Chapter 4
CHAPTER 4
Eric
I received the alert on my phone from Jeff that he would be arriving shortly with Jasmine. My anticipation had been where it usually was for nights like these—calm, unbothered, eager to get the evening started. It was an important night and ingrained habits inherited from my father taught me that wasting time, no matter how little time it seemed to be, was one of the worst things a man could do.
Of course, when I saw Jasmine as she exited the car in a stunning burgundy dress that complimented her lithe body, as well as her gorgeous blonde, wavy hair I could easily imagine wrapped around my fist in the throes of passion, I wondered if my father was slightly off the mark about certain things. I could waste an eon simply admiring Jasmine like a fine piece of art, as if she were an exhibit here in this gallery, as if she were there just for me to enjoy.
She was beautiful. She ascended the stairs, all elegance and classically stated sex appeal, despite her young age. That I knew she held that appeal, and what I had seen of her mind and personality thus far, seemed to make my interest in her all the more apparent as she approached me. Would she be able to see the hunger that she inspired in me, even as I tried to keep it in check?
“There you are,” I said, being a gentleman and offering her my arm.
“Eric,” she replied in a sweet tone as she slid her hand into place, the move so natural, as if we truly were a couple.
The scent of her—something soft, not quite floral, but certain delectable—wafted up into my nose and I automatically breathed her in. Her skin was like porcelain, her facial features absolutely exquisite, and my eyes seemed to have a mind of their own as they dipped down, stealing a glimpse of her breasts, so perfectly outlined by the clinging material of her burgundy dress.
Standing at my side, her body brushed against mine. She placed herself there naturally, all grace and sophistication. She didn’t allow her hand to roam over my chest in a possessive manner, didn’t attempt to touch or caress elsewhere, either, in a show of ownership.
Those intimate overtures were something that I had come to expect with other eager-to-please escorts I’d hired, though the attention wasn’t entirely something that I wanted, personally. While there was a time and a place for overt sexuality—and I could appreciate overt sexuality like any other man with a healthy libido—the older I got the more I had begun to appreciate the understated. The more I began to desire being more discreet when it came to public affection.
However, that didn’t mean for all the respect I had for public restraint I didn’t enjoy the feel of this small, petite woman tucked against my side. Arousal thrummed through me, surprising even myself for breaking the finely held control I usually had.
“You were waiting out here all this time?” she asked, pulling me from my thoughts.
I shook my head. “No, Jeff let me know when you were close by, so I came out here to greet you.”
She seemed to consider that for a moment, then inclined her head. “Shall we, then?” she asked, nodding toward the entrance, a spark of excitement in her green eyes. “I’ve been dying to see this artwork you were so intent on showing off since you spoke about it last week.” Her eagerness was only barely held beneath her words.
Her enthusiasm warmed me. “I’ve been dying to show it to you, so in that regard, I think we call this a mutual feeling.”
I caught her surprised expression, schooled just so, as I led her into the venue. I even pulled her closer, simply enjoying the feel of her pressed into my side. She gave a little jump when I did—like she was shocked at the gesture, which made me wonder what kind of impression I’d left her with following our first meeting.
It did cross my mind that I might have been too direct with Jasmine. Dominque had told me that her normal experience with clients was something quite different than what she imaged her experience with me would be. Should I have been more friendly as opposed to so composed and clinical about what I needed from Jasmine? I almost sighed. Dominique was good at what she did, but she also wasn’t above teasing me for my staunch, analytical ways if she wanted to be entertained.
No matter. I forced myself to relax and decided to be more invested in showing Jasmine the gallery than contemplating a potential course correction with her before the evening had even begun.
The gallery had been completely redecorated between my meeting with Jasmine last week and now. Dark drapery hung between wall-mounted pieces of art while red velvet ropes sectioned off sculptures that were placed intentionally throughout the open space. The painting of the woman and her death flowers was up on full display, as well as other works full of the macabre and the light and beautiful alike. The duality of life and death. The beauty and the horror in both. It was the theme of the night, and I explained this to Jasmine as I made the first proper rounds around the gallery, pointing to different pieces and gauging her interest and reactions to ones we might discuss.
“All of this artwork is so diverse,” she said, her tone filled with awe as we moved on from a life-sized sculpture of a Native American woman.
I nodded in agreement. “Artists have been putting their pieces together for about six months now, all local from around Florida.”
Her eyes brimmed with curiosity as she glanced up at me. “Around Florida, not just from Coral Gables?”
“Almost all of the artists come from outside of Coral Gables and typically not from any of the major cities,” I explained. “The purpose is to showcase artists who would otherwise be barred from conventional events because of finances or other biases that art houses might have. Money buys a lot, but visibility is a currency that is often underappreciated.”
She studied my face for a long moment. “You give people a chance they wouldn’t otherwise get on their own, without support.”
I smiled and shrugged. “Yes, myself and others who have entirely too much money to keep for ourselves and would rather put it to decent use before we’re not able to use it anymore,” I said, directing her toward an abstract painting. “I learned the value of artists and those who create from my mother, and the value of applying myself methodically and effectively from my father. Lessons that have served me well here.”
She looked impressed, and I didn’t think too long and hard as to why that mattered to me. Or how easy and comfortable she was to be around. Her red, glossy lips parted as if she were about to say something, but before she could comment, I heard someone call my name.
“Eric! You’re finally here.”
I grinned, turning us toward the source of the lilting, female voice. A beautiful Desi woman in a scarlet sari with gold accents approached, her brown eyes warm and her smile mischievous as she looked between me and Jasmine, still tucked close to my side.
“I was beginning to wonder if you were intending on standing us up tonight, but I see you have the company of a beautiful woman, so I won’t fault you too much on that.”
“Hello, Aanya,” I greeted her. “You know I would never stand up an occasion like this.”
A smirk kicked up one corner of her mouth. “One could only hope that you’d finally chosen to give yourself a vacation, or maybe take an evening off and treat yourself to something delightful.”
I raised my brows. “Art isn’t delightful?”
“Oh, it is, but we both know that even the most dedicated need a palate cleanser every now and then, and you’re hardly, if ever, in the mood to indulge yourself.” She looked to Jasmine, her smile widening. “And you haven’t even introduced me to this lovely flower on your arm tonight. How unexpectedly rude of you, Eric. I expected better,” she teased, then held her hand out to Jasmine. “Aanya. And you are?”
The poised woman at my side shook Aanya’s hand. “Jasmine,” she answered with a friendly smile. “Are you a backer for the gallery?”
Aanya laughed. “Oh, hardly. No, I’m one of the artists. Eric saw my work online a few years back, put in a word for a few workshops and grants, and here I am now, living the dream.”
“That sculpture over there is one of Aanya’s pieces,” I said.
I pointed not too far from where the three of us stood, toward an exhibit that featured a massive marble lotus blossom, and what looked to be gold work details around the edges and seeped into what was likely intentional cracks laid into the marble’s surface. It was a piece that I knew Aanya had been working on for a long time now, something that would end up being one of her best works of hand-sculpted marble to date. It was hard to find work like Aanya’s even in elite spheres. The difference was in the fact that Aanya had an uncommon respect and reverence for the craft and less interest in the commercialization of it.
“Ah, yes, my beautiful little lotus,” she said with a fond sigh. “It’s one of what will hopefully be several marble flowers. If we’re going to be all—” she waved her hand in front of her, a slight roll to her eyes “—philosophical, I wanted to take the concept of how men always love to reference flowers as a vagina metaphor and turn it into something that is utterly lifeless and completely devoid of any sexualism. It is merely a thing to observe. Maybe even to comment on its beauty. But never particularly valued beyond either its utility or beauty.” She grinned and leaned closer to Jasmine. “Eric has told me that despite my convictions of appearing to loathe the pretentious, that I do manage to allow myself some nice philosophizing at times.”
Jasmine laughed lightly, then pulled from my arm to approach the sculpture. Aanya and I exchanged a look and followed.
“To be fair,” Jasmine said, studying the piece intently. “It’s something easy to feel when most of those flowers as vaginas metaphors are really only there for one purpose.” Jasmine looked to Aanya, amusement sparkling in her eyes. “To get the man creating those symbolisms laid.”
“Exactly!” Aanya said delightfully. “It almost makes the whole thing devoid of all meaning. Shame, really. I do enjoy the occasional orchid vagina art piece. There’s something about the way the petals fall that is actually quite delicate and feminine. Almost makes you want to reach out and touch them just to see if they’ll react, but it’s incredibly hard to capture that kind of whimsy and feeling in art, painting, sculpture, or otherwise. Are you an artist as well, Jasmine?”
“Once upon a time,” Jasmine answered enigmatically. “Now I’m more so a distant appreciator of the effort.” She nodded toward the lotus blossom sculpture. “You said you were sculpting more to go with this one?”
“Oh, yes. I’ve got a few designs sketched for the series, and I hope to start sculpting the second piece soon. I…”
Grateful to see the two of them hitting it off, which wasn’t always the case with my dates and other women, I decided to locate something to drink for all of us. It was the first time I felt like I could leave my guest with someone that I knew and not have to worry about what would be said—or done.
Surprisingly, I trusted that Jasmine wouldn’t attempt to pull personal information about myself from Aanya, or pry disrespectfully to see if Aanya and I had ever slept together, which we hadn’t. I didn’t mix friendships with the bedroom, and I was certainly not Aanya’s type. Jasmine seemed far more interested in the art and Aanya’s approach than attempting to scheme something out of me as so many before her had tried.
I smirked to myself. If I were a lesser man, I may have felt a little put out about the situation.
As it was, when I returned with glasses of red wine for each of us, I couldn’t be put out by the way Jasmine’s eyes seemed to sparkle and her laugh tinkled in the air while she and Aanya were still speaking with each other. They looked like a pair of old friends with the way they stood close to each other, seemingly so comfortable that it was me who was the outsider here, not Jasmine who’d I’d invited into all of this.
It brought an unfamiliar warmth to my face that I quickly schooled before I handed the women their glasses of wine. “I hope that I’m not interrupting too much,” I said, only half-joking. “You two seem to have hit it off. Perhaps Jasmine should be going home with you tonight?”
“Don’t tempt me!” Aanya said, a naughty gleam in her eyes as she glanced back at Jasmine. “Be sure to tell me if he becomes an overbearing no fun zone bore though, will you? And I can whip him into shape for you no problem. I’m not afraid of this silver fox.”
Jasmine chuckled. “I’ll keep that in mind.”
Aanya turned to me. “You have a good evening, Eric. Treat the lady nicely,” she said with a saucy wink before heading off to talk to another patron.
“I like her,” Jasmine mused as she took a small sip of her wine. “Very open. Very funny. I’m impressed she hand sculpts out of solid marble. It’s such a difficult medium to work with, but the result under her hand is just…” She sighed wistfully, looking to the marble lotus blossom once more. “So beautiful.”
It certainly wasn’t the only thing that was beautiful. As she looked at Aanya’s sculpture, I witnessed that same longing in her eyes that I had seen when we had our meeting here. Like there were thousands of tiny gears whirling and twirling in her mind. Like she could see all the reasons why Aanya had made this sculpture and had a hundred reasons of her own as to why it was such a striking piece to begin with.
“I see you’ve found yourself taken with Aanya’s work,” I said, admiring the lotus right along with Jasmine. “She’s one of the most prolific artists that shows in this gallery, along with a few others that I help subsidize and fund. If you end up coming back to this gallery, you’ll likely see more of her work.”
If Dominique’s prediction of how well-matched Jasmine and I were held true, then she would most certainly see more of Aanya’s work, because the other woman was presenting her sculptures in at least three more exhibits over the coming months, and those were events that I’d planned to bring a guest to.
Jasmine practically beamed up at me, her bright, genuine smile hitting me like a sucker punch to the chest. “Oh, I have to come back and see more of her work,” she said, her enthusiasm almost infectious. “Even if it’s on my own. There’s something so simplistic about the lotus design but so alluring about it, too. You can tell how passionate she is about her work when she talks about it. There’s nothing better than seeing that excitement in an artist’s face, you know?”
I nodded, understanding what she meant. “It’s one of the reasons I like this line of work. It’s therapeutic, in a way.” I smiled and inclined my head. “Shall we continue on?”
While Aanya was occupied flitting between patrons like the social butterfly that she was, I once again had Jasmine on my arm and walked her around the gallery. I introduced her to artists, art patrons, other backers, and a few of the curators who made themselves known for the event this evening.
Despite her young age, Jasmine took to each interaction with such an eager grace, slipped into intelligent conversation like it was a second skin and molded seamlessly to the atmosphere as though she was born into it. If I had not met her through Dominique, I would have assumed she was a colleague’s daughter, brought up around this work, entrenched in this life.
Which made me curious about where Jasmine had come from. Every call girl, prostitute, escort, or cam girl had a story—usually a specific reason for why they’d chosen the line of work that they had. For some, it was desperation. Others, necessity—and those two things, desperation and necessity, were not necessarily the same.
I didn’t know Jasmine well enough to gauge what her reasons might be—but I had seen enough facets of her personality to be intrigued and to want to know more, if only to sate a bit of curiosity before it was time to part ways with her. Which was an anomaly for me, considering I didn’t usually find myself so fascinated with, and attracted to, my temporary arrangements.
Eventually, I meandered us toward the upper floors, where there was a smaller density of people. Truth be told, I should have been socializing, but I wanted to monopolize more of Jasmine’s presence than I wanted to play my role as a benefactor.
How ironic was that? Business normally consumed me and was my sole focus, but tonight I’d found myself distracted and enjoying myself in a way I never would have anticipated. Despite securing her company for just a few hours for the event, I didn’t want my time with Jasmine to end.
“How are you finding the evening so far?” I asked as I led us from the exhibits to a small balcony that looked out to the coastal side of Coral Gables.
The terrace was vacant and quiet and unlit, giving us a bit of privacy from the rest of the gallery. Jasmine leaned comfortably on the railing near the far wall, looking out toward the distant coastline. A placid, comfortable expression touched her delicate features.
“Honestly? I think I’m falling in love,” she said with a laugh—and then caught herself. “You know, I mean with all of this .” She gestured her hand in a sweeping motion to indicate the interior of the gallery behind us. “Do you ever realize that you’ve been missing something more than you thought you were? Or even that you missed it at all? I suppose that’s what I mean to say.”
I hummed, hiding a smile behind a drink of wine at her endearing enthusiasm. “I understand what you mean,” I said after a moment, and set my glass on a nearby table before moving closer to her. “It’s hard not to fall in love with the art, the way that it makes people feel and the way an artist connects to their creations, and in turn how it unites them with others who appreciate the same things.” It was a kinship that my mother had instilled well within me.
“That exactly,” Jasmine said, nodding eagerly before she once again tried to tamp her rising exhilaration. “Ah, like I said, it’s been a long time since I’ve been somewhere like this and it just brings back a lot of memories.”
“No need to apologize,” I said, unable to remember the last time I’d dated someone who matched my passion for the arts like she did. “I like your excitement.”
A beautiful flush spread across her face as she stared up at me. Without thought or second guessing, I reached out and gently spread my fingers across the coloring on her cheek. Her skin flared hot beneath my touch, and she leaned into my palm. A soft, almost imperceptible tip of her head into my hold.
My cock stirred. It shouldn’t have been so easy to feel the tug of desire that wrapped around me—yet there it was. Undeniable and so goddamn irresistible. That surge of lust drew my eyes to the curve of her neck, to that arousing blush on her smooth, porcelain skin.
To her red, parted damp lips.
Up to her eyes.
There was a glossy, wide-eyed glow to her gaze. An indescribable curiosity and pure need that reflected back onto me. She was temptation personified, and the tip of my tongue darted out, wetting my own lips as I watched anticipation flicker in her eyes.
Without overthinking my actions, I leaned in and dipped my head, pressing my mouth to hers, watching as her lashes fluttered closed. The softness of her lips molded to my own as if they’d been created specifically for me. I caught the sweet taste of wine against her breath and the slight, nearly imperceptible gasp that escaped her as I gently tugged on her bottom lip with my teeth.
The slight moan in the back of her throat encouraged me to deepen that kiss, and I swept my tongue inside her mouth. A low growl of satisfaction rumbled in my chest as she responded eagerly to my sensual assault, participating whole-heartedly.
I knew what an obligatory kiss was, and this wasn’t one of those bought and paid for perks. The hunger that erupted between us was mutual, the attraction starting at a slow burn and flaring into a full fledge fire that threatened to consume us both. With one hand holding her hip, I slid my palm from her cheek and around to the nape of her neck. My fingers threaded into the silken locks of her hair there, gripping just tight enough to guide her closer to me so I could feel the press of her curves against my hard body, and there was no mistaking how fucking thick my cock was for her.
Her soft little whimpers vibrated against our fused lips. Her hands explored as my mouth ravished hers, sliding up my chest and across my shoulders—at first tentative before they turned fervent, pushing into my hair and clutching the strands in her fingers as she angled her hips against mine, in a way that drove me insane with the need to bury my cock deep inside her body.
Alone and tucked away on that balcony from the eyes and ears of the patrons of the gallery, we melded together. In a haze of lust, I took one step, then another, guiding her back until she was pressed up against the wall, my body pinning her there while her soft, illicit moans filled the air around us.
Just a kiss, just a taste …that had been my intention. But it was impossible to extinguish the spark when I felt the slight part of her thighs, giving me more access between them. How warm she was. How her breasts crushed against my chest and the way her hands were now sliding inside my suit jacket and around my waist, as if to anchor me closer.
Feeling my prized restraint starting to spin out of control, I tore my mouth from hers. “ Fuck.”
The slip of tongue was damn near embarrassing, yet the slight bite of her nails in my back prevented me from caring. I hissed, loving how I could feel the dig of them beneath my shirt. How her own desire could be felt so intensely…
There was no better sensation.
With a groan, I shoved my hands beneath the hem of her dress and gripped her ass, hoisting her up higher against the wall. There wasn’t a damn thing I wanted more than to remove the layers of clothing between us. I wanted to sink into her, as she was, pliant and soft and hot and wet beneath me, moaning my name as she writhed and came all over my cock.
Doing anything sexual in a public place was not something that I indulged in—ever. I could bring a girl to business venues, show her off, let her be the starlet on my arm, but pleasure never touched the hallowed halls that I had made my work.
Jasmine, though …Jasmine made it feel like it would be worth it to let all that control go without a care or thought in the world. Made it feel like taking this pleasure here was my right as much as it was her want.
And oh, I could tell she wanted it.
Her hips tilted and rocked toward mine, letting me feel the sultry warmth radiating from between her legs. One of them crooked, knee bent so my cock, straining beneath my slacks, pressed right up against that heat. As we kissed, she nipped and bit at my lips, soft, needy moans echoing in my ears. Her fingers tangled in my hair again and it seemed we were both content to let this make out session run its natural course until—
“Wait, Eric,” she breathed, panting for breath. “I thought…I mean, I thought that you…this here…isn’t…”
Poor thing couldn’t put her thoughts together, and I almost couldn’t, either. Wasn’t it my own rules that said this wasn’t something that happened at venues? That I didn’t want my partner for the evening vying for an indecent exposure charge, along with public embarrassment for the both of us in one go?
Yeah. Those were my own fucking rules, and I was so far gone that I was going to readily ignore them.
“Just this once,” I murmured.
It was as much a concession to her, as it was a reminder to myself. Just this once, I could indulge. Maybe that was the effect of being given the pleasure of seeing someone’s mind first, as I had Jasmine’s tonight. Her ability to discuss and understand my deepest passion turned me on as much as her body did.
Recklessly, my mouth pressed back to hers. I wanted to fuck her in the comfort of my bed, but right now I could make her come. Have her a writhing mess on this art house wall, have her hemmed up on it like one of those paintings in there that I was so invested in. The thought made me chuckle in my mind; was that a trace of forbidden sentimentality?
Whatever it was, in the moment it didn’t matter. Still bracing her against the wall, I moved one of my hands from her ass and around, sliding my palm between her legs. The heat of her pussy radiated from her core, and her panties, thin little scrap of fabric that they were, were already soaked. My cock throbbed in response; a tight ache that made me grit my teeth.
I brought my mouth near her ear. “Don’t forget to be quiet.”
It was the only warning she received as I slid my fingers over her pussy, along the outside of her panties, causing her body to buck against mine at that first illicit caress. It was such a gratifying tease, pushing swollen lips apart beneath the barrier of fabric to graze the hardened clit between. I pinched that nub of flesh between my fingers, giving it a slight tug.
“Oh, shit,” Jasmine panted out, trying hard to do what I’d asked and be quiet.
I released her clit but rubbed along her sex, increasing the friction of her panties against her slick flesh. I pulled back just enough to watch her face as I massaged her a little harder, faster—the way her eyes lidded heavily and how she strained to hold back her moans by biting down on those kiss-swollen lips I could easily imagine wrapped around my cock as she sucked me off.
I held her gaze with mine as I continued to stroke rhythmically, mesmerized by how unabashed she was about allowing me this source of reckless pleasure, how her skin got pinker and pinker as the space between her thighs got wetter and wetter.
I had to cover her mouth with mine as she fell apart on my fingers, swallowing her soft, erotic whimpers in case someone walked by and heard. In the moment, it wasn’t even that I didn’t want someone to come investigate for the sake of my own rules—it was that I was greedy and possessive and I didn’t think anyone else deserved to hear the sounds of Jasmine’s orgasm with their own ears.
As her release shuddered through her, she clung to me like a pillar in the middle of a swelling ocean, like I was the only thing keeping her afloat as the sensations around her demanded that she dip below the surface and drown in pure bliss.
Fuck, it was a powerful, intoxicating sensation just watching her come apart for me. As that hot, wet flood ruined her panties and drenched my fingers, I knew that I couldn’t have this, have her , tonight and only once. I knew that this chemistry, this thing that made me crave her, demanded that I have more of her. All of her.
Even before I’d pulled my fingers from between her legs, I’d made my decision. “I’ll get you cleaned up, and then I’m taking you home to fuck you.”
No if, ands, or buts. I wanted her to feel me everywhere . And we would only stop if she said the word, but the inviting look in her eyes told me that she was going to be all mine, to do with as I pleased.