89. Riley
EIGHTY-NINE
The next morning,the rain is pouring down in New York City, pelting the hotel windows with a steady staccato. The sound is comforting, reminding me of my time here in the city when I was in college. Life was so simple then. I”d laze around my dorm room, read in bed, call Lorna...
I”m not ready to leave the warmth and comfort of this bed. Or the memories flitting through my mind.
”Hey, sleepyhead,” Gabriel says. His words are kind, but something about the tone is off. Or maybe it”s me who is different today. Last night, hell, the entire day, was so...weird.
He presses a quick kiss against my temple, and I release a breath I didn”t know I was holding.
Thank God he”s not acting moody like last night. He”d been more dominant than usual in bed, and what he”d made me do after his orgasm was a little humiliating — but also a turn-on. How can he inspire those feelings in me? Light and dark, loving and dominating.
Good and evil.
”Blergh,” I reply to him, burrowing into the sheets. ”Can we get room service?”
”Nope. We can grab coffee and a muffin downstairs. We have an appointment.”
I sit up, alarmed. ”What time is it? What”s the appointment? Is your sister going?”
The last thing I want is to spend another day with Mia. In small doses she”s probably okay, but there”s a wildness to her that frightens me. Kind of like Cath, but even more unpredictable. So strange, considering Gabriel”s the opposite, with his cool, calculating demeanor.
He”s standing in front of a mirror, adjusting his shirt collar. ”It”s nine. And no, my sister won”t be joining us until later. We have to be at the Met by eleven.”
”The museum?” I”m thoroughly confused now.
”The museum.”
”Why?”
”We have a private tour of a new surrealist art show. We”re among the first people to see it. I had to pull several strings and call in a big favor, but I think we”ll enjoy it.”
”Okay,” I say slowly, stunned that he”s gone to all this trouble for an art exhibition. Then again, Gabriel”s house is filled with expensive modern art, so I guess this makes sense. This tour is more for him than me. Still, I love the Met and haven”t been in years.
I flip the covers aside and pad over to my suitcase. ”I”ve never had a private tour of the Met before. I mean, why would I, since I was a student when I lived here. I can”t imagine what it took to snag a private tour.”
Gabriel comes over and stares into my suitcase. ”Wear something comfortable, and shoes that won”t give you blisters today. We”re going to be out for several hours.”
I nod, but inside my stomach clenches at his frosty tone. Something has shifted between us, and I”m not exactly sure what. It”s something I can feel, but not something I can explain.
”Will do,” I say in a fake, bubbly voice, and head into the bathroom.
I quickly change into a casual skirt, a button-down blouse and sneakers, opting for comfort over style. As I tie my hair into a messy bun, I catch a glimpse of myself in the mirror. Dark circles linger under my eyes, evidence of the restless night I spent tangled in Gabriel”s desires. But I push aside my weariness and slap on some lipstick, determined to make the most of this unexpected excursion.
When I step out of the bathroom, Gabriel is waiting by the door, his eyes scanning my attire with an intensity that sends a shiver down my spine. His gaze lingers on my breasts, and a hint of a smirk plays on his lips. I swallow hard, suddenly aware of the power he holds over me, the way he can effortlessly command my attention and ignite my desire.
”Ready?” he asks, his voice low and velvety, like a predator ready to pounce. There”s a glimmer in his eyes, a dangerous edge that both scares and entices me. It”s as if he has something up his sleeve, and I”m not privy to the secret.
I nod, unable to find my voice, and grab my raincoat. Thank goodness I”d thought to bring it. I follow him out into the rain-soaked streets of New York City. The droplets fall relentlessly, drenching us within moments. We stop and he purchases a giant umbrella. He expertly opens it and folds me into his side.
We power down the city street, side by side, our bodies brushing against each other, but there”s an underlying tension that wasn”t there before. It”s as if a storm is brewing beneath the surface, threatening to shatter the delicate balance between us.
As we make our way through the crowded streets, I catch glimpses of Gabriel”s watchful gaze, his eyes scanning the surroundings with a vigilance that sends a chill down my spine. He”s a man of secrets, a man whose darkness is both captivating and terrifying. And yet, I can”t help but be drawn to him, to the intoxicating allure that surrounds him like a shroud. Two bodyguards also follow us closely.
Finally, we arrive at the majestic entrance of the Met, raindrops cascading from the towering columns, giving the grand building a serious, imposing quality. The sound of our footsteps echoes through the empty foyer as we step inside, seeking refuge from the rain.
We go to the main desk, and when Gabriel tells them who he is, everyone seems to perk up. We”re whisked through an unmarked door, then introduced to a docent who tells us that the entire exhibit is open just for us.
I”m speechless. I thought we might be among a handful of VIPs. Instead, we”re the only people around.
A hush falls over us as we enter the gallery, and I”m immediately captivated by the artwork that surrounds us. Deeply disturbing paintings hang on the walls like portals into deviant worlds, each stroke of the brush conveying complicated, tangled emotions. Gabriel leads me through the labyrinth of surreal masterpieces.
And then, I see it. The painting that commands my attention, a massive, surreal canvas that holds secrets within its vivid hues. It draws me in like a siren”s call, its enigmatic beauty tugging at the depths of my soul.
It”s a Salvador Dali painting, and it”s violent, erotic, chaotic. A woman”s face drips down the canvas, punctuated by insects and blood. A man, naked and muscular, stands in the corner, as if orchestrating everything. There are other elements, too, but my mind can”t handle those right now.
I approach it with a mix of apprehension and awe, my eyes tracing the intricate details that weave together a haunting narrative. It”s a jumble of contradictions, where darkness and light collide. Kind of like my life.
I feel a shiver ripple through my body as I take in the twisted female face, the distorted landscapes, and the haunting expressions. This is disturbing, not art.
I turn to face Gabriel, seeking answers within the depths of his eyes. But his gaze offers no solace, no insight into, well, anything.
”It”s quite powerful,” I say, my voice barely a whisper.
A low hum escapes his lips. ”I should”ve seized the opportunity when it presented itself.”
I frown, confused. ”What do you mean?” My eyes dart between him and the painting. ”This painting is probably priceless.”
He lets out a sigh, the sound tinged with disappointment. ”Everything has a price, Riley. I was outbid at an auction. I should have been more determined. Such a pity.” The gentle click of his tongue resonates through the room as he strolls toward another canvas.
My gaze falls upon the plaque that accompanies the artwork, revealing its ownership by a well-known political dynasty. I inhale sharply. It”s a stark reminder of the reality I”ve stepped into—a world far beyond the confines of my comfort zone.
”Riley, come,” his voice commands, instantly snapping me out of my reverie.
I approach and he gestures toward the painting before us.
It”s a large canvas, portraying a woman. Her golden tresses cascade over her bowed head as she reclines on her back, propped up by her elbows. Nude and vulnerable, her open legs expose her pussy. It”s red and garish and makes me want to hide in shame.
A bed of dying red roses tangles with her pubic hair. Her face remains hidden beneath a veil of flowing locks, yet her body language speaks volumes. She exudes brokenness, devastation, and a surrender to the depths of despair.
To my surprise, tiny ants crawl across her flesh, adding an unsettling layer to the already disturbing scene.
”It”s...ah, I don”t like it,” I whisper, my voice barely audible.
Gabriel”s arm wraps around me, his touch settling at the small of my back. Electric sensations shoot through my veins, stirring a mixture of curiosity and apprehension.
”What do you think?” I ask, my breath shallow. An underlying sense of unease tingles at the edges of my consciousness. This vast room, adorned with these twisted artworks, plunges me into a world of foreboding, as if something ominous lurks in the shadows of the gray city outside. I have the overwhelming desire to return to Florida, to the sunshine.
”It”s exquisite,” he purrs, his voice a low, hypnotic melody. His hand slips beneath the waistband of my skirt and underwear, brushing against my skin with a delicate caress. ”The woman, she is shattered yet clings to life. It resonates with me. It speaks of pain, resilience, and a flicker of hope. And submission. So much submission.”
His warm breath grazes the nape of my neck, sending shivers cascading down my spine. He draws closer, his body radiating heat that contrasts with the chilly air of the museum.
His fingers continue exploring, tracing the curves of my ass, leaving a trail of tantalizing sensations. Gentle strokes of my crack weaken my knees. Anticipation surges through me as Gabriel leans in, his lips brushing against my ear, his voice a seductive murmur. Why is he acting like this?
”Can you feel it? Can you grasp the message of this painting?” His fingers venture lower, skimming my skin until they reach my wet pussy. A gasp escapes my lips as he plunges two fingers inside me. He”s finger fucking me roughly, a disturbing contrast to his honeyed voice.
The air crackles with raw energy as he strokes my clit. I press my forehead into his chest and whimper. I”m so close. So, so close. I can”t stand it anymore, and I”m soaking his fingers with my wetness.
”You”re making a mess, aren”t you? Your panties are all wet and so is my hand.”
A gasp slips from my mouth. I”m stunned at the audacity of our illicit act. I”m being fingered in the Metropolitan Museum of Art. My eyes dart around the room, making sure we”re still the only ones here.
Of course we are, because Gabriel has paid the museum to leave us alone. He”d whispered something to the bodyguards before we walked inside.
Waves of pleasure crash over me, threatening to sweep me away. I gasp, struggling to remain upright as my body trembles, caught between the realms of terror and ecstasy. Overwhelmed by the intensity of the moment, I shut my eyes, unable to bear witness to the vulgarity of the painting any longer. Or the sensation of his fingers.
”Tell me, Riley. Can you feel it? Before you cum, you must tell me,” Gabriel”s voice commands, urgency lacing his words, intertwining with our ragged breaths.
Finally, my voice quivers, a shaky confession to the man who can both debase me and love me like no one else. ”Yes, I feel it.”