Ellen settled back. She’d indulge her sister, listen to her suggestions as she always had, then go home. She’d had enough.
“I can’t do all your thinking for you but maybe it’s time you did something you always wanted to do. Take an art course for instance. You were always the talented one. Remember those watercolors you did for Dad’s music? Since it’s getting into fall, how about volunteering for a political candidate or at a local hospital?”
Art course. That was an idea, something she hadn’t thought of. “Hmm,” she said after a moment. “That’s not a bad idea. Actually that’s two good ideas you just had.”
“Which ones?” Micki asked, her voice brightening.
“I could take an art course. I’ve always thought I had a little talent. There’s a gallery a few blocks from here and according to the sign in the window the owner runs classes on the mornings when the gallery is closed.”
“You said two ideas.”
Ellen’s eyes brightened. She might just do that. “The hospital volunteering isn’t bad either. There are so many hospitals in the city, I could maybe read to patients or volunteer in the gift shop.” Giggling, she said, “You know I just caught myself. I was thinking that I couldn’t do something without getting paid, you know like a real job. But hell, I don’t need the money, do I? I could just do it because I want to.”
Micki’s warm voice narrowed the distance between Fairmont and New York City. “You sure could. I think that sounds wonderful. Go for it, girl.”
Later that afternoon Ellen pulled on a pair of well-worn jeans and a faded T-shirt and, since with the beginning of fall it was getting a bit cooler, she added a light windbreaker. She walked the few blocks to a storefront with a large gold-lettered sign announcing The Templeton Gallery. In the corner of the window sat a small carefully printed card stating that art classes were available. She strolled inside and looked around. The walls were painted stark white, one scattered with landscapes, several of windblown rocky coasts, some of pastoral forest glens. Another wall was covered with still lifes of fruit baskets, flowers, china, and crystal while two other walls were hung with portraits. As she peered at the signatures she saw that each wall featured a different artist. She sighed and stared at a particularly dramatic seascape, muttering, “I wish I could paint like that.”
“Do you paint?” a male voice behind her asked.
Startled, she turned and gazed into a pair of sexy deep-blue eyes. “Just a little.”
“Many people have undiscovered talent, just waiting for the right situation to unleash it. Maybe you’re one of those.”
Ellen tore her gaze from the man’s eyes and took in the whole man. He was tall, and towered over her five-foot-three-inch frame. He had coal-black hair that flopped over his forehead and a tightly cropped beard and mustache that gave his handsome face a distinguished look. She guessed that he was around her age.
“Are you?” he asked again, his words musical with a slight Irish brogue.
“Am I what?” Ellen said, dragging her mind back to the present.
“Are you a vessel of undiscovered talent?”
Ellen snorted at the absurdity of the comment. “I doubt that, but I have been thinking of taking an art class. I used to paint watercolors back when I was younger, before my parents died. My sister always said I had talent.” She slammed her mouth shut when she realized that she was rambling.
“I’m sure you do and maybe a class is just the thing.” He extended his right hand and Ellen noticed the heavy coat of black hair that covered his wrist, below the turned-up sleeves of his light blue shirt. “I’m Kevin Duffy and I run this gallery. I also give classes upstairs Monday, Wednesday, and Friday mornings. I have one specifically on watercolors each Wednesday although we’re pretty flexible around here and the classes usually focus on techniques necessary to any artist, regardless of the medium.”
Since it seemed rude not to shake his hand, Ellen took it and marveled at the warmth and strength of his grasp. He held her hand just a moment longer than was necessary, gazing into her eyes with almost hypnotic intensity. Then they separated and he strode to a desk and returned with his card and several flyers. “This is me,” he said, handing her his card, and this is the schedule of classes. There’s no strict regimen so once we get you settled, you can come any time, attend one class or several. It would be entirely up to you.” He pulled a pen from his pocket and ticked off the classes on Wednesdays. “As I said, this is a class in basic watercolor techniques.” He looked into her eyes again. “The classes are a bit pricey, but well worth it if you’re thinking about getting serious about your work. I suggest that you take a class, free of charge of course, so you can taste what we do. Then you can decide whether the cost would be justified.”
Ellen could barely get her breath. “Oh, I think I can manage the cost.” She took the paper. “You know, I might just try it.”
Still gazing into her eyes, Kevin handed her another sheet of paper. “This is a list of some of the basic supplies. You probably have some of the items, but there’s a lot of stuff you need if you really want to paint seriously. Of course, the items with the stars next to them are the only ones really necessary, the rest are just nice to have. The right paper’s important, of course, and the quality of the colors.”
“Oh yes, I’m sure they are.”
“There’s an art supply store I can recommend on Twenty-seventh Street. Ben Kellogg, the owner, really knows his stuff. If you ask for him and tell him you’re a friend of mine taking a course, he can steer you toward the right equipment.” Kevin took one of the sheets from her and wrote the address and the owner’s name on the back.
At that moment, the phone rang and Kevin, seeming reluctant, turned to answer it. “Maybe I’ll see you at the class next Wednesday.”
“Oh yes,” she sighed as he grabbed the phone and began a lengthy conversation. “You certainly will.”
She found the art store and enlisted the assistance of the owner, who was more helpful when she casually announced that she was new to serious watercolor and needed start-up supplies. She listened to the man rattle on about Kordofan gum and oxgall and the differences between pan and tube watercolors. He regaled her with the advantages of small sable brushes and wider synthetic ones and, of course, she just had to have a short, flat boar bristle one. He spent almost half an hour discussing paper—single sheets, pads, and blocks—then helped her select charcoal and graphite drawing sticks and several thicknesses of pencils. By the time she had gathered only the “most basic” supplies she had spent more than two hundred dollars.
At home, Ellen unwrapped her purchases, opened a large sketch pad and sharpened a stick of charcoal on the sandpaper pad as she had been shown. With a few quick strokes she created the shape of a face with a short beard and piercing eyes. While it didn’t really look like Kevin, it was obvious that she had him in mind. Three hours passed while she made drawing after drawing of men with beards and graceful hands.
Finally empty of ideas, she made herself a pot of macaroni and cheese and, bowl in hand, stretched out on the sofa with her feet on the coffee table. When she finished, she set the bowl down and closed her eyes.
She walked into Kevin’s studio to begin her classes, but as she looked around at the garret-like room she discovered that she was alone. No other students this morning? She was sure he had said Wednesday.
Kevin emerged from a back room, dressed in a pair of khaki pants and a paint-splattered shirt, both hugging his muscular body. “I knew you’d be here.”
“I c-c-came for class,” Ellen whispered.
“No you didn’t,” Kevin said, taking her paint box from her shaking fingers. “You came for me.”
Ellen gazed into his deep-blue eyes, unable to tear her gaze away.
“You came because you knew we’d be here alone, aching for each other. Tell me you knew.” He held her upper arms in his steely grip. When she remained silent, he whispered again, “Tell me.”
His lips
were against her hair and she could feel the heat of him even through their clothes. Had she known? “Yes,” she said, “I knew.”
Ellen leaned against him and he enfolded her within his warmth and surrounded her with the manly scent of him. She lay her cheek against his chest, listening to the accelerated beat of his heart, deep and steady. “God, I want you,” he said, the sound rumbling in his chest.
Ellen raised her hands until her palms lay splayed against his shirtfront. “And I want you.”
His lips met hers in a searing kiss, one that flowed through her body like molten lava.
“Okay,” Lucy said in the computer room, slamming her hand on the table, “I’ve had enough of her girlish romantic fantasies. They sound like every mushy novel ever written. Let’s get real here. Life isn’t like that. Love at first sight. I’ve been waiting for you.” She made a rude noise. “God, it’s such slop.”
“Don’t, Luce,” Angela said, looking up from her screen. “Don’t get involved in Ellen’s fantasies. It’s not nice.”
“Nice. Pooh.” She ran her blood-red nails through her long, straight, black hair. “That woman is going to fantasize herself into heartbreak. She’s got that man so tangled up in her dreams that she’s bound to be disappointed. She’s dreaming of him like he’s some kind of paragon of manhood, handsome and sexy, a man who knows all the right moves. Next she’ll be thinking about how he prowls like a jungle cat. What she needs is a real man and a real fantasy. Good, hot, sweaty sex with lots of hands and mouths, cocks and pussies.”
“Lucy, really. Watch your language. My boss might be listening.”
“He created great sex so why shouldn’t we all enjoy it. The words are just ways of accelerating the heartbeat and arousing the libido.”
Angela glared, but said nothing. “Now,” Lucy said, tapping a nail against her front teeth. “I’ll just create a real fantasy for Ellen and see how she likes it.”
Angela sighed and shook her head, knowing that once Lucy got an idea into her head she couldn’t or wouldn’t be talked out of it. “Okay, where was she…”
Ellen stood in the warm garret with Kevin’s arms around her, enjoying the beat of his heart. Suddenly he picked her up in his arms and carried her to the bed in the corner of the studio, then he began to unbutton his shirt. “What…?” Ellen whispered.
“You know why you came. To be with me. Now we can do it all. Let’s get naked.”
Back in the computer room Angela snapped, “If you make her dream like that, you’ll drive her schizo. If you want to change her fantasies, you have to be gentle and gradual. ‘Let’s get naked’ indeed. Go easy or she’ll bolt.”
Lucy heaved a sigh. “Okay. I guess you’re right. I just like to get right to the good stuff.”
“Just a little push. Okay?”
“Right. Just a little push in the right direction.”
“You know why you came to me. Let me love you the way you were meant to be loved.”
“I want that, but I’m afraid.”
“I would never hurt you,” Kevin said. Then he cupped her face in his hands and brushed his mouth across hers. “I would never do anything you didn’t want.”
She let out a long breath. “I know,” she purred, moving her face to taste his lips. She slid her hands up his chest and held his broad shoulders. “Yes, I know.”
Then his hands stroked down her ribs and slipped beneath her sweater to caress her bare skin. Heat. Her skin burned with molten fire everywhere he touched. Lava flowed through her body, to her breasts, between her legs. She could barely breathe, barely think. She wanted to remember every moment of their time together but her mind was in a whirl trying to cope with the sensations bombarding her. His mouth opened and hers opened beneath it. Their tongues dueled, their bodies blending, pressing against each other.
His palms stroked heated paths up her sides to her back where he deftly unhooked her bra. His fingers traced an erotic path to her aching breasts. He plucked at her erect nipples, drawing feelings from her that she hadn’t known she possessed. Quaking with need Ellen grabbed the back of Kevin’s shirt and pulled it from his pants so she could slide beneath and touch his skin. Her hands wouldn’t be still, touching, scratching, urging him on. She tangled her fingers in the heavy hair on his chest, finding and caressing his small nipples.
With a single motion, he pulled her sweater over her head, then dragged her bra off and tossed it in a corner. His eyes devoured her naked skin while he tugged off his shirt and pants. When he stood, naked, in the middle of the small room his arousal was obvious.
Ellen just stared. His nude body was gorgeous with wide shoulders and narrow hips. Her eyes devoured him, avoiding only the nest of dark hair that filled his groin. “Yes, look at me,” he purred. “Look your fill, but I want to look at you, too.”
He quickly unbuckled her belt and dragged her jeans off until she stood wearing only tiny white lace panties. “So beautiful,” he said, his eyes telling her how gorgeous he thought she looked. He closed the small distance between them and held her close so that the entire length of him pressed against the entire length of her. She could feel his hardness against her belly.
“Okay,” Lucy said, “It’s time for them to get it on.”
With one motion he grabbed the front of her panties and ripped them from her body. He cupped her buttocks and lifted her, fitting his mouth over hers, pulling her legs around his waist. The tip of his cock pressed against her opening and with one violent thrust he was inside of her. Still standing in the center of the room, his strong arms held her, raising and lowering her body so his cock slid deep inside, then withdrew. Over and over he fucked her until she was mad with it, holding his strong shoulders, grasping his hips with her legs.
With a roar of triumph, he lifted her so he could bite her erect nipple and, with the shard of pleasure/pain, she felt her body convulse around his cock. He lowered her to the floor, never leaving his place inside her, then pounded into her, driving his cock still deeper until, with a bellow, he came.
“Phew,” Angela said. “You do create a great love scene, Luce.”
“Love, shmove. It’s good hot sex that counts.” Lucy settled behind her desk. “You know, I think she’s a candidate for Margaret Mary. It’s about time Ellen learned about life and men and great sex, and Margaret Mary’s just the woman who can do it.”
“I have to agree but you know that she hates it when you call her Margaret Mary. It’s Maggie and she’s perfect for this job.”
In her living room Ellen awoke with a start. She remembered the dream in vivid detail and her hands shook with the memories. She had never before had such an erotic one, so detailed. It was as if she could still feet the man’s…the man’s…well, feel the man inside of her. She touched the crotch of her jeans and found herself hot and damp. “Phew,” she said. “That was some dream. I wonder where it came from.”
“Probably from your subconscious,” a woman’s soft voice said.
Ellen jumped so suddenly that she almost fell off the sofa. She whirled around and saw a woman standing at the window, gazing out onto Fifty-second Street. She looked about fifty, with curly black hair and deep brown eyes. “I used to live around here, you know,” she said. “It’s such a great neighborhood.”
“H-H-How did you get in here? Who the hell are you? Get out of my apartment!” Ellen was almost shrieking. Was she losing her mind?
“Actually I can’t. I’ve been sent here to do a job and I really have to do it. It might mean the difference between Heaven and Hell for me.”
“Out! Now! I don’t care who you are or what you’re here for. Out!” Ellen couldn’t keep her voice from quaking, afraid she would burst into tears if the woman didn’t leave.
“Relax and I’ll explain. You’re Ellen Harold and I’m Maggie Sullivan. I’m here to help you and once you understand all that we have to do, we’ll get along just fine.” She sighed. “It’s always hardest at the beginning but you will get used to it. I promise.” S
he twisted a strand of hair around her index finger. “Sit down and give me a few minutes to explain. Okay?”
Ellen made a supreme effort and controlled her voice. Sounding much calmer than she felt, she said, “No. I’m sorry but no. Whatever you’re selling I don’t want any. Whatever you’re advocating, I’m against it. Just leave and we’ll forget this little incident ever happened.”
“I told you, I can’t leave. I’m afraid I’m here to stay.” She bustled to the tiny kitchen area and opened the miniature refrigerator. “Have you got any wine around here? I think we could both use a glass.”
Chapter
3
Numbly, Ellen pointed to the cabinet over the sink. “There’s a bottle of cabernet in there and the glasses are in the same cabinet.” Why couldn’t she get this person to leave? She stared at the woman called Maggie and tried to decide who or what she was. Dressed in a calf-length flowered-print skirt and a soft gauzy rose-colored blouse, she had warm, toast-brown eyes and an open face that at any other time Ellen would have trusted. Nevertheless, Ellen decided that in one more minute she’d have to call the cops and get this loony out of her apartment.
Maggie unscrewed the top from the wine bottle, half-filled two glasses and offered one to Ellen. “Don’t call the cops just yet,” she said. “Give me a few moments and I promise you’ll understand. Really.”
Ellen accepted the wine and took a swallow of the harsh red liquid. Maggie sipped and coughed. “Blah,” she said. “You’d think that with all your money you wouldn’t have to drink this sheep dip. I’ll drink almost anything but this is almost too awful for me.”
“Sheep dip?” Ellen said softly. “It’s good red wine, and what the hell do you know about my money. Is this some kind of kidnapping? You want ransom?”
Ignoring Ellen’s questions, Maggie said, “This is true sheep dip. It’s overly tannic, lacks any real fruit and has a finish that tastes like furniture polish. And no, this isn’t a kidnapping and there’s no ransom.”
Flesh For Fantasy Page 25
