I’ve taken on dates, she’s the first one to ask?
“I did. I painted several images of you.”
She quirked her eyebrows. “Really?”
“Yes. Next session, I’ll show you.”
“I can’t wait. I wish you would’ve brought them with you.”
“Maybe I can take you to the studio tonight and show you.”
She held a wicked grin. “Is that how you get women to come back to your mansion, you tell them that you want to show them your art?”
“No, I usually just ask if they want to go back to my mansion. It’s something about the very word mansion, that gets most to say yes.”
“I imagine so.”
“Either way. Enough about my superficial dates and painting. Tell me about your erotica. I would love to know everything. Leave nothing out.”
“I bet you would.”
I leaned my head to the side. “Are you insinuating that I’m a horny guy?”
“I am.”
I tipped my glass as if I was toasting. “Then you are correct.”
She laughed. “What do you want to know?”
“Why do you like to write erotica?”
“I want to inspire and arouse. When a person picks up a book and turns the pages, they slip into a world that they never believed could exist. They live a different life as another person. They experience things that make them feel more alive.”
I picked up my wine glass. “That’s what I want to do for as many people as possible. Help them escape this crazy world. That’s exactly why I paint.” I toasted again. “To artists.”
Giggling, she tipped her glass. “To artists.”
I sipped some of my champagne. “Are you published?”
“I am and everywhere. I’m pretty much a literary prostitute, whoring myself out to every publisher that will take me.”
I chuckled and raised my glass. “To literary whores.”
She could barely say the words as she laughed. “To literary whores.”
The waitress came by and set our first dishes in front of us. A spoon full of something delicious sat on each crystal plate.
“This is your amuse bouche for the evening,” the waitress said. “This is lobster tartare topped with osetra caviar. It is paired perfectly with a Taittinger non-vintage.”
We ate it together, both groaning at the deliciousness of it all.
When I finished, I asked, “Does your family like your erotica writing?”
“I haven’t told anyone. My family is normal. Very boring, but loving and sweet as hell. Most of the men in my family are cops. Most of the women are homemakers with little side businesses like selling make up and wine. Everyone works and loves hard.”
“I think it would be fun to meet them.”
She blinked. “It would.”
The waitress took our empty dishes.
“And your family?” she asked.
“My father is a sculptor. My mother is his muse. He never got as big as he should have. The art industry is unpredictable that way, but we never starved.”
“Interesting. Does he still sculpt?”
“Yes, and Mom is still the only one that he ever uses. I asked him privately if he ever got bored.”
“What did he say?” she asked.
“Dad said, ‘Son, as humans we change all the time from month to month, years to years. I’m no artist. Your mother is the masterpiece. I’m just copying the image like a con artist and selling the creations of her.’”
“So romantic.”
“He thinks he’s the biggest romantic on the planet. He’s always giving me advice on how to woo women.”
She raised her eyebrows. “And do you take it?”
I gestured around the restaurant. “This is our first date, what do you think?”
“You’ve swept me off my feet. It started with the flowers and the beautiful dress. I couldn’t believe. Do you always spoil a woman on your first date?”
“Never.”
She looked at me skeptically.
“I’m serious. I don’t buy gifts either.”
The waitress arrived again with our dinner. “Beef tenderloin, summer vegetable succotash, and roasted potatoes.”
“Thank you.” I nodded.
Melody shook her head in amazement as she studied her plate. “This meal is insane. Everything is so beautiful and smells so good.”
“I’m glad you love it.” I tasted the tenderloin. “What’s your writing process? Do you write with pen and paper? Laptop?”
“It’s embarrassing, but I’ll admit it
to you. I write with a typewriter for no reason at all, but to channel Hemmingway.”
“Hey, nothing sounds crazy, when you create.”
“You have to lose your head,” she said.
“That’s right. And writing with a typewriter sounds classic. It’s a homage to the greats.”
“As well as a pain in the butt, when there’s a problem with the keys or something breaks. Editing is horrible too. Not the ease of a laptop where you can just press delete or highlight, copy and paste.”
“So, you take your time with each word and sentence? You reflect on the words before you commit to them?”
Shock filled her eyes. “Yes. A typewriter forces me to do that. And I think that process alone elevates my craft.”
“It does,” I said. “We’re the same. Both tortured and dedicated artists with the audacity to use creation to make money.”
Giggling, she cheered to that one. “An audacity indeed.”
We continued with the meal, talking about the last movies we loved and the ones we hated, describing our childhoods and even admitting some of our nightmares. After the waitress took our empty plates, I studied Melody and my whole chest swelled in pleasure.
I pushed the glass of champagne away, not wanting to taste the heavenly nectar anymore. Instead, I wanted to taste Melody, lick between her thighs and hear how sexy she moaned.
Take it slow. Remember?
“I like you,” I said it with no hesitation or break in the sentence. “And I know this is quick. I’m not an instalove type of person. We’re talking about dating and taking our time, but I like you a lot and I want to see you more.”
Shocked, her lips parted. She was going to say something, but the waitress returned with our dessert.
“And we’ll finish the meal with the chef’s signature crème brulée.” The waitress set our dishes down and did a quick bow. “Enjoy.”
Once the waitress left, I directed my attention again to Melody. “Your thoughts on me wanting to date you more?”
“I don’t like to mix business with pleasure,” she responded without a hesitation.
“Me neither, but can you feel this energy between us? This isn’t the type of situation where we should turn away from it. There’s money. There’s art. And then there’s the perfect possibility at love. And when that perfect possibility comes, we cannot ignore it.”
Not touching her back, she traced the stem of her glass with her finger. “I like you too.”
“Is a but coming?”
She smiled. “No. However, we should take this slow.”
“I understand.”
“And we should wait until after the painting series is complete to date again.”
Disappointment hit me, but I kept the smile on my face. “And why do I have to wait?”
“Because...” She bit her bottom lip.
“Because?”
“It’s hard to be with you tonight and not want you inside of me.” She picked up her fork, took a piece of the crème brulée, and put it in her mouth in the most erotic way, sucking slowly at the fork, before sliding it out of her mouth. In that moment, I imagined my length was the fork. In that moment, I was willing to agree to anything that she wanted just to watch her take another sensual bite.
I swallowed down my rising horniness. “I understand. We’ll wait.”
Chapter 4
Melody
After our first date, our sessions became more intense. However, we kept it professional, although he snuck in a few gifts here and there. Completing his series came along with no problem. He was so talented. Each painting took my breath away.
At our last session, I drowned in expensive furs on the floor. It must’ve been forty of them all over the place. And I swam in them, laughing as Hugo told me jokes. He’d already finished the last painting and just wanted me there as he did a few touch-ups to the canvas.
“And now I am...” Hugo placed the paint brush down and grabbed the bottle of champagne he’d set out for the occasion. “Done! I’m officially done.”
I continued to lay on the rub, bringing one of the coats up to keep covering my breasts. “Good job.”
“I try.” He took the unbuttoned shirt off and walked over to me. He wore those same low hanging jeans that looked like they were close to falling and exposing what I hoped to be a big instrument. “And does the good artist get a lovely kiss to celebrate the moment?”
“I don’t know.” I batted my eyes. “We’ve only dated once. I’m not that kind of girl.”
“It’s true.” He poured two glasses of champagne. “We’ve dated once, but we’ve also been getting to know each other for over a month.”
“True.” I sat up and grabbed a glass of wine.
“To finishing my project.”
“To your beautiful paintings.”
“To my beautiful model.”
After we finished our glasses, he lay down on one of the coats near me. Light hit the layers of muscle on his chest. He was enchanting. He had flawless skin and dripped gorgeousness, but most of all, he was sweet and caring and every minute with him made me fall for him more and more.
He rolled to his side and faced me. “I demand my kiss.”
I lay down right in front of him, my body burning with desire. “I’ll think about.”
“Is that so?” And then he kissed me. His tongue explored my mouth, delivering warm lust to the space between my thighs.
I moaned against his lips.
“Melody,” he whispered and kissed me some more. “Do you yearn for me as much as I crave you?”
“I do.”
He ran his fingers through my hair. “It scares me how much I want you.”
“Why?”
He slipped his hands along the soft fur coat covering my naked body. “Because, it’s hard to not fuse sex with emotion.”
“You’re not the emotional type?”
“I wasn’t. Now...I’m open to it.” He pulled me closer to him. “I’m open to an emotional connection with you.”
“And what does that mean, Hugo? In the diner, I’ve not only heard about you being a famous painter, I’ve heard that you were a playboy too.”
He smirked. “That’s what you heard?”
“Yes. Some of the waitresses said that you’re always around the city with a new woman each time they see you.”
“Interesting.”
I held an invisible microphone in front of his face. “Your response?”
He cleared his throat. “Well...”
I giggled.
“I haven’t dated since I’ve met you.” Hugo slipped his hands under the fur coat draping my breasts. Lust sparked wherever he touched. My nipples hardened under his fingers. Another moan fled my lips. I craved him so bad. I needed him instantly moving inside of me.
“I haven’t been with any other woman since I laid eyes on you. I haven’t gone on a date with anyone else.” He toyed with my nipples. “I haven’t talked to anyone.” He squeezed one hungry point and I went wet between my thighs. “I’ve only spent all my free time with you.” He kissed me, devouring my mouth, and I writhed under his lips’ caresses.
When he pulled back, confidence and hunger blazed in his eyes. “Have you heard that? Have they told you how much I adore you?”
My heart boomed in my chest. I couldn’t wait anymore seconds. I didn’t want to be patient or responsible.
“Make love to me,” I whispered.
“It’s all I’ve thought about since the first time I sketched that beautiful face.” He yanked those fur coats away from me, throwing them all around us as if insane to see my naked body. And when he finally completed his mission and I lay bare in front of him, he licked his lips and swooped down to devour me.
Oh my God.
He was more than a skilled lover, he’d mastered the game. He could teach a class and hold a seminar.
“Oh, Hugo.” When I closed my eyes, it was like he h
ad several hands. He caressed my body everywhere, squeezing and massaging. I blazed in hot lust. He nibbled. He bit. He lapped and licked, and I went so wet and hungry for him, begging, “Please, Hugo, please.”
Such a tease, he positioned himself between my trembling thighs and whispered, “What do you want, Melody?”
