by Nikki Wild
I grabbed her hips, lying her down on the couch and laying on top of her. My cock slammed into her hard, her thighs wrapping around me as I worked my cock into her hard and fast. She whimpered below me, chanting my name like a siren’s call.
“Bear, Bear, Bear….”
“I’m all your’s…your’s….your’s…”
Everything else disappeared. The flashing lights, the people, the pumping music, even the couch below us. All I knew, all I felt, all that filled my brain was Chloe. Chloe’s warm, inviting body. Chloe’s hunger, matching my own as she opened herself up to me, her soul needing exactly the same thing that mine did.
We crashed over the edge together, the music and lights mingling with the cries escaping from her mouth and the fireworks exploding in my head. The world erupted in a spectacular display of sensational expressions of lust and hunger, our love binding us together as we melted into each other…
Chloe
“I’ve always wanted to see the Mona Lisa!” I squealed. I couldn’t believe today was the day I’d always dreamed of. When Bear told me I could pick the location for our honeymoon, I needed no time to think. When I told him why, he laughed and promised to take me to the museum of my dreams.
“You’ve told me that a million times in the last two weeks,” Bear teased.
“I’m glad you were listening,” I said.
“I always listen to you,” he said. “And I always will.”
“How did I get so lucky?” I asked.
Bear just smiled and shrugged. For an arrogant bastard, he sure could be humble sometimes.
“We were meant to be,” he said, placing his hand on my knee. He’d hired a car to take us all around the city today and although I was a little tired, I was ignoring it. I seemed to be getting exhausted easier these last few days, but my doctor told me that was to be expected. “Oh, look, we’re here!”
I looked out the window and gasped when I saw the majestic building, the sparkling pyramids standing prominently out front.
“It’s even more amazing in person,” I said.
“Wait till you see inside, Beauty,” he murmured, looking out the window with me. The car pulled up to the front and we got out, standing there and taking it all in. “My parents used to bring me here when I was a kid. I’ve come back many times since then. I can’t wait to show you my favorite pieces.”
We walked up to the front doors and as soon as I saw the sign on the front door, tears tung my eyes.
“It’s closed! Bear! I can’t believe this,” I said. “The sign says it’s closed for a private party!”
He nodded, wrinkling his eyebrows. “So it does.”
“I guess we should have checked the schedule,” I said, my heart filled with disappointment. I’d gotten so worked up about visiting the museum, seeing things I’d only ever dreamed of seeing.
The door opened and a man in a suit walked out.
“Mr. Dalton?” he asked. Bear smiled and took his hand.
“Mr. Rousseau?”
“Yes! Welcome to the Musée du Louvre! It’s a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Dalton. And this must be your lovely bride!”
“Yes, this is Chloe,” Bear said. I reached out a hand and the man took it and kissed it.
“Hello…” I said, completely confused.
“Mrs. Dalton, welcome! Please, won’t you come inside?” He turned and walked back in. Bear took my hand and followed him.
“What did you do?” I whispered.
He shrugged and flashed me a smile.
“I rented out the museum for the evening. It’ll be easier to see everything without all the lines and people wandering around…”
“You’re insane!” I said, my heart racing, my eyes wide with absolute delight. I let out a tiny little squeal and kissed his cheek. “God, I fucking love you!”
“Sure you don’t just love my money?” he teased.
“That too!” I said. He laughed and squeezed my hand.
“Only the best for my girl,” he said. I sighed and looked around, overwhelmed right away by the beauty of the museum. It was so quiet, our footsteps echoing through the empty halls.
Mr. Rousseau handed us a few maps and smiled.
“You’re sure you won’t reconsider the tour, Mr. Dalton?” he asked.
“No, but thank you for offering again. That’s very kind of you, but we’d prefer to just wander around at our own pace.”
“Very well, monsieur,” he said. “There are a few guards throughout the museum, please let them know should you need anything. Dinner will be served just as you requested.”
“Thank you, Mr. Rousseau, you’ve been quite helpful.”
My eyes were wide as saucers. I had no idea Bear had set this up and I didn’t even want to think about how much it must cost to rent out the entire Louvre for the night. And dinner, too?
“You, Mr. Dalton, are full of surprises,” I said, as we walked hand in hand through the lobby.
“I try,” he said. He looked down at me, completely pleased with himself. My heart swelled with adoration for him.
We spent the next hour trailing through the maze of exhibits, each more breathtaking than the last. I spent a good fifteen minutes sitting in front of a Monet, tears streaming down my face.
“This is the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen,” I cried. Of course, I’d said that about a dozen times already tonight. Bear handed me a handkerchief, patting my back, patiently waiting while I tried to commit every paint stroke to memory.
Not only did we see the Mona Lisa, which was absolutely breathtaking, but we also saw Venus de Milo, Jean Antoine Watteau’s Nymph and Satyr, endless paintings by Rembrandt and daVinci and Matisse and Renoir…
My head spun.
Sculptures by Picasso, entire rooms created from gilded furnishings, ancient Egyptian hieroglyphs, the four seasons paintings that Poussin had created in 1660….
The treasures were endless and of course, Bear seemed to be an expert. I wasn’t surprised. He seemed to be a source of endless knowledge about an endless amount of subjects.
We walked into a large room filled with two huge marble sculptures that took my breath away. A small table was set up in the middle of the room, with flowers and lit candles flickering on it.
But my eye was drawn to the two towering sculptures.
“Beautiful, aren’t they?” Bear said. “These are my two favorite pieces. I’ve been drawn to them since I was a little boy. They’re named the Rebellious Slaves, and they were carved out of marble by Michelangelo beginning in 1513 and ending in 1515.”
“They’re stunning,” I said, slowly walking around them. They were statues of two massive men, the first one with his head thrown back, his eyes closed. The other was bound in chains, struggling against them.
“This one is the Dying Slave, and the other is the Bound Slave,” Bear said. One arm was raised over the Dying Slave’s thrown back head, the other resting on his chest. His naked body rippled with muscles. “They were both originally intended for Pope Julius the Second’s tomb. He commissioned Michelangelo to sculpt a very elaborate tomb, with forty of these sculptures. But Michelangelo was pulled away to paint the Sistine Chapel. The tomb was redesigned on a smaller scale, with a few of the original sculptures used alongside a sculpture of Moses. These two ended up not being used at all for that tomb and now they stand here today. The tomb is at a museum in Italy.”
“That’s fascinating.”
“I think so too! This one, the Dying Slave, seems to be completely internalized, almost as if he’s in a trance, as if he’s in an entirely different place, as if he’s giving in to whatever pain or pleasure he’s in, letting go of something, letting go of himself. The other one here, the Bound Slave, he’s my favorite.”
“Why?”
“Look at him. His strength is almost palpable. He’s resisting. His head is looking up as if he’s confronting God, confronting whatever is holding him down. He fights, he struggles against his restraints. Some interpret him
as struggling to be free from the earthly realm and struggling to be one with God. And look,” he pointed down to the Bound Slave’s feet. “He’s bound into the stone. Michelangelo once said that when he saw a block of marble, he immediately envisioned the character struggling to be free of the rock. He felt as if his work allowed that. As if he himself were freeing them. Even though they’re still here, still part of this solid marble, they’ve never escaped, but they’ve never given up fighting to be free, either.”
“It’s as if the Bound Slave is really bound up in himself,” he continued, his eyes lighting up. “His body is twisted in a serpentine fashion, as if he’s trying to escape the very bounds of his flesh.”
My heart was racing as Bear talked. I’d never had a piece of art affect me so deeply. Tears stung my eyes as I circled them, drinking in every detail.
“I’ve never seen anything more beautiful,” I whispered, for the millionth time. But I meant it this time.
Bear walked up behind me, wrapping his arms around me.
“I have, Beauty,” he whispered, his voice low and soft in my ear. He turned me around to face him, his deep ocean eyes staring into mine. “You, Beauty. You’re more beautiful to me than anything in this place. In thousands of years, in all the countries, nothing more beautiful than you has ever been created. You’re my masterpiece, Beauty.”
“Oh, Bear,” I said, looking up to him through tear-filled eyes.
He kissed me, gently, tenderly, his arms holding me close and tight. I melted into him, overwhelmed by the love that he showered me with.
Footsteps sounded behind us and we turned. Mr. Rousseau was standing there by the table, a polite smile on his face.
“Dinner is served, monsieur,” he said.
“That’s perfect, thank you, Mr. Rosseau,” Bear said, grabbing my hand and leading me to the table.
We sat down and for the next hour, we had the loveliest meal of Coq au vin and escargot and the most amazing creme brûlée I’d ever tasted, all under the watchful eyes of the Rebellious Slaves.
By the time we were finished with dinner, I’d declared this night the most magical of my entire life.
“I feel like I’m living a dream,” I said to Bear.
“Me, too, Beauty,” he said, his eyes sparkling with love. “Perhaps we are…”
“Perhaps we are,” I agreed. We sat there, lovingly staring into each other’s eyes, the happiest two people on Earth.
As we left that evening, hand in hand, totally sober and yet completely intoxicated by the magic of the night, I took a last glance over my shoulder at the two slaves, a little piece of my heart remaining in the room with them. I knew I’d never forget them, for as long as I lived.
“I want to come back here,” I whispered to Bear, knowing I couldn’t stay away too long.
“Of course, darling,” he nodded. “Anytime you want.”
“Is tomorrow too soon?” I asked.
He laughed, winking at me.
“What Beauty wants, Beauty gets…”
Bear
As always, Paris didn’t disappoint. By the time we returned home, we were both exhausted from happiness. We’d barely slept, spending long luxurious hours making love in our hotel room, wandering through the rainy streets night after night, slipping into tiny little speakeasies, laughing to ourselves as we watched bawdy burlesque shows, ducking into any dark corner we could find to make out or make love, whichever was convenient, as long as we could touch each other.
Instead of quenching my thirst for her, our honeymoon had only left me with an undying appetite for Chloe. I needed her close to me, whether that meant merely walking by my side, or completely wrapped around me, it didn’t matter. As long as she was there.
I’d done a halfway decent job of letting go of my grief. Once I was able to do that, I dove into her. Or maybe diving into her allowed me to let go of the grief.
I made her tell me every childhood story she could remember, I wanted to know about every friend or boyfriend she’d ever had, I wanted to know every food she refused to eat and every sweet treat that she ever craved. She’d patiently consented to my million questions, humoring me when I asked for every detail. We’d spent so much time getting to know each other’s bodies, I was suddenly thirsty to know every inch of her mind, as well.
Coming back to New York had been a bit of a wake up call. I was back to work, but I was also back to the realization that my best friend was gone forever. The fact that I’d never see Bruce’s face again hit me like a ton of bricks, sending me reeling all over again.
I’d put everything on hold until after the honeymoon, but now it was time to find answers.
The first thing I did when I got back to the office was call Jeffrey. He showed up in my office to tell me what he’d found on the CD I’d given him.
“It’s a recording of a conversation between two men,” he said. “I converted the file and sent it to you via email right before I came up here.”
I pulled it up on my computer and pushed the play button once I’d retrieved his message.
“Listen,” a man’s voice snarled.“The girls are ready to go. We’ve got sixteen of them, from twelve on up.”
“And the johns?”
“Ready and waiting to receive the cargo.”
“You get the money?”
“Yes, boss.”
“Alright, make sure it all goes down smoothly. I can’t afford any fuck ups.”
“Don’t worry, boss, it’s all under control. There’s a few extra women, some that they rejected. Too ugly, too fat…What do you want me to do with them? You want them?”
“Fuck no. I’m getting too old for this shit. Just find someone else to sell them too.”
“You got it, Rio.”
The tape cut off.
I looked over at Jeffrey.
“Is this all that was on there?” I asked.
“Yes, sir, nothing else at all.”
“Alright, thanks Jeffrey. Any other identifying information? Anything?”
“It was recorded on a cell phone, but there’s no other data to identify the number or anything like that.”
“I see. Okay, thanks,” I said. “And Jeffrey, remember not to mention this to anyone.”
“Of course,” he said, walking out.
I sat back in my chair and pushed play again and again…
What did this mean and why was this hidden in Bruce’s house? None of this made sense. But maybe that’s because I didn’t have any answers, all I had were questions.
I pulled up a search page and began searching through information on Bruce’s last case. At the time, I had no idea it was going to be his last case, so I hadn’t paid too much attention. He made a point not to talk about work too much and I never pressed him for information. I knew what it was like to have to take your work home and I knew that he didn’t want to talk about it. He’d rather talk about the killer run he had on the slopes instead of the killer he was trying to put behind bars.
An article in the New York Times popped up and I began reading it. It was a detailed account of Bruce’s last case and when I saw the name of the defendant, I froze.
Rio Santiago.
I played the recording again and nodded. The man on the recording had called the other man Rio. I read on.
Rio Santiago was a high-level sex trafficker that had gotten busted after years of suspicion by the NYPD. They’d never been able to pin any charges on him, despite their best efforts, until this case. They’d lucked out when one of the girls they’d arrested with a john was brave enough to testify against him. She’d insisted he was the ringleader of a huge group of men that trafficked dozens of women and girls every month, bringing them up from the South and promising them modeling jobs in New York. Of course, as soon as they arrived they were drugged and sold and pulled into the dirty world of evil men. Bruce was the prosecutor. He’d brought heavy charges down on Santiago, hitting him with the full force of the law. The case had been highly publicized and t
he trail dragged on for months. In the end, Santiago got off with a light two year sentence after the jury decided there wasn’t enough evidence to convict him. Bruce had been devastated and in the end, he decided he’d failed in his mission to make the world a better place. If guys like Santiago were given a slap on the wrist on his watch, he’d told me, then he wasn’t doing his job. He’d resigned, not even finishing out his term, much to the dismay of the Governor and the team of Assistant DA’s he’d assembled that looked to his experience for guidance.
I spent over an hour combing through articles about the trial, wondering if there was any connection to Bruce’s death. Once I realized there was video of the trial on youtube, I eagerly pulled it up.
In an instant, there was Bruce. Alive again. Standing in the courtroom, literally holding court, the jurors, the judge, all the players hanging on his every word.
He had skills, that was for sure. He had a way of charming you while he showed you exactly how smart he was, all at the same time.
“Cocky bastard,” I whispered, laughing softly as I watched him play to the jury. The women smiled at him, subtly blinking at him, and the men nodded like he’d just told them he was giving them a million dollars. He was so damned confident, it dripped off of him.
He was overly prepared and extraordinarily self-assured.
He was one of those men that you’d believe when he told you the sky was red. You wouldn’t even look up. You’d just agree and go on with your life, never questioning the color of the sky again.
“Fuck, I miss you,” I said to my screen. “Wait a minute…”
I froze, sure I wasn’t seeing what I thought I was. I stopped the video and rewound it. Bruce was standing next to the defense attorney’s table, Rio sitting next to him. But it was who was behind Rio that gave me pause.
“It can’t be…”
I rewound it two more times, freezing it on that frame. It looked like her. She even moved like her, tossing her long red hair over her shoulders. It was her signature move.
“But why in the hell would Ruby be there?” I wondered out loud to my empty office.
