January (Calendar Girl #1) Anthology Anthology (23 page)

“What did you say to me in French?” I asked before biting down on his lip and sucking it into mine. 

“I said your sex is so hot and that I could love you all night. I think I will,
ma jolie
.” And that was all she wrote. He proceeded to pound into me. Words were no longer needed. The clicker was gone, somewhere near us, but I’d dropped it when my second orgasm spiked. Then my Frenchie pressed a hand in between our bodies and swirled a finger around the fiery knot between my thighs that throbbed for his attention. I clung to him as he played with me, fingers digging into his back, scratching down with the force of his thrusts. I wrapped my legs tightly around him and held on. He lifted up onto his forearms, pulled his dick almost completely out of me and rammed home. My teeth rattled and my toes curled as the orgasm tore through my body like a tornado did a house.

Violent.

Chaotic.

Destructive.

I cried out, my screams echoing and merging with his own as he found his release.

Bliss.

He had turned us back onto our sides mid-orgasm, and the last thing I remembered was a final click and a flash of light. Then I passed out.

***

I woke alone, my naked body covered by a couple of robes. Classical music was playing through the speakers in the warehouse loft. Still sluggish, I propped myself up and looked around. Alec was on the other side of the room. He was wearing his jeans and nothing else. Yum. The muscles of his back flexed and rippled along with his paint strokes. I don’t know how long I was out, but it must have been a long time because he’d finished most of a picture of Aiden. One of the ones where he’d had his hand wrapped around his cock, his body bowed forward, teeth clenched and head thrust back. I slipped on one of the robes and tested out my ankle. Not too bad. I slowly walked over to Alec but didn’t make my presence known. He didn’t hear me either, the music loud enough to cover my movements. He was lost in his own world anyway.

Quietly, I sat in a chair a good twenty feet away and just watched him paint. He was fastidious in his art. Perfect in his strokes. It was magical to watch. He painted the image quickly with precise movements. It seemed as if each stroke was paired with the sound of the piano keys touching down in the music. Musical art. Absolutely beautiful. The view, the man, the painting all coalesced into an ethereal experience, one I’d surely never forget nor see again in this lifetime. 

After a long while, I couldn’t wait any longer to touch him. On quiet feet, I took the robe off and left it hanging over the back of the chair. On quiet feet, I padded to where he stood, in a trance staring at his art. The image seemed complete to me, but I did not have an artist’s eye. I didn’t have an eye for anything but sexy men, concert tees, and motorcycles.

When I reached him I lightly wound my arms around his form placing my hands over his pecs and my lips to the space between his shoulder blades. He smelled divine. Like the woods, sex, sweat, and paint. Alec’s chest moved with the force of his inhale at my touch. He was in a contemplative headspace, and I was breaking that, but he didn’t seem to care.

I think Alec liked my hands on him. No, I
know
he did. “You’re beauty and light.” I kissed along his shoulder blades then slid my hands down along each ridge and valley of his abdomen. Christ, the man was cut. For an artist, he had the body of someone who spent countless hours in the gym staying fit, but I hadn’t seen him work anything but me this week.

“
Non
. I am hidden in the dark, only lit when my art is on display. It is you who brings the light to surface. You are seeing your beauty reflected in me, the way my body calls to yours and yours to mine.”

His words seduced me as simply as his art did, the way his body did. I was lost in both and in him. Slowly, I opened his jeans and grasped his hardening cock. In this position he was massive, over-filling my hands. I bit into the flesh on his back, unable to hold back the desire to have him sink deeply into me the way I’ve come to expect in our love making.

He dropped his palette and brushes, and pushed his pants down. They fell to his ankles, trapping him there. I swirled a thumb around the head of his cock and spread the wetness pooled there all over his length. Then I stroked. Up, down, hard fast, slow, and with purpose, just the way he liked. He clasped the palm of my hand and brought it up to his mouth where he licked and sucked each finger, pulling each one into his mouth, wetting it. Then his tongue tickled my palm, coating it. He guided my hand down to his length. He wrapped my hand around his shaft and showed me how tightly to hold him and then he moved me up, pausing at the tip and then pushing down hard, much harder than I would alone. I got the hang of his rhythm and then he let go.

The French started the moment his hands separated and rested along the wall, caging the painting in front of him. His native language never sounded so sweet until he was lost in the act. I enjoyed it more than I’d ever admit. In that moment, Alec gave me control, allowed me to love him with my hands. I held tight went up slow, came down fast, and repeated over and over. He moaned then kept himself aloft against the wall with one arm and reached back with his right. My breast smashed harder against his back when his fingers found me, slipping between my legs, wet and wanting, coating my thighs with my desire for him.

Two fingers twirled around my hot button then sank deep. I gasped and locked my left arm up his chest and hooked him at the shoulder. My right kept working him up and down, tight and soft, giving him the exact amount of pressure he needed. Together we worked one another over both losing ourselves in the joy of being one in this moment.

He spoke in French, I spoke in English. Both whispering our version of sweet nothings against the other, until I knew if he touched that aching bundle of nerves I’d go off. I clenched around his fingers, a signal of my impending orgasm. In response, his cock leaked more fluid out the tiny slit at the top. I tickled that spot and the bumpy patch under it then squeezed tight, jerked against his body and came. My pussy had a lock on his fingers, my hand a lock on his dick. We bucked and spasmed against one another, his essence coating my hand, and the concrete floor. My teeth sunk into his back and he howled as the last vestiges of our lovemaking worked their way out.

When we both calmed down, I softly kissed and licked the spot on his back where I’d marked him. Pulling back, I found two perfect crescents just above the skin where his tattoo was most prevalent. He handed me a towel on a table near his supplies. I wiped my hands but my concentration was locked on the marks I’d left on his skin.

“I’m sorry,” I whispered against the bruise.

“
Tu ne devrais pas être désolé,
” he spoke in French shaking his head. “Don’t be sorry,” he repeated for me. “Never apologize for being swept away by passion. I’ll wear your marks like badges of honor.” He leaned forward pulled up his jeans but didn’t button them before turning around and embracing me within the warmth of his arms. I held onto him still shaking from what we’d done. Tears fell down my cheeks as the emotions overcame me.

Alec soothed me the way he always did. Long strokes up and down my bare back, whispered French mixed with English telling me I was beautiful. I was love. I was light. And for now, I was his.

Later, he had me posing for stills. It was three in the morning, and I didn’t care one bit. I was freshly fucked, naked, and sated.

“Hold your hand out as if you are covering his manhood,” he instructed. I did what he said. “Cover your breast with your hand and tip your head back and close your eyes, open your mouth.” I followed his instructions to the letter.

The camera clicked, and I smiled. It clicked again. I opened my eyes and looked at my artist. My Frenchman. He was gorgeous behind the camera in his jeans, still open, showing me a peek at the goods I’d had twice that night already. I closed my eyes again, crossed my hand over my chest, and hid my center.

**click**

“Are you done?”

“I am now,” he said with a sexy smirk. Then he came to me and lifted me into his favorite princess hold.

“You know, my ankle is doing better. I can walk.”

“But I prefer to carry you.” He tilted his head and carried me through the loft, into the elevator and up to his home where he tucked me into bed and curved an arm around my body as he settled himself in.

I could feel his breath against the skin of my neck. “Tonight,
ma jolie
, it was far more than anything I’d ever done before. Being with you is…it is like its own special place in the world. I shall never have this again. I want you to know I appreciate what you are giving me.”

Even though I was tired, so ready to sleep, I rolled back over and held him close. He put his head on my chest and snuggled into my breasts. That’s what he needed, where he wanted to be. I’d give him that, because he was giving me something too, the realization that I was more than just Mia the sister, the daughter, the friend. I am a woman. A woman with feelings, desires, aspirations, and I was not just the sum total of what my mother left me with all those years ago.

Being an escort was what I needed to do for now to save my dad once more. A means to an end. At least I’d enjoy myself in the process.

Cuddling close, I ran my fingers through Alec’s long hair. He groaned and snuffed against my chest and slowly became dead weight. For the first time since meeting Alec, he fell asleep in my arms.

***

Today Alec made me breakfast…in bed. Apparently he was pretty pleased with last evening’s photo shoot. I couldn’t wait to see the images. I encouraged him to view them in private in the event that I attempted to jump him. He said we would later, but again…we had much work to do. A quick morning orgasm with Alec’s mouth between my legs, and I was rip roaring, and ready to go. Literally. He’d used it as a means to get me up and out of bed. Sneaky bastard. I’d made it too easy on him. All he had to do was please me, and I’d hop to it.

When we arrived at the loft, he hustled me into my chair. Only we were standing in front of the painting he’d done last night of Aiden. This time he had me remove all my clothes and stand side by side next to the painting. Then he had me turn to the side and place my left hand over the paintings erection covering some of it. My other arm was tucked into my hair. He leaned me on my elbow along the wall. So if I was lying down, it would look as if I was jerking Aiden off. Alec took a ton of still shots like this. That was it for the day.

The following day he had me once again in my chair and painted my lips. He led me over to the painting he’d finished last night only this one was simpler. It just had a silkscreen over the painting of my arm reaching out. Once he positioned me, he had me kiss the silkscreen image of my hand over Aiden’s cock. It was interesting to say the least, though I didn’t quite understand it.

“You will Mia, I promise,” he said but didn’t explain further. Another day passed, and this time when I arrived at the loft a giant painting of Alec and me deep into the throes of passion had been painted and hung alongside the image of Aiden. In between the one of Aiden, and the one of us held a silk screen of Aiden and me. Only this was not a picture I’d planned to see, nor did I think he’d taken it.

The picture was taken when Alec had stopped the photoshoot yesterday. This one was when we’d faced away from one another. Somehow though, our nakedness had been captured where a limb covered the important private parts. I had my knees up to my body, Aiden had turned and was reaching out to me. If the picture wasn’t captured so honestly, I would hate it.

I pointed to the image in the center. “Why is that there?” I asked.

“You know why.”

“Are you trying to be obtuse?”

He shook his head. “Not at all. Look at the three as a whole, not as one, and you will see it.”

I stared at the first image. Aiden caught in the act of pleasing himself, finding gratification in his own hand. My hand coming over trying to hide his private moment from the world but not being able to. Then the image of him trying to touch me when I was uncomfortable and unsure of what we were doing. Then the painting of Alec and me intertwined. My leg was over his, he was inside me, but you couldn’t see the actual penetration. My arm around him prevented my breasts from being exposed. The look on our faces was precious. We were both at the height of our love making tumbling over the abyss together.

When you viewed the three together, it told a story. A man pleasing himself. The man who was supposed to love and protect my character but didn’t. His love was not being returned as shown in the second image. Then finding love in the arms of another.

“You see it now?” Alec whispered into my ear as his arm came around me from behind and pulled me into him.

I nodded. “Yeah, it’s broken.”

“Broken love?”

Again, I couldn’t find the words so I just nodded and leaned back into him.

“Then that is what it shall be named. They will be hung together and labeled Broken Love.”

Of course it would. Broken love. That’s all I’ve ever had. It’s all I know. How very fitting.

Chapter 8

My time with Alec was going to end soon. Eight days to be exact. We had two more pieces to finish and I’d yet to leave this warehouse. I’d seen absolutely nothing of Seattle and even though the sun was shining now, I doubted Alec would want to leave. The last few days he’d been deep into adding finishing touches on each painting. He said he’d add something to them every day, almost to the point of no return when they’d need to be put up on the walls at the exhibit a week from today. The day after, I’d be leaving Seattle. Finally going home between clients.

Home.

Unfortunately, I wasn’t referring to LA. I was headed to Vegas. I needed to see Dad and I was being forced to make my second payment in person. Give ole’ Blaine a face-to-face meeting. Not my idea. Part of the deal. Son-of-a-bitch. I should have known all those years ago that getting involved with Blaine was bad news. Never failed. I always got myself into situations with men. At least now, I was being paid to and after the better part of a month it ended. Move on. No drama. Just a job. That’s the way it’s supposed to be.