I don’t want him to stop and I know that he doesn’t want to stop either.
It wasn’t that long ago that we were in each other’s arms yet it also feels like it has been more than a century.
A strand of his hair falls into my eyes.
My mouth runs dry.
I blow the strand away just as Nicholas kisses me again.
After pulling my shirt over my head, he runs his fingers down my arm.
It tickles and I smile.
“Tell me to keep going,” he whispers.
“Keep going,” I reply.
In the bedroom, we lie down on the bed.
I watch the way his collarbones move slightly with each exhalation.
Propping his head, he looks at my naked breasts and draws little circles on them with his finger.
I lick my lips.
My breathing speeds up.
He puts his hand over my chest to feel my pounding heartbeat. Then he presses his ear to it.
I watch him listen to me until my breathing stabilizes. Then he turns his face and kisses me.
Pressing his lips onto my lips energizes my whole body. Goose bumps run down my skin and my nipples harden.
A fire that was barely a flame before begins to roar inside of my core. My legs open on their own.
My hips don’t listen. They move up and down according to their own tempo.
We lose the rest of our clothes. Who takes off what and when, I have no idea, but a few moments later we are lying naked next to each other.
Nicholas drapes his body on top of mine.
I flex my toes.
My whole body is burning for him and I need to keep the anticipation simmering. I pull him closer.
I press my mouth on his.
“I want you inside of me…now,” I whisper, biting his earlobe.
“Your request is my command,” he whispers back. I open wide and welcome him inside.
“You are so beautiful,” he says over and over again.
He is the sexiest man I’ve ever seen but I am too consumed by the moment to say a word.
The muscles in his back expand and contract with each move. Digging my hands into his flesh, I pull him deeper inside of me.
“I…” I start to say.
The words get caught in the back of my throat. He doesn’t hear me but it doesn’t matter.
I know what I almost said.
I love you.
The sentence is so pure and so simple. Yet, when I open my mouth again, nothing comes out.
“Are you okay?” Nicholas asks, looking down at me.
“Yes, I’m fine.” I force a smile.
“Is this okay?” He double checks.
I kiss him and start to move my hips. “This is a lot more than okay,” I whisper, kissing his neck.
“Don’t lie to me, Nicholas. I…care a lot about you and I really don’t want you to lie to me.”
The word care is supposed to be love but I can’t bring myself to say it. That kind of honesty still escapes me. But the request is true.
I wait for a moment for him to say it to me but, of course, he doesn’t. Instead, he sits up and props himself up against the headboard.
The sheet lays low on his body, just below his toned pelvic region. All six of his stomach muscles relax and contract with each breath, mesmerizing me for a moment.
My own body is so much less perfect than his is and yet he looks at me exactly with the same adoration as I do at him.
“I’m not lying to you,” he promises over and over again.
Yet, that feeling in the bottom of my stomach doesn’t subside. It just gets more nauseating.
“So, what’s the plan?” I ask, getting out of bed. “How would this whole thing work?”
“I’m glad you asked.” Nicholas’ eyes light up. “There’s an older couple who live in a five-bedroom, five-thousand square foot home in Martha’s Vineyard. They have been collecting paintings for a while and have a number in their possession. They are not particularly keen on providence.”
I give him a slight nod.
That’s good, I think to myself. It’s not good to steal but it’s better to steal from other thieves.
“Did they steal this one?”
“No, they don’t steal,” Nicholas says.
I bite the inside of my cheek.
“But they have no problem buying off the black market,” he says. “I don’t know where this painting came from, but I do know that they did not pay the fair market value for it.”
I can’t help but laugh. Fair market value? In the art world? Where everything is based on perception and scandal and who knows who and who will pay what?
“Something funny?” Nicholas asks. I catch myself and give him a casual shrug.
“No, not really. Just from what I’ve heard about the art world, they like to blow up the value of the work, somewhat.”
I downplay it as much as I can but I know that I’ve slipped up.
“Have you ever done this before?” Nicholas asks.
“No,” I say quickly.
“Never?” he pushes.
“No.” I stand my ground.
I don’t know why I’m not telling him the truth. It happened so long ago. But no one has ever asked me this question before. And if I were to tell anyone, it would be Nicholas Crawford. He looks into my eyes and waits. I stare back and purse my lips.
“Why do you think I have all of this experience stealing paintings?” I ask, half laughing. “You got some file on me somewhere?”
“No, not at all,” he says. “Just wondering.”
“So, tell me more about this job.”
He goes over the basic details of the plan.
There’s a vault downstairs in their wine closet, somewhere behind the bottles where they keep their most valuable paintings.
His aim is to steal this one for his client, the name of whom he refuses to give me.
“What about the rest?” I ask.
“That’s where it can get a bit more interesting.”
“How so?” I ask even though we both know the answer.
One option is that we do just the job that the client asked us. The client pays us one hundred grand and that’s it.
The other option is to take something else as well and sell them ourselves.
That’s what would set all of us up for good.
No more jobs.
No more clients.
No more stalkers or debts.
Nicholas refuses to tell me but he doesn’t have as much money as he claims.
It’s not tied up anywhere, it just doesn’t exist.
I thought I would be mad finding this out.
But now I just internalize the information and let it wash over me.
He may not have the money now but he’s a man who has certain skills and that means that he won’t be broke for long.
That’s probably why I’m not that angry at him.
Or perhaps it’s because I’ve kept my own share of secrets and I know what it feels like to just want to keep something to yourself.
“You want to take other paintings, too, huh?” I ask.
He gives me a wink.
“It would really be nice to have someone in on this job who knows a thing or two about stealing artwork,” he says.
I flip my hair over and toss it to give it some volume and free it of the tangles. Running my fingers through it, I smooth it over and look away from the mirror and back at him.