Authors: Karen-Anne Stewart
“You must be Emma,” he smiles, taking her hand.
“Yes, sir. It’s nice to meet you.”
My grandfather gives me an appreciative nod at her greeting, manners being one of his hang-ups. “You can call me Harrison. Come have a seat on the balcony and we can talk while Breck brings the food.”
Emma glances over her shoulder, and I nudge her forward.
I watch as Granddad pours her a glass of wine, his hand shaking a little. I can’t hear what they are saying but it must be amusing. When Emma’s head leans back in laughter, the wind blowing her hair as her lips curve beautifully, I almost drop the plates.
“It’s about time you brought this one to meet me? She’s beautiful, smart, and funny, how the hell did you fool her into going out with you?”
Emma laughs again, and I fill my glass with wine, trying to calm my uneasiness, “She just doesn’t know the real me, yet.”
The way her eyes furrow when she looks at me doesn’t go unnoticed, and I busy myself dishing out the food. Dinner is spent with Emma asking about Dur Acier’s beginnings and how he met my grandmother. His eyes light up as he tells the story of crashing into her as she was leaving a museum in Germany, where he grew up with his mother while my great grandfather was in the army. I listen as he tells the story I’ve only heard a couple of times about my grandmother studying abroad and their whirlwind romance.
Emma opens her mouth, then closes it, glancing my way, uncertainty brimming her eyes. She doesn’t ask about my mother, my father, or anything about my childhood. She’s respecting my boundaries even though I blew hers to hell the past couple of days. I clean up, telling Emma to keep Granddad company until I’m done. It’s barely after 9:30 p.m. when we leave. The visit wore him out.
“I’ll take you home,” I offer when I open the door for Emma.
Her fingers have found her mother’s charm again as I slide behind the wheel. She’s staring out the open window as I crank the ignition, wondering what she’s thinking about.
“The smell of the air is different here.”
Caught off guard, I chuckle, “What’s different about it? Dirtier?”
“No, just different.” Her voice is off. Sad? Lonely?
“What does the air smell like in Pickens?” I ask, glancing at her from the corner of my eye.
“Like nature. You can smell the seasons there, the crispness of Summer, the musk of Fall, and the snow in the winter. I can always smell the snow before it falls.”
“You sound like you miss it, Emma?” My chest constricts. I hate it.
“Sometimes,” she whispers. “Can we just drive for awhile?”
“Where do you want to go?”
Her eyes search me, “I don’t know yet.”
I take her across the Charles River and drive to the park. Most of the time is spent in silence with her leaning her head against the window, letting the breeze blow in her face as she closes her eyes. Her fingers rarely leave the star hanging around her neck, and a part of me dies. I’ve never met anyone like her, so trusting, so vulnerable, but so damn strong. Her strength is quiet, calming, and it fucking slays me.
It’s midnight when I take her home. She’s still silent as we walk the flight of stairs to her apartment. Her hand pauses on the door before she turns towards me, pressing her back against the frame. Her eyes can’t quite meet mine, “Come inside.”
“It’s late, Emma,” I reply, not knowing how she wants me to answer.
“Technically, it’s my birthday,” she gives a shy smile, her lip doing that lopsided tilt when she’s pondering something, and I want to suck it inside my mouth. “You have to do what I say on my birthday.”
“Is that so? I don’t think I’m aware of those rules.”
“They’re there. Always have been, so you’re stuck and at
my
mercy right now.” Her eyes finally meet mine and they are so damn bright, I can see straight to her soul.
My hands find the door on either side of her head as I lean towards her, my lips brushing against hers, “What exactly are you going to do with me, Emma?”
“I’m going to show you my paintings.”
I pull back, studying her. She’s been hedging for months, making excuses of why she hasn’t shown me her art, “Then lead the way, Ms. Jones.”
The latch on the lock clicks, sounding so loud in the quiet night, as Emma pushes open the door, flooding the room in florescent light. “Give me a minute, okay?”
I nod, watching her disappear into the spare room. Less than a minute later, she stands at the door, leaning against the frame, as she pushes the door open wider. I take that as my cue to enter.
Ten paintings are on easels spread throughout the room as others hang on the walls. The colors are what strikes me first, so vibrant and full of life, you can
feel
the emotion in them. A painting in the middle of the room catches my attention next and I’m rendered speechless, in absolute awe. The myriad of colors blended magnificently seem to pull me towards it. “That’s the abandoned building we drove by a few days after we met,” I state, barely audible, admiring the astounding depiction of the dilapidated brick building that is a shocking resemblance, but, instead of looking like something that needs to be destroyed with a wrecking ball like I had heartlessly quipped that night, it’s captivating, strong, formidable, but welcoming. The hues bringing the building to life are mesmerizing, and I can’t quite think of a name for the colors with how they are blended to make their own unique shades.
Slowly, I walk around the room, carefully studying each painting. Each one is of something damaged, broken, life breathed into it again. “These are…” I shake my head, trying to find the words that fail me at the moment, “good, Em, really, really amazing.”
“Thank you,” she replies shyly, causing my gaze to turn towards her and admire a different masterpiece, one that I want to get my hands on like a sculptor molding his priceless sculpture.
“Turning back to the painting of the building, I feel saddened at how it’s now gone, destroyed like I said it should’ve been. “I don’t know how you turned what we saw that night into something as amazing as this.”
The soft peach on her skin fills my senses as she steps in front of her art. “This is what I saw,” she states simply, “that building was more than just bricks and mortar, it held a quiet strength, a beauty that I wish others would have seen so they could’ve fixed the broken pieces instead of letting it fall.”
Her words slam into me with a staggering intensity and I struggle to take a deep breath. “Do you always see beauty in shitty, hopeless destruction?”
“Yes.” Her eyes meet mine and there’s a truth behind her words that completely fucks with my head, my ability to focus.
There’s a painting next to the window that’s covered with a sheet; I turn to it and glance over my shoulder at Emma. Her cheeks flame and her eyes darken. “Can I see this one?”
I watch as she swallows long and hard, biting her lip as she joins me. “This one is for you,” she whispers with a soft hesitance in her voice that makes me want to kiss her.
“For me?” I ask, grabbing the sheet, “but it’s your birthday.”
“Well, actually, it’s for both of us.” Emma takes a deep breath and, for a second, she looks like she’s going to bolt straight from the room, but she stands her ground. Desire and fear are burning so damn bright in her eyes.
With a flick of my wrist, the sheet billows to the floor. The last of her innocence falls with it.
Emma
Speak. Say something. At least breathe…dammit!
I want to move. I have to see his face but I’m frozen. I’m a spineless coward. It seems like forever before he finally clears his throat.
That can’t be a good
.
“That’s you and me…making love.”
I’m not sure if it was a question or a statement. I stare at the painting that has haunted me, pulled me from my sleep to recreate what I dream about every night, and the image that I can’t get out of my head. On the canvas, I’m lying on his bed, my hair spread out like an angel’s wing on his blue sheets, even though that depiction is grossly false. My breathing is shallow as I find the courage to step next to him so I can watch his eyes as he takes in the imagery of him holding one of my wrists against the sheets as his other hand is caressing my face. My lips are parted, like they are now, and my eyes are closed.
His raw emotion grips me as he stares at the painting, matching the intensity of my emotions as I spent countless nights painting and fantasizing about enkindling the still depiction into existence. The air is tangible from the charge electrifying the unspoken current between us when he turns around. The wanton lust in his eyes ignites the charge, singeing me with the sensuous awakening rebelling through every i
nch of my being. “What are you trying to tell me right now, Emma?”
The absurdity of his question catches me off guard and I stare at him incredulously, “Do I have to spell it out for you?”
His eyes roam over my body greedily, hungrily. Leaning forward, he takes a long chestnut strand, twirling it around his finger, “Yes, spell it out. I need to hear every single word of you telling me exactly what this means.”
Pushing all thoughts out of my head, I lick my lips, trying to moisten what has suddenly gone dry and almost laughing out loud at how another part of me is just the opposite right now. Wrapping my hands around the bottom of my shirt, I pull it over my head, dropping it to the floor, as I unhook my bra, letting the black lace slide off my finger before undoing my jeans and slowly sliding them off before doing the same with my panties until they are a heap at my feet. “This is me wanting you,” I breathe, “I don’t know how I can make it any clearer.”
“Emma, we don’t have to,” his words are forced and my confidence slips.
His words, from the night we met, haunt me,
I will be inside of you, Emma, doing all sorts of forbidden things that you have never even heard of, and you will be the one begging me to….you just don’t know it yet.
Breck’s reduced me to my knees. I want to curse my weakness but I’m not strong enough, not when it comes to him. Damn him, if he wants me on my knees, that’s where he’ll have me. Taking a shaky step backwards, I feel as if the wind has been knocked out of me, “You don’t want me?”
Breck shakes his head, scowling, “How can you even think that?” His lips curve beguilingly as he takes my hand, lowering it to the top of his protruding arousal tenting his jeans, “This should show you how much I want you.”
My cheeks flame when I feel his length throbbing against my hand, “I know that you’ve tried to be a gentleman. Don’t. You’ve turned me down twice already – don’t turn me down again - Please.”
My feet leave the floor as Breck scoops me into his arms. His jaw is tight, his eyes on fire, as he walks with a determined purpose to my room. He drops me on the bed, unbuckling his belt, ripping off his jeans, before he crawls over me, his muscles bulging as he holds himself above me on the bed. Wrapping his hand around the back of my neck, he fists my hair in his hand as he pulls my mouth to his, growling, “Fuck chivalry.”
His kiss is deep, conquering, as he brands me with his lips. His tongue lavishes mine, claiming me and setting me free at once. The power in his kiss demands my submission so I surrender, opening fully to him, returning his passion with a flame of my own. He tugs my hair, dragging my head back, and I gasp as he runs his tongue across the line of my jaw, going lower until his mouth finds my breasts. I arch, pressing my nipple further in his mouth as he devours me. His touch is rough but so damn good as he touches me everywhere, not missing one curve or recess. He tortures me with his mouth and hands until my head spins and the tingling heat between my thighs ignites.
Suddenly, he stops, and I literally ache for him. He’s on his knees, towering over my flushed, panting body as everything inside of me screams for him. In an instant, I’m pulled from the bed, his hands gripping my arms as he pins me against him so we are both on our knees. “Touch me,” he softly orders, his voice so thick and husky.
If I had enough sense left, I would be ashamed at how quickly I submit to his demand, but he’s stripped me of any reason and I’m too far gone to care as I wrap my hand around his swollen length, my eyes widening at how hard he is.
“That’s what you’ve been doing to me since the first time I saw you and every damn time you arch your brow,” he grins, wrapping his hand around mine, moving it up and down, teaching me what to do before letting go and lowering me to the bed. “I want inside of you now, Emma.”