Compulsion Ch. 02

"One is left to wonder if indeed there was ever a male suitor at all," the stranger mused. "Vermeer's lute becomes a lyre, and the curtain in the foreground is embroidered with violets. Both symbols of Sapphic desire."

Michelle was not looking at the Sapphic symbolism of my painting, and neither was I. Instead, I was watching her lean unsteadily into the stranger's touch. Her full breasts were nearly brushing against the stranger's suit jacket. A heavy blush had settled across my own chest, and I had the distinct impression that I should be looking away.

The stranger drew back, and turned Michelle delicately towards my painting once again.

"And, of course, as in the Vermeer, the half-drawn curtain threatens to fall and obscure the scene--the curtain falls, the Rideau Falls--and accentuates the intimacy of the moment. Casts us viewers as voyeurs. And perhaps the painter as well, hm?"

I put a hand to my burning cheek and spun away. Oh, dear.

"...Are you interested in purchasing?" Michelle's voice was faint.

"Me? Oh, no. But you might consider it." I turned back to see the stranger cocking her head to the side. "You really must keep at least one piece from your first exhibition--a foundation for your creative ethos. This painting... it has the depth of historical reference, the modern perspective, the richly-textured reimagining... and it depicts a subject near to your heart, I think, if I may say. I'm rarely mistaken in such matters." She grinned. "In the right frame, it would fit very nicely behind the bar." The stranger indicated the space she had in mind, and Michelle and I turned as one to imagine it. She was right. If it was bracketed by cabinets, the trompe-l'oeil would work better.

"Oh, yes. Very nicely," mumbled Michelle, looking rather spellbound.

"I've monopolized your attentions for long enough, I'm sure." The stranger released Michelle and took a step back. "You've much to do. Other guests to entertain. Purchases to see to..."

"Guests and purchases..." Michelle was off-balance without a body to lean on. She shook her head. "Yes, of course. Much to do. So nice to meet you." She batted her eyes and swept a hand fondly across the stranger's lapel. "Have fun tonight! And have a drink..."

As Michelle departed, the stranger smiled at me, brows lifting high over her sunglasses, and beckoned me over to her again. Together we watched as Michelle rummaged for something behind the bar, and then returned to slip a little SOLD sign over the corner my painting's frame. And then she was on her way again.

I spun to my stranger, beaming beneath my incandescent blush. Delight buoyed my heart up into my throat. She looked a little amused, but mostly self-satisfied.

"Okay, well, I'm impressed," I admitted, through a dizzy giggle. "You got me."

She allowed her amusement to break into a rakish grin, and it took my breath away. "Yes, I have..." She pushed her sunglasses up the bridge of her nose. "...Grace."

I gasped. My name on her lips was far more affecting than it had any right to be--she really did have me. My heart sunk so quickly that it pulled the rest of me down with it.

I collapsed into the booth, hands pressed over my extremely red face. "Oh no. Oh no, no, no. You knew this whole time? Oh, my God, that is so embarrassing..."

The leather seat squeaked. I chanced a peek. She'd sat down across from me. Her expression was still amused, but not unsympathetic. I let my hands fall, and stared at them where they lay on the table. My head was spinning and my heart was throbbing. Breaths. Deep breaths.

"It's quite all right." Her hand edged across the tabletop towards mine until our fingertips brushed. The jolt of it made me look up at her. "Besides, I must confess that I haven't been entirely honest with you, either." She produced a business card and presented it to me with a flourish. "Would it have been less impressive if you'd known it was my line of work?"

The card was heavy black stock. Its silver lettering caught the dim glow of the bar's lighting. DEMETER GALLERY. An address downtown. A name that jumbled in my head into a heap of unfamiliar diacritical marks.

"Call me Adrian," she said.

"Adrian," I called her. I drew in a long breath, and then let it out. It's quite all right. "I guess I figured you had to be in the industry. Otherwise you wouldn't have got my references and everything. How did you know me? You overheard me talking with Michelle earlier?"

Adrian was suppressing a smile. "Or perhaps the piece stood out to me, and you stood out to me, and it was a hopeful guess?"

"Hah. Yeah, perhaps. I'm thinking mine is more likely, though." I shook out my curls. Standing out was so rarely a positive experience for me, but right now... I guess it had its appeals.

Adrian was looking at me thoughtfully--viewing me, really, as if I were a painting--and laced her fingers underneath her chin.

"You know, Grace, if this is at all representative of your usual work--" she gestured to my painting--"then I'd be quite interested in seeing more of you."

"More... of me?"

"Of your work, I should say." Adrian smirked. "Do you have a studio?"

"A one-bedroom," I said, and then cringed as I realized that my mind was going down the wrong path. Oh, who was I kidding. It was long-gone. "Ahem. I mean, I work out of my apartment right now. No studio space. Just a bedroom with a painter's tarp instead of a carpet."

"Well, doesn't that sound intimate?"

"Oh, yeah. If you like turpentine fumes..." I fumbled in my bag for my phone and opened my portfolio Insta account. "But, um... if you want to see the work without the mess... here's some of my other stuff."

My hands were trembling as Adrian accepted my phone and scrolled through my work. The screen's light reflected off of her glasses. I was struck suddenly by the small mystery of her eyes. Were they light? Blue or grey could suit her--piercing, I imagined. Or maybe they were dark, to go with the raven blackness of her hair... I shifted forward, squeezing my thighs together. The leather of the seat had grown warm beneath me.

As I studied Adrian, she studied my work. She was so focused, and so still. The only disturbance was of her elegant fingers against my screen, and the occasional murmured acknowledgement of some technique or reference. When at last she looked back up at me, she was invigorated.

"Wonderful," she said simply. Her grin was radiant.

"Wonderful," I echoed, a warmth building in my core. "I'm glad you like it."

"I like it very much." She was still rapt, but now her attention was fixed on me instead of my work. "And there is something else I would very much like."

I leaned in, breasts resting on the shelf of the tabletop, hands inching across the polished surface towards her. "Something else...?"

"Yes. To collect on our bet," she said, and grinned. "If you're agreeable to it?"

"Oh, right..." I shook my head a little. "I'm definitely up for a drink. Although, really, I should be the one treating you..."

Her jaw tensed as if she was trying not to laugh. I must've looked wounded, because she immediately reassured me. "Oh, believe me, Grace, I'd like nothing more. But..." She indicated the bar with a wave of her hand. "They won't be serving my drink of choice."

"Your drink of choice... Expensive tastes?" I guessed, eyeing her suit, her silver cufflinks and matching lapel pin.

"Mm... just rather particular." A flicker of unveiled desire darkened her features, and the heat in my core flared up in response. Her gaze burned into me from behind her dark glasses, and she pressed a hand to her mouth before she went on. "But let us speak no more of that. What are you drinking?"

I told her I'd have a vodka cranberry. She went to go order it. My jealousy made its reappearance as I watched her catch a pretty bartender's attention. It subsided to a pleasant buzz when I reminded myself that she would soon be on her way back to me. I fanned my face with my hands, suppressing a secret smile, and checked my phone.

Ellie had messaged me, just a couple minutes ago. It's been an hour. You made it! Triple confetti emoji. Convo? Photo?

OMG ELLIE I SOLD A PAINTING.

I glanced up. Adrian was on her way back over, drink in hand.

ok I g2g ttyl hgjfhjghfk

As I slid my phone back into my bag, it vibrated in my hand. But Adrian was handing me my drink, and sliding into the booth beside me this time, and Ellie would have to wait for the details.

*

Adrian wanted to show my art.

That alone was more than I ever could have dreamt would come of the evening. And yet, now, I was teetering over the precipice of much more. I sipped my drink and she told me about her work. I could have listened to her talk forever--the lilt of her voice was hypnotic.

"Actually, I'm back to contemporary art after somewhat of a... sabbatical." She leant on the heel of her hand as she regarded me. "I'd intended to stay away for longer. Spend a while operating without a physical gallery space--deal in the kinds of artists who need no introduction and whose work more or less sells itself, you know?"

Oh. Fancy. "Real Vermeers, maybe, instead of my knockoff?"

She smiled. "Italian material rather than Dutch... but, yes, old masters. Old, dead masters. There's something a little soulless about it, though, isn't there? The same pieces, circulating endlessly through the same handful of collections...?" She raised a pale, thin hand, inspected her nails, and then wiggled her fingers at me. "See how it robbed me of my vitality? How terribly wan I've become?"

I stifled a giggle. "Oh. You poor thing."

"Quite." She dropped her hand. "I do rather better in the company of young, living artists, hm?"

"You know, I did kinda get that impression." I sipped my drink to hide my smile. "Well, I'm glad you're back to doing what you love," I said, and brushed my fingers across the back of her hand, tracing the tendons. She actually was kind of wan. "I wish I had that kind of confidence... to make things happen for myself, when I know what I want..."

"And what might that be?"

I pulled my hand away, shy. "Oh. When it comes to my art? It's going to sound dumb. And, like, egotistical. You have to promise not to laugh."

She marked an 'X' over her heart with her thumb.

I took a deep breath. "Um... legacy, I guess. Ultimately. When I was in school, and we were learning about the way the trends and techniques shift, how it's all like a big conversation that stretches across centuries... it made me realize I wanted to be a part of that. I want people to remember my art. And my name. Me." I shook my head. "Like I said. Dumb. It's not like my work is so great, and I can barely even talk to people sometimes, so forget about being part of the conversation. I just feel like an impostor when I try. Like I don't belong here."

I glanced back at her, and her expression had gone thoughtful. Maybe a little melancholy.

I tried to lighten my tone when I continued. "I bet you never feel like that."

"Like an impostor?" She leaned back to appraise me, and adjusted her sunglasses. "Can you keep a secret?"

I nodded.

She shifted forward, and spoke in that strange, sharp tone that made my head spin and my blood rush.

"I am an impostor."

A shiver passed over me, raising the hairs on the back of my neck. She pulled back, grinned, and went on. "And I really don't belong here tonight. I crashed the party."

"Crashed the party..." The shiver of nerves subsided. "Are you serious? Wait, how did you even get in? They checked my name at the door!"

"Oh, there's always room for one more, isn't there? Besides. Would you turn me away if I showed up at your door?"

I laughed in disbelief. So cocky. "Why, though?"

She shrugged, splayed her hands. "I found myself at ends. A cancelled date, an empty evening... and I'd heard tell that a new gallery space was opening up. Always a good idea to keep oneself apprised of the competition, hm?"

The mention of a cancelled date did not escape my attention. Heat flared up from my centre and coloured my cheeks, a confusing mix of jealousy and curiosity. How many women did she have on the go? And yet, I thought, I'd be very much okay with being one of them...

"Well... I guess it all worked out pretty much in my favour," I said, shaking out my curls. "So I won't have you kicked out or anything. Your secret's safe with me."

*

Maybe I wanted to put on a show for Adrian, too.

The notion sent a thrill of anticipation through me. My anxiety had gone dormant; it was just a slight strumming of my nerves now, and that brought into focus the other feelings that swirled through the chambers of my heart.

We got the photo. Adrian took it for me when Michelle wasn't looking. I sat in the corner of our booth, my painting in the background, and I was pointing at the little SOLD sign and giving the camera a thumbs-up. I sent it to Ellie without reading any of the many new messages she'd sent.

"Oh, she's gonna be so mad at me," I giggled as I threw my phone back in my bag. I felt a little drunk, but I hadn't had nearly enough alcohol to explain it. It was just Adrian. A surge of pleasure accompanied that realization.

Adrian raised an eyebrow. "Who's that?"

"Oh, a friend..."

"Girlfriend?" Her brow inched higher, but she was still smiling.

I shoved Adrian's shoulder lightly, and let my hand linger there. The silk of her pocket square was cool against my palm. "No, not girlfriend. Not my type. But she's my best friend." Then I hesitated, not wanting her to get the wrong impression. "Not, 'not my type,' as in she's a girl, though. I mean, I'm--" I stared up at her and found myself tongue-tied. "I'm very into girls. Women. In case you were wondering--" Ugh. Babbling. I cut myself off. "I'm gay, is what I mean."

She just looked at me for a moment as the fresh heat licked across my cheeks. Then she collapsed into a brief fit of laughter, and her laugh was like her grin a hundred times over, and my heart was soaring. She raked a hand through her hair. "I know, Grace." Her voice was husky with the last trace of mirth. Her fingers trailed across my collarbone, up along my neck. She pressed her palm against my flushed cheek and I lit up beneath her.

The bar melted away. No more chatter. No more faint music. Just the hammering of my heart, the rush of blood under my skin, the hot wetness between my thighs. Adrian's lips parted as she leaned towards me. She drew closer. So close that her breath fell on my own open lips. My breath hitched and my legs spread of their own accord. Her other hand snaked up my leg, gripping the soft flesh of my inner thigh.

"You're so warm..."

I nodded helplessly. I was. How else could it be that her hands were so cold against me?

Adrian was frozen for a moment, still as a statue while I swayed. Then she took her hand from my cheek and eased her grip on my thigh. Her intensity was tempered by a slight smile as she shrugged to indicate our very public surroundings.

The bar came back into focus all at once. I might have flushed with embarrassment if I wasn't already about as flushed as I could ever be with something much sweeter.

Adrian's hand found mine beneath the table. "Join me for a smoke break?" she asked, tone carefully light.

"Yes." I blurted it out before I'd even processed the question. "I mean. I don't smoke, but, um..."

Adrian rose and slipped out of the booth. She tugged at my hand and I rose as well, unsteady on my heels. "That's all right." She grinned down at me. Her teeth were very white. "Neither do I."

*

Adrian guided me through the crowd, past the bar, into the foyer. But instead of leading me out into the chill of the night, she glanced around and headed up the other staircase.

"I don't think we're supposed to go up there..." But I had already taken the first step. She held me by the waist.

"Probably not," she agreed. Her hands slid downwards, held me tight around my hips, and lifted me up another step.

Oh. She's so strong. I lurched with pleasant vertigo, objections forgotten, and let her draw me further up the stairs. We ascended into an unfinished upper floor. Furniture slouched beneath painter's sheets, and boxes and canvases were stacked haphazardly in the corners. The scene was lit only by the beams of the streetlights outside, painting wide stripes of illumination across the room where the windows allowed it.

Away as we were now from the glow of the bar, the thrum of conversation, and the press of the crowd, I was all the more aware of the glow of the blush across my cleavage, the thrum of my heartbeat beneath, and the press of Adrian's body against mine. I shrugged out of my coat and threw it aside, not caring where it landed. Adrian was cool to the touch, but I was running hot enough for both of us. I laced my fingers behind her neck and leaned into her, wanting her to feel the heat radiating from me.

The first brush of her lips against mine was a cold burn that had my heart racing and my eyes fluttering. Everywhere we touched, the kiss heightened the sensation: her fingertips biting into the flesh of my hips, my breasts pressed to her shirtfront, the softness of my stomach and thighs against the tightness of her lean figure. I gasped into her. My pulse throbbed in my lips as they yielded to hers. The kiss deepened into something more urgent. My fingers tangled in her hair.

She growled--a deep, animal sound of want that elicited a compliant moan from me--and then lifted me, spun me so that my back was pressed against the wall. Her thigh worked its way between mine, riding my skirt up. The soaked silk of my panties pressed against her leg and I couldn't help but grind against her, desperate for the pressure.

Adrian, meanwhile, slipped the straps from my shoulders and pulled my dress down over my breasts. She unhooked my bra and let it fall to the floor. The sudden cold of the air against my exposed skin was exhilarating and my nipples were instantly hard. The bricks were coarse and chill against my bare back. Adrian cupped my breasts, tweaking me between her fingers, pushing me harder against the wall. Every breath I let out became a moan.

"So vocal. Do you want to be caught?" Her tongue traced my bottom lip.

All I could manage in a response was a long, wordless moan, not a denial, not an affirmation. I imagined the scene as it would appear to whoever had the luck of coming upstairs: me half-undressed and up against the wall. On display like artwork, some particularly lurid nude.

"Well, I'd rather not be interrupted. So... I'll have to be careful, won't I?" She pulled back for a moment and I gazed up at her. Her fingers trailed up my throat and along the edge of my jaw, and then she tapped a fingertip to my parted lips. "And you'll be quiet."

I nodded instantly. I'd be quiet. I'd be whatever she wanted.

She laughed as her touch trailed back down my throat, over my breasts, down my sides..."Very good." Up my skirt... underneath the band of my panties...

Her praise amplified that first real touch, her fingers slipping so easily between my slick, open thighs, tracing light circles in just the right spot. I threw a hand over my mouth to muffle a cry and tossed my head back, curls catching on the rough bricks.

She groaned sharply, almost viciously, and then her mouth was against my neck as she pushed my skirt up and tore my panties down around my thighs. I was so wet I was dripping. Her fingers found my entrance and I rocked against her, desperate for her to be inside me.

"Grace." She hissed my name and kissed my throat. "You must tell me if you want me to stop."

"Of course," I whispered. My hands roved down her body, settled at her waist, and pulled her tight against me. She was still teasing, just barely pressing into me. "But that's the last thing I want."