He stirred uncomfortably. “You were that desperate?”
“Oh, it wasn’t so bad. I saw a lot of art. It did me good. And then I met this gallery owner, Brian. I signed a contract with him. And he started to sell some of my stuff. My brief artistic golden age.”
He lifted his head. “Brian? He’s the filthy fuckhead ex, isn’t he?”
Vivi went very still on top of him. “Ah…what if he is?”
“Brian Wilder, right?” he said slowly. “Wilder Galleries. In Soho.”
She was shocked. “How in the holy hell do you know that?”
“It’s the age of information,” he said, innocently. “Shouldn’t be hard to find out where the prick lives.”
“You wouldn’t!” She felt panicked, as if that poisonous toxic waste from her past could contaminate this delicate, shining thing she had with Jack. “Don’t you dare! Leave him alone! Promise me!”
He stroked her back. “Shhh. Don’t worry about it.”
She hissed at him, anything but reassured. “If you mess with Brian, I’ll take you apart! I will deconstruct you and sell you for scrap!”
He pressed her ass, pulsing his cock inside her. Reminding her he was the man, no doubt. Hah. “I hear you,” he soothed. “So the fuckhead started selling your work, and then? What kind of work was it?”
“I met him during my barbed-wire and broken-beer-bottle period.”
His eyes widened. “Your what?”
“I was rebellious, at the time,” she explained. “I felt put upon because of my tragic childhood, I was mad at my birth mother for going to jail and killing herself, mad at Lucia for trying to control me, et cetera, et cetera. And I was drinking way too much espresso. I put it all into my work.”
“I see.” His voice was guarded.
“Anyway, Brian discovered me, you might say,” she went on. “Decided to clean me up, make me marketable.”
“And you got involved?” He cupped her breast in his hands.
“Yes,” she said, her voice catching breathlessly. “It was a disaster. On every level, not just a personal one.”
“What happened?” He began to rock his pelvis up against her, pressing his pubic bone against her clit in a slow, circular movement.
She pushed against his chest until she was upright, glaring down at him. “Don’t distract me,” she lectured. “You’re cheating!”
His pelvis surged, making her undulate on top of him. “Sorry. You’re so sexy. I forgot myself,” he murmured. “And then?”
“What happened was that he turned out to be an art vampire, in addition to being an evil fuckhead. All he wanted was to make me into his money-grubbing zombie slave.”
“I see,” he said.
“And…well, I couldn’t. I tried to be a zombie slave, but nothing came out. And he got really angry. And…well, you know the rest.”
“Yeah,” he said. “I do.”
He stared up into her flushed face. The deep rocking slide of his cock inside her was impossible to resist. He held her firmly, thrusting up, stirring her around, making her gasp and bite her lip.
“I…I destroyed his office,” she said, breathlessly. “After the last time that he…well, you know. I was so angry. Freaked out. Out of my head. I think I smashed probably fifty thousand dollars’ worth of art.”
“Good.” He thrust harder, jarring a whimper from her throat. “Did he say, ‘You’ll never work in this town again,’ et cetera?”
“Yes,” she said, bleakly.
“And you believed him?”
She braced herself against his chest. “Of course I believed him! It was true! He blacklisted me, Jack! The guy has clout!”
He stopped moving, petted her hair. “Okay,” he murmured. “Sorry.”
“I thought I was finished,” she went on. “Then Rafael stepped in.”
“Who’s this Rafael, anyhow?” Jack frowned. “Another boyfriend?”
“Rafael? Good God, no. Rafael’s just my buddy, and besides, he likes boys.”
“So you drove off with Rafael, and left the whole mess behind you.”
The flat finality of his voice made tension grip her chest. “Hey. Don’t you dare blame me for—”
“I’m not blaming you,” he said quietly. “You did the right thing.”
She was dumbfounded. “You think so?”
He pulled her back down on top of him. “Yeah. I do.”
Vivi relaxed against his solid warmth. His quiet statement soothed something deep inside her. “I think you’re the only person who’s ever said that, except for Rafael,” she said. “Lucia thought I was giving up. My sisters, too. It’s hard to go against everyone’s advice.”
He stroked her back without replying, warm and comforting.
“Poor Lucia,” she murmured. “I was a heartbreak to her. I defied her in every way. From my clothes to all of my ill-fated career choices.”
“Were you one of those girls with spiked hair and safety pins?”
She snorted. “Not quite. I did have thigh-high lace-up black leather boots, though.”
“Wow,” he commented, eyes wide.
“They were the centerpiece of my wardrobe. I wore them with ripped fishnet stockings and a purple velvet miniskirt.”
“My God,” he said, with feeling. He reached down to slide his thumb tenderly into the top of her labia, circling around her clit.
“Do you still have them?” he asked.
She writhed against him, eyes shut. “Have what?”
“The boots.”
Her eyes popped open, and she started to laugh. “I don’t think so,” she said. “Maybe in a box, in Lucia’s attic. It was a long time ago.”
“Oh.” He sounded disappointed. She giggled harder. He frowned at her. “What’s so funny?”
“You,” she said. “I thought you would disapprove of my slutty boots. Brian hated them. You surprise me, that’s all.”
“Brian was a sick, evil fuckhead. Don’t compare me to him. Of course I want to see you in those boots. I’m a normal guy, okay?”
“You’re not a normal guy, Jack.”
He kissed her fiercely into silence, and lifted his head some time later, when she was dazzled with lust. “Besides. You’re a fine one to talk about normal. Barbed wire and broken beer bottles, for God’s sake.”
“Oh, shut up,” she murmured, and kissed him back hungrily.
A moment later, she pried herself up and touched his cheek. “Jack?” she asked, tentatively. “Would you do something for me?”
He froze, eyes guarded. “If I can,” he hedged.
“I want to try something,” she said hesitantly. “I want, um…I want to roll over. And for you to, ah…hold my hands down.”
His face went blank, and he jerked up onto his elbows, rocking her back. His body was rigid. “Why, for fuck’s sake? That’s sick, Viv, after what he…why would you do that to yourself? Or me?”
“Shhh,” she soothed. “Nothing sick about it. I think that it would be okay, with you. Sexy, even. But I can’t know until I try.”
“But I’m the one who feels like dogshit if it doesn’t work out!”
“Please, don’t get mad,” she pleaded. “I just thought…I don’t want all these dead zones and ‘danger, keep out’ signs in my head. I want to feel free. And if anyone in the world could do that for me, it would be you. Believe me. I would never ask such a thing of you if I didn’t trust you.”
Even though you don’t trust me back. She held the thought at bay with difficulty.
He stared into her face for a long time, as if trying to read her mind. “You’re sure about this,” he said, carefully.
She nodded, swallowing hard, and smiled at him.
“And you won’t blame me if—”
“God, no,” she assured him. “Not in the least. I swear.”
In one swift surge, he rolled them both over, pinning her beneath his weight. He folded her legs up high, hooking them over his shoulders, and then grabbed her hands, pinning them beside her head.