by Suzie Nelson
Silvester sat back into the sofa and looked completely at ease. “I only have one other sibling, my brother Antonio. He is a fashion designer…well, a struggling fashion designer. He doesn’t use his real name and won’t accept any financial help from me to back his business so I try to show my support by attending his shows. You know what the fashion world is like, it’s all about who you know – I show up at his events and try to generate a bit more buzz around his line. I’m very close to my brother and his partner, Josh.”
“Oh, I see.” Lorry felt like a complete fool for ever believing such silly gossip about Silvester, especially after the fact he had made passionate love to her. “I’m so sorry I even mentioned it. I guess we just don’t know each other very well.” Lorry’s cheeks flushed pink as Silvester moved closer to her side.
“You don’t need to apologize. Most people at those shows have no idea Antonio is my brother and I stay away from the female models because they only show interest in my money, not me. I know that things between us have moved incredibly fast but I want us to get to know each other. I want you to meet Antonio and Josh, and together we can take our time finding out about one another.”
Lorry looked up at Silvester’s close face and simply gazed into his aqua blue eyes that seemed to draw her attention. She believed every word he said and had no reason to doubt him.
“I want that too.” Lorry raised her head slightly so that Silvester could kiss her and he happily obliged, kissing her soft red lips. His scent was intoxicating and Lorry tingled all over in excitement as Silvester moved himself down between her legs. He kissed her neck while his hands unbuttoned her white blouse and Lorry could feel herself getting wet at every touch. Silvester slipped her blouse down off her shoulders and kissed collarbone, down onto her chest and gently rubbed her nipples with his fingers.
Lorry’s back was arched as she let herself be completely drowned in the pleasure that he was giving her. Silvester moved his hands down and unbuckled her belt, with an easy strength he pulled her jeans off in one swift move leaving himself kneeling between her legs as she remained sat on the sofa. Then, just when Lorry was hoping he would continue to kiss her, he placed his hand on the arch of her back and pulled her up to his gaze.
“It’s me and you now, Lorry. This is what I want, me and you. No matter what else might happen.” He looked so serious and intense that his words made Lorry want him more.
“It’s me and you, Silvester. Me and you.” With her agreement, Silvester pulled down her red thong, parted her legs wider and placed his moist tongue on her hidden flower. Lorry couldn’t contain her ecstasy and moaned out unashamedly as Silvester pleasured her.
***
Silvester and Lorry continued to grow in their relationship through many joyful years. Lorry became close friends with Antonio and with his encouragement (and Silvester’s investment) she became a successful fashion designer that eventually had her designs shown in Class magazine. She remained good friends with Sally and later heard that Clarissa was fired a few months after her own dismissal for stealing company funds. Clarissa ended up working as a merchandiser for Walmart.
Silvester continued his business ventures and surprised the fashion world when he married Lorry after only six months of dating. They welcomed twin girls a year later and Lorry went on to design a whole range of clothes for infants and busy moms. They remain devoted to each other, passionate and always encouraging of each other’s dreams.
THE END
Devour Me
Chapter 1
Hugo
What am I doing in here? I should be painting! Not in Spin, eating burgers and buying music.
I held the album like I held a beautiful woman. Choosing the right record was like choosing a lover. One had to take their time and stay present in the moment.
A signed copy of Miles Davis’s Sketches of Spain. I should get it, regardless of the price.
Desire burned in my fingertips. I wanted to caress the packaging, undress the album, and lovingly inhale the vinyl.
Old jazz records made me insane. The whole experience stimulated my senses. How could it not? There was something beautiful in gripping an album and feeling the plastic tear off between my fingers. There was something erotic in listening to the perfect sound of the needle hitting the record as music filled the air.
Get out of here, man, and go back to the studio. You’ve got canvases to paint.
Spin was the top diner in Miami. The decor had a hip vibe. Soft green leather booths surrounded glass tables. Colored lights dangled from copper spiraled chandeliers. Pictures of famous musicians hung on the wall—from Joni Mitchell to Miles Davis, Bob Dylan to Johnny Cash. Shelves of albums stacked the walls in the back. One could buy vintage music while eating the most perfect meals.
People packed the place. I was a regular and had my own seat near the bar. A signed picture of me shaking hands with the owner hung on the wall near images of other celebrity artists.
I’m just stalling. I should be interviewing a new model. Not standing here.
My head said leave. My stomach growled and declared that I should stay.
The cuisine represented a genius fusion of American and Cuban cuisine. The place guaranteed fabulous food and entertainment and every waitress could be a runway model.
Get out of here. This is a distraction.
I should’ve been in my studio painting and not drooling over albums in Spin. But I didn’t have that same passion I used to. Restlessness and lack of motivation stopped me from lifting my paintbrush to the canvas. Nothing and no one inspired me enough to create.
I’d just let go of my third model this month. She was pretty like all the rest, but she wasn’t my muse. She wasn’t the one. The right model. A perfect muse became the very source of an artist’s expression. And I’d found no one to fit that place.
I should be interviewing more women, not—
A beautiful voice interrupted my thoughts. “Hello, has someone taken your order?”
Is that an angel?
My thoughts were overdramatic, but nothing but the word angelic could describe her voice. That voice touched the soul, made me want to get on my knees and pray to something. I turned around to see the person behind the lovely tone.
Damn.
Our gazes met.
Although I towered over her, she made a strong presence in front of me. Energy buzzed around her.
Who’s this? I’ve never seen her working here before.
She captivated me—piercing green eyes and waves of golden copper hair that fell to her waist. I could’ve spent all day just painting those strands alone. It had a spicy hue—a beautiful blend of dark golden blonde and light, bright red. Her skin looked soft. I already knew the colors I would use to get her glow just right on the canvas.
She’s beautiful.
She cleared her throat. “I’m sorry, but would you like to order something? I wasn’t sure, if anybody had come by.”
I trailed my thumb along the outline of the album I was holding, wishing my fingers were touching her skin. “Yes, I would love to order something. My seat is over there.”
She looked at where I was gesturing. “Oh, you’re the regular that my trainer was just telling me about. You’re Mr. Hugo Vale, right? My trainer talks a whole lot about you. She loves your work.” She curved those beautiful lips into a smile.
I scanned the restaurant, wondering who was her trainer. A lot of the waitresses flirted with me, but I ate in Spin more than I ate in my own kitchen. I wasn’t a fan of engaging in so close to home.
“And what else did she say about me?” I asked.
“She said that you’re a famous artist. That you started from the streets, painting on abandoned buildings and built your way up to stardom.”
“Not bad. Is that all?”
She blushed. “There are definitely a few people here who may think you’re...not bad to look at.”
Women loved to talk about my green eyes and run their fingers throug
h my hair. Every day I worked out. At forty I was in the best shape of my life.
“What do you think about that?” she asked.
“It’s interesting. I’ve been told I had the whole tall, dark, and handsome thing going on, but that didn’t start happening until I reached stardom. Unfortunately, no one thought I was tall, dark, and handsome, when I was broke and painting on the street.”
“Life is funny that way.”
“Yes, it is.”
“She also said I could find some of your work at the Miami Contemporary Art Museum. Is that true?”
“You can. Are you an art lover?”
“Yes.”
“What other things do you love?”
A nervous laugh left her lips. “I love books. Black and white movies. The usual classic nerd stuff.”
“You don’t look like a nerd.” I slipped my gaze along her body. She had a slim waist and an hour glass shape. She wasn’t slender like a dancer. There were curves on that beautifully shaped body. She had lush hips and thick thighs that made me want to explore her. Already, I’d begun drawing her naked in my mind. Tracing the lines of her curves, wondering how magical she would appear on my canvas.
Where did she come from?
“Did you just start working here?” I asked.
“Yes.”
“That makes sense. I would’ve remembered.” I gripped the album tighter. “You’re captivating.”
Her face looked shocked as she murmured, “Thank you.”
“If you don’t mind me asking, how old are you?”
“Twenty-five.”
“Interesting. And, do you model?”
“No.”
“You should. In fact, you should model for me.”
“Oh, thank you, but I’m sorry, I’m not interested in modeling.” Smiling, she tried to hand me a menu card for the lunch specials.
I waved it away. “I already know what I want.”
“Okay.” She grabbed a small notepad and pencil.
“However, there’s something more important I want to talk with you about.”
She looked up from the pad. “O-kay.”
“I’ve been searching for a model for my next work. It’s going to be a three-part series. The mayor’s wife commissioned the paintings for Art Basel.”
Art Basel was a popular festival that Miami hosted every year. Art lovers from all over the world traveled to the city and covered the whole area in masterpieces. The who’s who of the industry were there. I had to get the project done. Keep the industry whispering my name.
“Art Basel. I went last year,” she nodded. “Isn’t that in two months?”
“Yes, which is why I probably seem a bit desperate as I ask you to model for me while we stand in a diner.”
“I don’t think you’re desperate. I take it as a compliment, but—”
“You wouldn’t be nude, but you would have a small amount of clothes. Your skin is so beautiful. I want to paint it as much as possible.”
Does she have a husband?
I checked her fingers. There was no ring. In fact, she wore no jewelry at all, not even earrings.
It’s a sin that she’s not dripping in diamonds right now. That’s the first thing I’m going to do, drape her in a long chain of diamonds.
“I’ve never modeled for anyone before,” she said.
“Good. Then, you’ll have even more fun.”
She bit her bottom lip. “I don’t think I’m the model type. I’m more the girl-that-eats-a-bowl-of-ice-cream-in-jogging-pants-on-the-couch type.”
I shouldn’t have, but I had to ask, “Just jogging pants?”
She widened her eyes. “What?”
“You don’t wear anything else, while you’re eating ice cream on the couch? Just jogging pants?”
She laughed. “You’re very naughty. No, I have a big sexy cotton shirt with holes that I wear too.”
“Cute. And do you bring the sexy up a notch with some old, fuzzy slippers?”
“Funny. You must watch me through my living room window.”
“Not yet.”
Laughing, she returned her attention to the notepad. “So, I’m going to say no to modeling. I’m so sorry, but—”
“It’s just laying down in a pose. We can pick a comfortable position for you.” I tried something else. “Listen. It would be one thing, if I just needed any woman to pose for me. But this is different. Within seconds of looking at you, I had the urge to paint and I haven’t had that in a year.”
She quirked her eyebrows. “Are you serious?”
“Yes.”
“Hmmm.” For whatever reason, that got her attention. “So, you were stuck? You had a painter’s form of writer’s block?”
“Exactly.”
She shifted her weight to her other foot.
She’s close to saying yes.
“You can’t over think this,” I said. “Sometimes, you just have to go for it. You have to lose your head.”
“Lose my head?”
“Have you ever heard the saying that, to get through a locked door, sometimes you must lose your head?”
“No,” she grinned. “I’ve never heard that.”
I raised my hands and formed a large, invisible door between us. “So, you’re standing in front of this locked door, and your destiny is on the other side.” I knock on the imaginary structure. “Everything that you want is right there, but how do you get it? The door is locked. You don’t have the key, but the keyhole is big enough to fit your body through it.”
She chuckled. “Because this is a fantasy door?”
“Yes.”
She considered my theory. “If this is a fantasy, then I could just do a spell to make the door explode.”
“No, there’s nothing around to make potions.” I returned to forming the invisible door between us, when she interrupted again.
“Then, I could summon a demon—”
“No. This is my door and my world and there’s no magic.”
“Beside the magic door?” she murmured.
Not used to being interrupted, I might’ve grumbled out a yes.
“Sorry,” she tried to straighten her expression, but she couldn’t hide the fact that she found me amusing. “I won’t interrupt again. Please, go ahead with your metaphor.”
“Okay,” I sighed. “On the other side of this door is your destiny, but the door is locked. So, you decide to stick your foot through the hole, and then your leg, and the other. You can slide your hips through and your shoulders, but for some reason, your head stops you.”
“My brother always jokes that I have a big head. Maybe, that’s why.”
I studied that beautiful face. “No. Tell your brother that I said to never pick at you or I’m coming for him. That’s a perfect sized head.”
“Thank you, but I doubt he’ll stop. That’s the downside to brothers.”
“Then, I’ll be coming for him.”
“He’s a police officer so you better make sure you’re on your game, when you come.”
“Don’t worry about that. I’m always on my game.” I couldn’t help it. I licked my lips. I blamed it on those magnificent eyes. They lured me in and wouldn’t let me go. And then of course, it was her wit that kept me on my toes. Part of me wanted to flirt with her. The other part was ready to beg her all day to model.
Focus!
“What was I saying?” I asked.
She gestured to my imaginary structure. “I think you were going to say that, if I want to get through the door and reach my destiny, I should cut off my head and slip through the keyhole. Hence, the statement, lose my head. Basically, live and let go. Don’t over think. Stay in the present moment. And all of the other sayings that mean that.” She tucked a few stray strands behind her ear. “However, in regards to the metaphor, I assume that I would mail my head to me eventually. Maybe leave a note to the finder with a fee. I don’t think one should go through their life without their head. Sometimes, it’s good to think thin
gs through.”
I couldn’t help but laugh. “You’re funny and smart as hell.”
“I try.”
“You’re an artist,” I said.
“I am.”
“I wasn’t asking,” I grinned. “That was a statement. Only artists get that metaphor without arguing about the ridiculousness of it. Only writers revise the metaphor. What do you write?”
