Worcester Nights - The Boxed Set (13 page)

I could see what he was saying. It was the arrangement which brought a reaction, not simply the forms themselves.

He brought me along to another piece, this one
The Breakfast Room, Winter Morning, 1911
by Childe Hassam. He pointed at the blurry face. “You can’t even see the woman clearly here,” he commented. “And yet, what sense do you get?”

I gazed at the gossamer turquoise dress she wore, the drifting ivory curtains in the background. “Serenity,” I murmured. “She is content and peaceful.”

The corner of his mouth tweaked up. “And would you say she is beautiful?”

I thought about it for a long moment, then nodded, a sense of wonder filling me. “Even though I cannot see her clearly, there is definitely a feeling of beauty, created by the textures and surroundings. It is about the atmosphere the painter created, more than a specific detail.”

We walked along to another gallery, and he drew to a stop before
The Dance
by Jean-Baptiste Pater. The scene was an outdoor clearing by a river, where a group of elegantly dressed men and women were enjoying a sunny afternoon. Several couples held each other.

Sean’s voice was low. “Look at these two, in the lower left. See how he has his arms around her waist, how she rests her own on him. How comfortable they are with each other.” He put his own arm around my waist, and butterflies fluttered up against my ribs.

His breath whispered on my ear. “Can you sense what she’s feeling?”

I could. I could see it in the small figure’s eyes, feel it viscerally from the curve of her body and the glow on her cheeks.

His fingers cinched in against my skin. His voice was a spinning rod, reeling me in, drawing me deep within him. “Do you see her beauty?”

I did. She glowed with it, shone with it. And it was not about a perfect silicone-enhanced body or botox-enriched lips. The beauty came from the emotion expertly brought forth by Pater’s brush.

Sean pressed a heated kiss against my neck, and his voice was hoarse. “Let me capture you in my camera. Let me show you what I see.”

I nodded, unable to speak.

He took me for lunch to Surya for Indian food. A distant part of my mind knew the food was delicious, and the décor was lovely, but the pakoras and palak paneer could barely be sensed through the blanket of desire he had wrapped around me. Every time he brushed my hand with his, every time he leant over to refill my glass of Shiraz, my craving for him crept to a higher level. By the time I climbed behind him on the Triumph, my embrace around him was more than what safety might have required. My left arm went high, around his chest, but the right delved down, to his thigh, and pressed.

He groaned, revved the throttle, and then we were racing toward home.

We laughed as we ran up the stairs, tumbling into his studio, and he whirled me up in his arms, spinning me around before drawing me into a long kiss. His eyes shone as he held me out for a moment.

“God, Kay, you are simply amazing.”

He gently released me, then nudged his head. “All right, you, onto the bed.”

Heat flushed even harder down my body, pooling in my sex, and I turned to do as he asked. I reached down to pull off my boot, but he called out, “No, no, not yet.”

I looked up, a question in my eyes.

He was bringing a tripod over, and he set it up at the foot of the bed, adjusting it so it was about head level as I sat on the edge. He then brought one of the end tables over next to the tripod. He set his laptop up on it and connected it to the camera with a cable. Then he went over to the speaker on the bureau and put his phone into its cradle. A few presses of buttons, and soft, four-four rhythm classical music began to sing out.

I raised an eyebrow. “Handel’s
lo t’Abbraccio
?”

A sparkle lit his eyes.

I chuckled. “Isn’t this part where the lovers have their last moment together, before the hero is slated to be executed?”

His grin widened. “I have a different kind of
culmination
in mind for us.” He moved back to the laptop, put his finger over a key, and waited for a moment. Then he pressed.

The camera began snapping, rhythmically, in time with the music.

I blinked in surprise. “You have the camera set up to coordinate with the song?”

He came around to the side of the bed, standing alongside me. “That way we know, every fourth beat, that a photo will be taken. We will sense it coming, and we’ll be ready for it.”

He knelt by my side, sliding a hand along my thigh. “Look into the camera.”

I blushed, but did as he asked.

His hand languorously traced up my inner thigh, slowly, maddeningly, and then paused there, creating small circles. Tension build up within me, wanting him …

His fingers flicked, barely brushing my sex.

I gasped in raw desire.

Click

His fingers slid up, toward my jeans button, and lingered there for a moment, tugging slightly at the button-hole. The ache within me blossomed, grew.

The metal circle popped free; I groaned with the release.

Click

He slid down the zipper, and I leant back for a moment so he could pull my jeans and panties down together. He took off my boots and socks all at once, leaving my entire bottom half naked. He put a hand behind my back and drew me back up to sitting, then knelt between my legs. He slid each hand under one of my butt cheeks and spread them slightly for a better grip. Then he eased his face down between my legs, his breath coming hot against my sex.

A wordless moan rolled out of me.

Click

His nose nuzzled, ever so gently, against the soft curls there, exploring, tantalizing.

Click

I wrapped my hands into his hair, groans easing out of me, and I rolled my head up to look at the ceiling.

He squeezed my cheeks and murmured in a gentle scold, “Look at the camera. I want to see. The camera will be my eyes.”

I dutifully brought my gaze back down to the small black circle watching me. This was Sean’s eye. This was his window into a world he would otherwise be unable to glimpse. His tongue pressed against my clit, warm, tender, and I groaned in delicious agony. He let it flick left, then right.

Click

My fingers twined more tightly into his hair, holding his head in place, my every ounce of attention focused on the movement of that tongue.

Wet, moist, left, right, and I needed him to speed up. I needed him …

Click

His fingers squeezed me more firmly, his tongue built up his rhythm, and I must have been soaking the bed, so rich was the heat that flowed through me. The music wrapped around me, transporting me, and the late afternoon sun glistened golden through the large windows, sending rectangles of shadow and light across us. His tongue was wet, so wet, and the speed was increasing, the ripples like a speedboat skipping across the water, thumping, thumping, launching –

I cried out, wordless, and then my body was taut, arching, and I lost my struggle to stay focused on the camera. I bent back, reaching out, lost completely in the flood of pleasure and sensation which filled every part of me. It seemed to go on for long minutes, the waves of delicious richness, until at last I was collapsed back against the bed, completely spent.

He massaged my rear for a moment, waiting for me to come down fully, and then he drew to his feet, moving around to the side of the bed. He gently rotated me around, then rolled me, so I was on my stomach with my head facing the camera. He stripped off my top and bra. Then he climbed on the bed behind me. He put his hands on my hips and drew me up so I was on my hands and knees.

There was the sound of foil ripping behind me, then he leant forward, his arms on either side of mine. His voice was a murmur in my ear.

“Ribbed … for her pleasure.”

A thrust, and he filled me completely, wholly, fully. I gasped at the suddenness of it, the rich pleasure that tumbled me.

Click

His lips were at my throat, my shoulder, my cheek, as his hips rocked, his pelvis slamming into my rear, the shudder of contact rippling through my body. I braced my body, giving him that solid anvil to hammer against, and one of his hands reached down to slide wetly against my clit. I groaned, the heat of passion bubbling up fresher, hotter, richer within me.

Click

His breath was coming hard now, his groans in time with his thrusts, and my own passions were rising right along with his. The black eye was before us, watching, gazing, and then he thrummed with his fingers and I was spiraling past the stratosphere, as his cries shook every vestige of me away.

Click

I was drifting, soaring, breathing, and he rested his body against mine, our sweat mingling. I could feel his heart pounding against me. At last he wrapped one arm around my chest, holding me close, and he murmured in my ear, “Look up, my love.”

Warmth washed through me at the words, a sigh eased out, and I looked up.

Click

Chapter 4

I
leant against the back wall behind the bar, holding my phone in my hands, paging again through the photos. Most of them were only safely on the laptop, of course. The ones showing me deep in the throes of passion, or sailing on the edge of ecstasy. I had been stunned with the desire, the emotion, which had glowed off the screen in those images.

But here on the smaller screen were the tamer images which still had the power to take my breath away. My eyes brimming with life. My breath deep and strong.

And then there was the one.

His head was alongside mine, his eyes gazing at me. I was staring full at the camera, my lips parted in joy, my face radiating contentment. In his eyes shone satisfaction – and something deeper.

I looked up at the real Sean sitting before me at the bar, and his eyes held twinkling amusement. “You going to stare at that thing all evening long?”

I blushed, tucking it back into my pocket. “Maybe.”

He toasted me with his whiskey. “And here you had resisted the idea.”

I gave him a mischievous smile. “Maybe next time we could try –”

Jimmy strode out from the hallway, and I quickly cut off my comment. He scanned the room and blew out his breath. “So, Jessica’s not here yet?”

I shook my head, holding in a smile. Sean had only given me a brief summary as we rode over here, but apparently we had to stall for a few more days to let the Boston, Providence, and Hartford groups catch up to Sean’s quick progress. Once the others were fully in place, we could let Jimmy bring Jessica over to the warehouse and prepare her for her starring role. That would be the final lynchpin to seal the pornographers’ fate.

“Maybe she’s just running late,” I offered. “Want a drink?”

He looked as if he might say yes, but then he shook his head. “Want to be sharp for today,” he murmured. “She’s a special one.”

My smile brightened. Special was certainly right.

He sighed, then turned. “Well, you know where I am if she shows up.” He stalked back into the hallway.

Joey lethargically waved a hand. “Another drink, Kate, please.”

I poured his Bushmills and brought it around to him. As I set it before him, I noticed his nose was running again. “Jeez, Joey, haven’t you shaken that cold yet?” I went back to the bar and brought him out a box of tissues. “Here you go.”

He was transfixed by the basketball game, the Celtics against the Orlando Magic. “Thanks, Kate.”

I took up his empty and brought it back around to the bar.

Sean was gazing at me, a crease in his brow. He gave his head a short shake.

I leant in close to him. “What?”

He raised an eyebrow. “A cold?”

My brows drew together. “Yeah, he always has it. His nose is always running.”

He shook his head again. “Kay. He does heroin.”

I blinked in surprise, then glanced over at Joey. He was slouched on his stool, his eyes glued to the TV, his hand bringing the glass of whiskey to his lips in an automatic motion.

I couldn’t quite wrap my mind around it. “Joey?”

He nodded. “Classic symptoms.”

My heart twisted. “Wow, I had no idea. I think of heroin as something you hear about in news stories, or read about in books. Like Sherlock Holmes doing heroin when he has no case to work on.”

The corner of his mouth quirked up. “Cocaine.”

I blinked. “What?”

“Sherlock Holmes did cocaine, not heroin. A seven percent solution.”

I chuckled. “You made that up.”

His eyes brightened. “Not at all. Sherlock reveals that in
The Sign of Four
. A great story.”

I began unloading the dishwasher and placing the glasses on the shelf. “Tell it to me.”