Worcester Nights - The Boxed Set (9 page)

I stepped in, turning in place. “Sean, it is fantastic!”

He smiled, coming to me. “I’m glad you think so.”

He had left the lights off, and the moonlight gave a glittery sheen to everything in the room. He shrugged off his leather jacket, took mine, and hung them on hooks by the door.

As my eyes adjusted, I realized that there were large paintings on the walls – squares and rectangles interrupting the steady brick pattern. I approached the one hanging over the black couch. “And what is this poster of?”

As I drew close, I realized it wasn’t a poster. It was a black and white photograph – blown up – of his Triumph. It was a side view; the bike’s front wheel was tilted slight toward the camera, as if the motorcycle were giving a come-hither look to the viewer. The emotion in it stunned me.

“Did you do this?”

He came up beside me, and the look in his eyes was almost hesitant. “I did. What do you think?”

I looked up at him in amazement. “That is incredible!”

The smile that brightened his face was like a child’s at Christmas, and I wrapped him in a hug. I gazed again at the photo. “Do you exhibit these?”

He shook his head, glancing again at the image. “My father said doing art was for pussies, for those who couldn’t earn their living properly with their own two hands. One time I brought him a photo I’d taken of a local church. I was so proud of the way the shadows fell across the green.” He looked down. “My Dad grabbed it from me and ripped it into confetti. Said I was wasting my time with this nonsense, and should be focusing that energy on practicing my footwork.”

I laced my fingers into his. “Well, your dad was a fool, because these are great. I want to see them all.”

The next one was a field of rippled white, with just the tops of a pair of Adirondack chairs poking up from the center. I realized this must have been a massive snowstorm to have so thoroughly covered the wooden chairs.

“From a friend’s yard, during a blizzard,” he explained.

The scene could have been just a simple document of the inches that had fallen, but again Sean had managed to work so much more into it. The two chairs seemed close, like lovers, but the snow had held them apart, had all but covered them up. They were forced to wait, frozen, immobile, until spring came and gently released them.

My breath caught in my throat. My voice was a mere whisper.

“That was us.”

He brought his hand up to brush my hair back from my face, his gaze tender. “Oh, Kay –”

He drew me in, and his kiss was gentle, soft, and burrowed deep into my soul. He swept me up in his arms and carried me to his bed. He laid me on the blanket, then stood, gazing down at me. “Wait there for just a moment.”

I watched as he moved to a closet, withdrew a medium-sized box, then walked around the room. At each counter and table he placed a pillar candle and lit it. Soon the entire room sparkled with glittering flames.

I gazed around at the effect. “Sean – it’s beautiful!”

He stopped by the bureau, leaving the empty box by its side. He set his phone into the Bose speaker unit and pressed a button. In a moment rich cello music, laced with longing and desire, swelled from every corner of the room.

I recognized it at once as one of my favorites. “That’s Yo-Yo Ma, playing Bach.”

He seemed caught for a moment, lost in time, then he came back to my side, kneeling. His eyes glistened with emotion. “Kay, sweetest Kay, I never thought I would find you.”

He drew me to him, and while I had thought the kisses of the past few nights could never be topped, something in the way he held me, he pressed his lips to mine, brought tears to my eyes. I wrapped my arms around him, and his tongue met mine, but not to claim me – to save me.

His hands went to the bottom of my shirt and slowly, tenderly peeled it up my body, as if I were the most precious present he had ever received. His eyes glowed as he removed it over the top of my head, letting my hair cascade back down over my shoulders. He dropped the shirt to the side, his eyes never leaving me, and he drew in a long breath.

“You are stunning. Someday I will photograph you.”

I crossed my arms self-consciously over my bra, blushing. “I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

He gently took my hands in his, drawing them back away from my breasts. “I will capture for you how I see you, and then maybe you will understand.” His head lowered to nuzzle along my left breast, and fire blazed within it, peaking my nipples, sending waves of desire throughout my body. His lips suckled at the soft flesh, pushing along the edge of the bra, and I craved him with all my being.

He slid down the bed, slowly undoing the button of my jeans, then sliding the zipper down one notch at a time. I could hear each soft click, could feel the liquid flowing in my sex. By the time he slid my jeans down my legs my skin was alive with sensation. Every movement of the fabric felt like a tantalizing caress.

I was now only in my black lace bra and matching panties. He smiled at that, his eyes moving down me. “You are art incarnate,” he murmured. “You were made for me.”

If before he had been a windstorm, a raging river, tonight he was the steady, inexorable waves of a beautiful tropical seashore.

And he was mine.

I drew up to sitting, putting my hands at his waist. “You are my present, too,” I reminded him. “Let me unwrap you.”

His eyes sparkled with amusement mixed with something stronger, but he remained still as I slowly, languorously drew the fabric of his shirt along his rippled muscles and up over his thick, well defined biceps. By the time I drew the neck over his head, letting his thick hair fall through it, his gaze had become richer, swirled with passion.

My Saint Michael pendant glistened against his skin, and my heart swelled.

He was mine.

My hands moved to his belt, slowly undoing the buckle, sliding the leather through the loops one rung at a time. By the time the last bit drew clear, the outline of his need for me pressed hard against his jeans.

I slid my hand along the bulge for a moment, and his breath caught. He reached a hand out for me, but I leaned back, shaking my head. I brought my hands down to his button, pulling the fabric apart so the fabric around the button stretched, stretched … and then finally the button popped free.

He groaned.

I slid his zipper down inch by inch, letting each click echo in his body. Finally I reached the end. He lifted his hips, and I slid the jeans off of him with a twisting motion, giving his skin the time to crave even more touch.

His black underwear was tented, and I smiled up at him.

“Maybe you should take a photo of both of us,” I murmured.

His gaze was full heat, mixed almost with a sense of wonder. “Yes,” he murmured. “Yes.”

I eased off the bed and stood between him and the window, so my body would form a silhouette, my shadow falling across him. I slid my right strap off my shoulder, then my left. I put my left arm across my breasts, holding the bra in place, then with my right I undid the back.

His breath was coming in long, slow draws, and his eyes soaked me in like a salmon breathing in the scent of its long lost home.

I lowered my arm, arching my back slightly, and he gave a long groan of desire.

I turned in place, showing my back to him, then hitched a finger on each side of my panties. As I slid them down, I bent over, so that by the time they reached the floor my hair was pooling at the floor by my feet.

I looked around the side of my calf to the bed. His face shone with torment and desire.

His voice was rough. “God, Kay, I need you. I need you.”

I turned to slip my hand into his jeans pocket, finding the foil square I knew would be there. I put a corner in my teeth, then went to the bed. Again he raised his hips as I drew his underwear down the length of his lean, muscular legs. I straddled his thighs, ripping the packet open and drawing the condom down the rock-hard length of his shaft.

His hands went to my legs, sliding their way up to cup my ass. He groaned again, his body arching.

I lowered myself, my moist opening finding him by instinct, the pressure of him stretching me, filling me, and I slid until I was fully seated against him. My nipples brushed against his chest, and electricity sizzled through me, racing down into every corner of my being. I slid up again, savoring every moment, then down, more quickly this time.

His groan was louder.

His hands slid to take a firm hold of my hips, I drew my calves tight against his, and then our rhythm grew, built. It echoed between us like ripples building off each other.

Our moans echoed off the brick walls, drowned out the music, soared over the buildings and streets of Worcester County.

And then at last we were exploding, cascading, showering the moonlit world with silver-laced notes of unadulterated release.

Chapter 9

I
blinked my eyes open, feeling both exhausted and satiated beyond all reckoning. My breath caught, and I stared at the sight before me.

Sean was asleep. The thick, white comforter was drawn to his waist, and he looked like a Greek God come to life. His six-pack and sculpted form could have been marble, the sensual curve of his bicep a masterpiece created by Michelangelo.

And he was mine.

Sean opened his eyes, and for a long moment we were lost, were connected in a way I had never thought possible. And then time became a distant memory.

It was nearly noon by the time I was sitting at the oak table finishing off a delicious stack of pancakes. He had made us a batch from scratch, complete with strawberries and whipped cream.

I pushed the plate back with a grin. “I could get used to this.”

He reached over to sweep the hair from my face, tucking it behind my ear. “I would like that.”

His phone buzzed, and he looked down at it. “It’s Jimmy – I need to take this.”

I waved him away. “Of course. I’ll just check up on things.” I pulled my own phone over.

He went to the far side of the room, hitting the answer button and talking quietly into it. I checked my email – nothing of note – then went to the Worcester Telegram webpage to see if anything was up in town.

It must have been slow news for a Saturday. The lead story was some blonde curly-headed moppet, age fifteen, who had managed to break a record for sculling. Apparently she was already quite tall for her age, and the reporter expected even greater achievements from her as she grew into her full strength.

Sean came back to me. “They need me for something over at the warehouse for a few minutes. If you want, we can swing by there, then go for a ride before you have to start work tonight.”

I smiled. “I’d like that a lot. As long as we leave time after the ride for me to change and have a quick shower, that sounds perfect.”

I slipped back into my clothes from yesterday and stood by the door while Sean gathered up his wallet and keys. The photo here was the only color photo in the entire room, and like the others, it held an intense power in it. This one was a close-up of a burning home. It seemed to be a second story window, with glowing crimson flames licking out of the black opening. Thick, ivory smoke billowed up from the eaves of the roof, visible just above. The wooden shingles of the house were buckled and twisting, as if the heat were pushing them out from within. The whole piece gave a sense of power – of intensity – and of imminent collapse.

The feeling hung with me as I climbed onto the back of his bike, as we navigated the hellish doom which was Kelley Square and then headed further into the depths of Worcester. The brick warehouse was down a narrow, back alley, with high buildings on all sides. I could barely make out the blue sky above.

He glanced at the black metal door, then me. He took off his helmet, hanging it on the handlebar. “You stay right here,” he stated. “I’ll be back in a few minutes, and then we can have that ride.” He smiled. “We should have time to make it down to Providence, to ride along the bay for a while. How does that sound?”

I smiled. “It sounds lovely.”

He patted me on the arm, and then he turned and went to the door. He knocked, the door was pulled open, and then it swung shut again.

The image of Sean’s photo hung before me. The flames were almost alive in their bright, forge-hot glow. I could hear the groaning of the timbers, the whooshing of the air driven by the heat. Time ticked by and I wrapped my arms around my chest. Where was Sean? I wanted to get away, get out onto the open road, where the breeze blew free all worries and concerns. I knew the fresh salt air would shake loose these phantom thoughts.

A scurry of a movement in the side alley made me jump, and I climbed off the bike before I knew I was doing it. I pulled off the helmet and tucked it under one arm. Maybe I would just ask to wait inside with him. Surely they couldn’t be much longer.

I went to the door, and a crack of light shone along its edge. I realized that they hadn’t closed it fully after he went in. Maybe I could ease in without anybody noticing, and just stay by the door. I was sure they wouldn’t mind.