Noir

Laissez-le prendre du haut (Let's take it from the top)

Harry pleaded for trust, for surrender. She noted a hint of desperation in his tone as he kissed here, kissed there. Every petal soft kiss was gentle coercion, pushing her closer to the edge, just inches away from wholly giving herself over to him. His lips grazed her cheek, before he caught her earlobe between his teeth in a show of aggression. Something stirred deep in her belly. What held her back?

After all, they'd gotten this far, to his bed, a mess of heavy breathing, tangled silk sheets and hammering hearts. He didn't leave an inch untouched, hands all over, rubbing and squeezing in the most delicious ways. His palms caressed her inner thighs as he carefully pried them apart, pleased with the lack of resistance. His touch inched higher, right up until his fingertips tucked into her panties. Bold move.

But he waited for the green light, pressed gentle kisses along her jawline. "Are you gonna let me in now, love? Hmm?" They were skin to skin and it was all she could do to keep her hands off him. There was a matter of protecting herself. She wasn't the first woman in this position and likely wouldn't be the last. Would she wind up better or worse off for it?

Better yet, how could she say no?

She stared with heavy-lidded eyes, lips parted solely to speak her giving in to what he wanted aloud. She'd hand over the reins, for now.

But when she said his name, he never responded.

A startling crash sent Maddox jolting upright, chest heaving, eyes wide. Whereas a framed print of Dorothy Dandridge in Carmen typically greeted her in the mornings, she now faced a blank white wall. Maddox sluggishly scratched her head and powered through the grogginess.

She was at the hotel, her belongings scattered around the room. She needed to pack, sighing at the mere thought. She looked around, trying to ignore the arousal between her thighs. That dream had been far too real, but she didn't have time to dwell, or do anything about it.

One earbud remained in her ear, her phone currently on the hardwood floor. Praying for mercy, Maddox pushed back the sheets and slipped out of bed, bending over to grab the device.

"Yikes," she sighed, relieved, wondering how many more times she'd luck out, avoid smashing the screen all to hell. Her beloved Pandora mix, the one she'd fallen asleep listening to, continued playing. She laughed at the coincidence, especially since she didn't believe in those. Harry's song, From The Dining Table, was halfway finished.

She'd see him in two days when she delivered the paintings, the one he'd purchased and the one she'd found last night at a gallery in Queens. She'd gone to the showing in search of something for Goldsmith International, and among the few pieces she'd acquired, she found it. A quiet young man named Oscar Diaz had carried the Basquiat-style painting on the train from The Bronx. The moment she spotted it, a nervous, smiling Oscar standing alongside his art, she'd known it was going home with her.

Maddox asked for the price and following his answer, announced that he was selling himself short, especially given the percentage the gallery was taking. Not that she necessarily wanted to pay more, but she didn't want to take advantage of him, either. Oscar's crystal blue eyes had widened when she told him what it might go for on the market.

"I just need money. Any money. I got four siblings at home," he said, pulling his Yankees cap down lower, glancing around nervously. "Mom gets disability but I'm going off to school...somewhere, soon," he said, wondering why he was telling this bold, bushy-haired woman anything. "So I need to make sure they're straight."

Then he'd have to learn his worth, she suggested. Hone his skills and he'd never have to worry about his family struggling again. He promised he would.

"I know someone who'd love this," she'd said, already swapping the company credit card for her own as she stood beside Oscar. "And potentially whatever you come up with next."