Canvas for Love

by Charlotte Greene

  Suddenly, as if realizing what she was doing, she stopped completely, stilling on my leg. A moment later, her hand continued to move inside me, and, turned on by feeling her on me, a brief, light shudder passed through me as I had a final, shallow orgasm.

  She climbed off me a few seconds later, and we lay there together, her head on my stomach as we caught our breath. What was she thinking about? Was she, as it seemed a few moments ago, as turned on as she’d felt riding me? A moment later, she was scooting away, and I waited patiently for her to return and release me. She unlocked my handcuffs first, then my ankles. I pulled off the goggles to smile at her, but she was distracted and her face was troubled. Then, sensing my gaze, she met my eyes and smiled back.

  We rested for a while, lying on the bed as far away from each other as possible again. I was so hot, sweat was pooling on my stomach. I was aware of the heat, of my sweat, of my exhaustion, but most of me was basking in the memory of Amelia’s excitement. I’d felt her pleasure before she seemed to realize what she was doing. I had to find a way to capitalize on the moment. She had slipped and enjoyed herself for the first time since we’d been together. This vacation, with all the time we’d get to spend together, might give us an opportunity to experiment and push her boundaries a little more.

  I knew better than to talk about or even allude to what had just happened, however, as she would undoubtedly shy away from the conversation and become uncomfortable. Strong and stoic as she almost always was, she didn’t like to discuss her sexual problems, and this was the last place on earth I wanted to make her uncomfortable. Something about being here on our own was seeming to make her body insist on what it wanted: me. Now it was just a matter of waiting to let her desire defeat whatever was stopping her from taking what she craved.

  * * *

  Amelia crashed hard and fast—falling asleep earlier than I did for one of the first times since I’d known her. As I watched her sleep, I knew she must have been faking most of her vigor earlier. I knew then that I should have insisted on staying in today and resting. Still, her face was clear and peaceful for the first time in weeks.

  Back in New Orleans, on the rare occasion when I woke up earlier or stayed up later than she did, her face was clouded with anxiety and worry, even as she slept. It often seemed as if running her business was a bit much for her. She could easily delegate a lot of the tasks she took on to me or to other employees, but she seemed to want to do just about everything herself. I knew she was passionate about the Winters Corporation, but I’d never stopped to wonder before if she actually liked running it. She was very, very good at what she did, but it was too much work for one person. Imagining her slowing down, keeping normal hours, and sleeping every night like this made me a little sad, as I knew she would never do it. With Amelia, it was all or nothing.

  We both slept very late the next day, and after a quick shower and a ridiculously delicious room-service breakfast, we both donned clean clothes and headed out to explore and shop. After the third or fourth boutique, I realized that Amelia was dead-set on buying me anything that even momentarily caught my interest. The storekeepers were delighted with her, but I found the extravagance tiresome, to say the least. To me, it’s one thing to buy things that you truly like, but even if you have more than enough money to buy anything, it doesn’t make sense to me to shop for its own sake. After the fifth store, Amelia began to sense my growing impatience, and I saw her put her credit card away with some reluctance. In the same way that I had problems accepting her largesse, she had problems keeping it to herself. All I could think about that morning and afternoon, however, were the late nights, early mornings, and anxious days it took for her to earn her money. I would rather have a happy, considerably less-wealthy girlfriend than a burned-out zombie.

  Amelia had all of our purchases shipped home or sent back to our hotel, so we walked unencumbered up and down every street in the Old Town. Having never taken this kind of trip with her, I was surprised to see that Amelia was the kind of person who needed to take a picture of nearly everything and everyone she saw. I’d seen some of her photography before and knew she had talent for it, but I’d never anticipated that she was such an enthusiastic photographer. She took my picture several times until I objected, but I’m pretty sure she still managed to snap a few candid photos of me.

  Eventually, we crossed onto the cute little island in the middle of the Río Cuale, famous for its art galleries. I could see Amelia struggling to simply look at the art rather than buy it all, but she knew the rules about this trip—no work or work talk allowed. I knew I would have to relent eventually, as some of the art we viewed was spectacular and just the kind of thing some of our clients would love. But for now, we were simply tourists, and I wanted to keep it that way a while longer.

  We had a light lunch in a café by Nuestra Señora de Guadalupe, the large cathedral just beyond the river from our hotel. After lunch, we toured the cathedral, and I was surprised to see it decked out for Mardi Gras, much like St. Louis Cathedral in New Orleans this time of year. After I saw the decorations in the cathedral, I realized there were decorations all over Old Town. I’d simply overlooked them. It seemed that our attempt to escape Mardi Gras season would be a failure after all. Speaking in fluent Spanish, Amelia learned from a group of locals that the holiday, while a smaller celebration in comparison to the one in New Orleans, was still quite lavish. There were a few balls and a parade with throws, just like at home. Amelia and I laughed to think we wouldn’t have to go a whole Mardi Gras season without plastic beads.

  We’d intended to go to the beach before our Valentine’s Day dinner, but by the time we headed back to the hotel, both of us were too exhausted and overheated to change and sit in the sun, beach umbrella or no beach umbrella. Instead, I ordered a carafe of iced coffee sent to our room and took my book out onto the balcony, appreciating a few hours of quiet nothing ahead of us. Amelia joined me a while later and promptly fell asleep again. For once, instead of her usual uptight, refined persona, she was a graceless, limp thing next to me, her mouth open and her hair unkempt. I loved it. It was like seeing a new person.

  After a while, I dozed off, rising only when I heard the shower running inside the room. A little thrill of mischief and excitement raced through me at the sound. Yesterday, Amelia had joined me in the shower and then invited me in. Today, I decided to risk joining her without asking her permission. I’d never done that—had never even conceived of it—but after yesterday, it seemed like a risk worth taking. I shucked off my sweaty clothes and crept as quietly as I could to the bathroom, wanting to watch her for a moment before coming in. The door to the bathroom was partially closed, as if it hadn’t quite latched, but I didn’t know if that meant that Amelia had closed it to prevent me from coming in or if she’d closed it to keep the sound of the shower from waking me. I pushed it open as silently as I could and peered inside.

  Amelia would likely have seen me if she’d been looking, but her eyes were sealed shut. She’d left the lights off, but plenty of sunlight was streaming in through the skylight in the middle of the room. I could see everything. Her chin was tilted upward, head thrown back, and water coursed down her tight, lithe body. She was biting her lip and her face was flushed. Her left hand clutched her breast, and I saw her squeeze and twist her own nipple. Her right hand was between her legs. She was sliding her fingers in and out of herself, pausing and teasing her body before speeding up again, only to stop once more to build tension. Eventually, her body simply wouldn’t let her stop. She threw her head back farther, and her hand sped up, faster and faster. She came quickly, silently, her body hitching and shuddering, her face contorted in pleasure.

  Her hands finally dropped, and a few seconds later her eyes flickered open. Vision blurred with her orgasm; it seemed to take her a moment to realize who I was, and she blinked at me, still stupefied. Seconds later, I saw her realize what I had just witnessed, and her whole body actually seemed to flinch. Her face crumpled and she burst i
nto tears, turning away from me and covering her face with her hands.

  I didn’t hesitate. I rushed into the shower with her and embraced her from behind. A moment later she turned and grabbed me, burying her face in my neck. The strength of her arms bespoke a clear sense of desperation, as if she clung to me for life. All I could do was hold her, running my hands up and down her back. I spoke some quiet nothings in her ear as she cried, but for the most part, I was reeling. I’d never seen Amelia so upset or so vulnerable. She held me so tight, I think she was afraid she might fall apart.

  We stayed under the water long enough for it to start to turn cold, and, Amelia’s arms now a little looser, I reached back behind her and turned it off. The sudden silence seemed to jolt her, and she pulled away from me and covered her face once more with her hands. She was racked with quiet sobs, and I rubbed her shoulders. Finally, she took several snuffling, deep breaths and let her hands drop. She still wouldn’t meet my eyes, however, and she kept her face lowered.

  “Let’s get out of here,” I said, grabbing one of her hands.

  She followed me without comment, clearly too deflated to resist. I handed her a bathrobe and grabbed one for myself, then led her over to the little divan in the corner of the bedroom. Her gaze was rooted to the floor, and silent tears dripped from her eyes. I knew that I needed to wait—that pushing her would ruin whatever was about to happen. I grabbed one of her hands and held it in mine. We sat that way for a long time.

  Finally, she took a shuddering breath and let it out. Her eyes flickered up to mine, and then she looked away from me. Then, in a voice so quiet and defeated it was barely audible, she said, “I’m so sorry, Chloé.”

  This whole time, her face had a strange expression, and with these words, I finally recognized the expression as guilty shame. I grabbed her chin, forcing her to look at me. “There’s nothing to be sorry about, Amelia.”

  The flicker of hope in her eyes was replaced a moment later, again with doubt and guilt. She’d glanced away again, and once more I moved her face to make her look at me.

  “Damn it, Amelia. Listen to me.” She looked surprised at the anger in my tone, but she finally met my gaze and held it. “You have nothing to be sorry about. I swear to God.”

  She burst into tears again and launched herself into my arms. The tears passed a little faster than before, and when she pulled back, she seemed quieter and more relaxed. She was still having trouble meeting my eyes, but she was doing so more often. She seemed to be looking at me to see if I was being honest, so I tried to smile with every bit of reassurance I had. Tears were still falling from her eyes, but she reached up to wipe them away.

  “You’re so good to me, Chloé. I don’t know what I did to deserve you.”

  I laughed. “What you did to deserve me? I don’t know what I did to deserve you.”

  She looked troubled, and that worried line she had almost all the time appeared between her eyes. She looked up at me and met my eyes firmly for the first time since this conversation began. “You deserve better. I’m hoarding you for myself when you could be so much happier with someone else.”

  It was hard not to laugh again, but I could see that she was deadly serious. I took both of her hands in mine and met her eyes. “Amelia, I’ve never been happier in my life. I couldn’t be happier.”

  Worried doubt and guilt passed across her face once more, and I touched it with my fingers. “I love you, Amelia. Don’t you see? When you love someone, you accept them. You don’t have to be perfect, and I don’t expect you to be. I love you for you.”

  Her face crumpled again, but she shook her head as if to clear away the tears. She seemed deep in thought, and I let her absorb my words without saying anything more. I wanted her to hear them and believe them, and nothing more I said would help.

  Finally, she sighed and gazed at me again. “I love you too, Chloé. And I’m sorry I’m so fucked up. I don’t know why I did what I did. In the shower, I mean. And I don’t know why I won’t let you touch me that way. I wish I knew.”

  We had finally come to it, and my heart skipped a little with anxiety. We never talked about this. We’d fought about her reluctance to be touched a couple of times when we were first together, but we’d both dropped it since then. I think she was relieved not to discuss it, and I didn’t want to cause another fight by forcing her to confront whatever it was. I’d been pushing, very gently, for months now, when we made love, but I never brought it up anymore. I realized now that something like this scene had been building for a while now. I cursed my own previous cowardice, recognizing that we should have been talking about it all along. Problems don’t go away just because you refuse to face them. In fact, they fester.

  Whatever I said next would be important, so I took a deep breath before beginning. “Amelia, you don’t owe me anything. Your body is your body, understand? Of course I’d love to make you feel the way you make me feel—I want that very badly. But it might be my own selfishness, my own vanity that wants it. When you’re ready to share yourself with me, I’ll be over the moon. But it’s your body—not mine.”

  We were quiet again, and I could see her weighing my words, testing them for sincerity and looking for flaws. She was staring at her hands again, but I wanted to let her talk in whatever way she needed to, so I didn’t force her gaze.

  “I almost never do that, you know,” Amelia said, so quiet I almost didn’t hear her.

  “Do what?”

  She looked up at me again and quickly glanced away, her face clouded with shame again.

  “I almost never touch myself like that,” she said, her voice a little firmer. Her expression was dark, almost livid, and I realized she was angry with herself for what she’d done.

  “I wish you would, Amelia, if you want to. You should do whatever you want with your own body.”

  Her tears passed more quickly this time, but they were ferocious. Once again, Amelia clung to me, but I knew this time it was from relief. After she pulled away, I brushed her tears aside with my thumbs, and then we kissed, long and gently. We were quiet after that, both of us thinking our own thoughts, processing a momentous experience. The tension, however, was beginning to get to me, and I wanted to lighten the mood.

  “I touch myself all the time,” I told her.

  She looked up at me, clearly shocked. “You do?”

  “Of course! Especially when we’re not together. You should have seen me when you were in Montreal. I could barely keep my hands off myself. I actually strained my wrist at one point.”

  Her laughter was genuine: warm and infectious. We giggled together, and my heart lifted at the sight of her joy. The tension was gone now, and we’d said what needed to be said. We could move on from here and progress—I knew it.

  She wiped a couple of tears from her eyes and then paused, raising one eyebrow. “Wait a minute. You said you did it especially when we’re not together. Does that mean—?”

  “That I do it when we are together? Of course!”

  She barked a laugh. “When? Where?”

  I paused, wondering how truthful to be. She saw my reluctance and grinned widely before shaking a finger at me. “Hey—no cheating! You brought it up, Chloé. Tell me everything.”

  I held up a hand and started counting. “Well, just recently, I did it in the office at work.”

  “No!”

  I nodded and held up more fingers. “I do it a lot when I’m waiting for you in the car. Or if you’re on a phone call at my place. Or if you’re in the shower, or making breakfast, or anywhere in the house when I can’t get at you.”

  “Really?” she asked, looking doubtful. “You really do it so often?”

  I grinned. “All the time.”

  Her expression darkened. “Don’t I, I mean don’t you get enough from—”

  Realizing where she was going, I held up my hands. “I get plenty from you, Amelia. That has nothing to do with it. You satisfy me in every way. I could never do what you do to me, even if I tried
.”

  “So why?”

  She was clearly still doubtful, so I chose my next words with care. “I do it because I want to. I do it because it makes me feel naughty—dirty in a good way. It excites me to sneak around a little. A few times you almost caught me. Just recently, I was sure you knew what I was doing when you came to bed after me, but you never said anything.”

  “I didn’t know at all.”

  “Good,” I said. “I like that.”

  She still looked confused, so I tried to think of a way to make it clearer. “I do it, Amelia, because I can and I want to. There’s nothing wrong with it, and it feels good. It gives me pleasure, and pleasure is too rare in this world to deny myself.”

  I let her mull that over for a while, and I could see that she was beginning to accept my words on faith. Her expression was clearer now, her tears dry.

  Finally, she looked at me, grinning. “Can I watch you sometime?”

  I grinned back. “Of course. You can watch me right now, if you want to.”

  Her grin widened and she nodded. Rather than moving to the bed, I opened my robe right there on the little couch. She was surprised but pleased, and she leaned forward a little as if watching something interesting on television. The experience was novel for me, too, and I found it incredibly sexy.

  My excitement was there, instantly, with her eyes on me. When I snaked my fingers down between my legs, I was wet and hot. Amelia was staring at my hand, not my eyes, but I wanted to see her watching me, so I kept my eyes open. I moved my other hand between my legs, one set of fingers going in and out of me, the other toying with my clit. Amelia’s eyes were dark and hungry, and seeing her excitement made my own increase exponentially. I was slipping over the edge quickly, my breath coming faster and faster, almost in gasps, and I saw Amelia’s eyes flicker up to mine and then back down between my legs, almost as if she couldn’t help but look. I pushed my fingers inside a little deeper and couldn’t suppress a groan. At that sound, my insides began to quiver against my fingers, and I sped up the pressure on my clit as I came. My eyes closed of their own accord, the blood rushing through my head in a roar. Finally, I could hear myself moaning, and the pleasure between my legs turned to painful intensity. I stopped and opened my eyes, dropping my hands to my sides in exhaustion.