"What time is it?" She asked a few minutes later.
"It's just after eleven."
"What?" She cried as she shot out of the bed like a rocket. "How in the hell is it eleven in the morning? I've never slept this late."
I smirked to myself, knowing exactly why she slept so late; I'd worn her out.
"Don't look so pleased with yourself, Asher. It's not cute." She pulled clothing out of the dresser drawers so quickly I wasn't sure how she'd managed to stuff so many articles of clothing in there.
"Is there something I can do to help you?" I couldn't help but smile. She was frazzled and running around like a mad woman.
"Please please please, call room service and get me a bagel and a latte while I take a shower?"
"You got it."
"Thank you," she said, leaning down to kiss me, a bundle of clothing in her hands. She attempted a small kiss of gratitude, but I snagged her around the waist and pulled her back down on the bed. "I don't have time for this right now," she said through a laugh that made every muscle in my stomach clench.
"You don't have time for a kiss?" I asked with mock innocence.
"I don't have time for what comes after the kiss."
"Who said anything about coming?" I rolled her under me and threw her bundle of clothes on the floor, pinning her wrists above her head. My mouth moved to her neck and I did my best to make her regret getting out of bed.
"The coming was implied," she groaned.
"You inferred an orgasm?" Teasing her quickly topped my list of favorite things to do.
"I expect an orgasm, every time. You never disappoint. But like I said, I don't have time for an orgasm right now." She writhed against me, trying to free herself from my grasp. I moved from her neck back up to her mouth, kissing her deep before pulling away.
"If I let you go right now, can you promise to make it up to me later?"
"I'll make it worth your while," she said, blasting me with the sexiest smile I'd ever seen, shamelessly grinding her hips up against my cock which was so not on board with the waiting plan.
"You better run before I change my mind." I rolled off of her, groaning quietly, angry with my self-control.
"Don't forget to order my breakfast," she sang as she danced into the bathroom.
I was left to be a tourist for the afternoon as Charlie had "important artist things" to do in preparation for her show. I offered to help but she insisted I would be more of a distraction than helpful and even though I wanted to help, that made me damn happy. I didn't have an enormous amount of time, so all the iconic tourist sites were out of the question. Perhaps tomorrow we could visit the Statue of Liberty or the Empire State Building. For now, I settled for Rockefeller Center and Fifth Avenue. I strolled down the busy street, glancing at the busy window displays, watching all the people who passed, and thinking about all that had happened in the last month.
All the years I remained friends with Charles, the thought that someday I would come face-to-face with Charlie again had crossed my mind. I tried hard, for thirteen years, not to think about it, but now that we were together, I couldn't help but think about the future. Before our separation it had been somewhat of a known conclusion; we would be together forever. Forever, in our minds, was such a naïve conception. We pictured a wedding, perhaps children, and everything that a young adult can comprehend.
Now, well, now I wanted something different. I still wanted forever, but I wanted a deeper kind. I wanted Charlie to listen to me when I had something to complain about. I wanted her to hold my hand without even thinking about it. I wanted to bring her flowers and have her be surprised by it, even though I bring her flowers all the time. I wanted her to call me on my bullshit. Did I want a wedding, children? Hell yes, I did. But I wanted to experience life with her by my side more than I wanted to check life experiences off of a preconceived list of accomplishments. More than anything though, I wanted her to want me the same way.
When I passed by Tiffany & Co., it was tempting to go in, to look around and try to imagine one of the rings on her fingers, but something told me she wouldn't want something new. I imagined something intricate and antique. The idea made me smile. I pushed the thought away and decided to make my way back to the hotel to get ready for her show.
I pulled down on the cuffs of my tuxedo, adjusting the length, making sure everything looked decent. I didn't have a whole lot of uses for a tuxedo, but at the moment I was glad I purchased one a few years ago. I wiggled my bowtie as I looked at myself in the mirror, not because it looked crooked, but because that's what one does when they wear a bowtie. They wiggled it. I just finished running my fingers through my hair when the bathroom door opened. I turned around to see Charlie walking towards me. My mouth fell open and I'm sure I looked like an idiot as I ogled her with little discretion. She did a twirl and my hand absently reached down to adjust myself.
"You look stunning," I said softly. I meant to sound much manlier, but all that came out was a whisper.
"Yes. Dress fit perfectly," she said with an exaggerated Russian accent. I cocked my head and gave her a questioning look. She laughed. "Sorry, long story. Thank you. You look pretty too." She gave me a peck on the cheek and I was gifted with the scent of her perfume mixed with her shampoo. I controlled the urge to lick her neck, to tear that gorgeous dress right from her body and show her how much a Russian accent turned me on.
"Do we have to go to your art show?" I had better plans in mind.
She lifted an eyebrow at me and a lesser man would have shriveled at the glare she shot my direction.
"I love it when you're stern," I said, purposefully making my voice low and dark.
"You're ridiculous," she said, laughing. "We have to go. If you don't behave I'll renege on the promise I made earlier." And that was enough to get my ass in gear. I could spend the evening thinking of every way I could peel the dress off her after the show. "The limo should be waiting downstairs."
"Ooh, a limo, huh? You're pretty fancy."
"This isn't me, it's the gallery. I'd love to walk in with some overalls and a braid, but apparently they frown upon ordinary." We entered the hallway and walked towards the elevator.
"Bit, I can assure you, you'd look anything but ordinary in overalls and a braid."
"Well, all I'm saying is I feel ridiculous in this dress. But," she said as she looked down at herself. "I look smokin' hot."
"Yes, my love, you do."
It was amazing to watch her work a room. She was a little flustered when people offered her compliments on her work, but for the most part she was graceful, humble, and entirely captivating. My chest pushed out and my shoulders were pulled back, filled with pride. My Charlie, even when fighting through a life that she colored as less-than-happy, was pursuing her dream and making waves in the art world. I could not have been more proud of her in that moment.
She was in the middle of a conversation with a representative from some art magazine in the city, offering insights to her process and her technique. I leaned over and whispered in her ear, "I'm going to get a drink. Can I bring you something?"
"I'll take champagne," she said softly. Our hands linked and I brought her fingers to my lips, kissing them lightly before I turned away in search of the bar. Waiting for our drinks, I smiled as I overheard the couple next to me talking about Charlie's work.
"Such depth. I don't think I've ever seen a charcoal drawing that evoked so much emotion from me before." I glanced over to see a woman, probably in her mid-sixties, sipping a drink, complimenting my Bit.
"Well, it goes to show you that truly talented artists don't need color or even texture to convey meaning. She's nailed every single piece. We'll be in a bidding war by the end of the evening, I'm sure." This came from the man standing next to her who I assumed was her husband.
"Oh, there she is," the woman said excitedly. "Let's go talk to her, shall we? Before someone else monopolizes her."
I was ready to monopolize her. I thanked the bartender for our drinks and turned to make my way back when I spotted a different man standing with Charlie. When I made it close enough to hear their conversation, my concern immediately spiked. She looked uncomfortable and nervous. She shook her head, looking around the room frantically. When her eyes landed on me, I thought I saw sadness wash over them. Ignoring my instincts I sidled up to her, handing her the champagne, wrapping my arm around her waist. Possession was something I always reverted back to. I didn't know who this man was, but one thing I was sure of was who Charlie belonged to.