Exhibition (3 page)

Doubts about her sanity returned. Did she really think some attractive, successful businessman would be so wild with lust for her that he’d unzip his pants to abuse himself in a crowded subway car?

She looked down at the edges of the open sweater bunched in her fist, then around at the people who, for all their boredom as the car rattled on and on to its destination, hadn’t noticed her odd behavior.

What are you?
she asked, suddenly frantic for the invisible one, whatever he was, to return.

After a deep breath, she let go of her sweater. It swung loose and open. It took all her courage to check the faces of the other passengers to confirm they weren’t staring at her.

Nobody was, not even Oliver.

A moment, he’d said. She wriggled her shoulders to let the fabric slide further apart, finding the touch of the cold, open air on the skin of her belly to be unexpectedly arousing.

Her need began to grow.

She reached up and traced her bra strap, followed it down to the swell of her breast, over the curve to her nipple.

This time it was she who watched another person and touched herself. Something about Oliver’s long, muscular body made her feel weak and powerful at the same time. The narrow hips, the broad shoulders, the strong angle of his jaw. He had a small gold ring in his ear that emphasized the rich beauty of his brown skin. A thin gold chain circled his wrist, drawing her attention to his hands, reminding her of how he’d been touching himself and how badly she wanted him to touch her, too.

How badly she wanted as much as she could have.

I’m ready,
she said clearly with her thoughts.

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4

THE YOUNG WOMAN was really something. When she’d walked away from him the day before, Marcus had been irritated, but that was foolish. Since then he’d taken the time to dive more deeply into her memories and now understood the restrictions her life had woven around her. It was not surprising she’d fled from him the day before. If he’d considered not returning today, it was only because the little mortal had, perhaps, slightly, hurt his feelings.

It was rare to find a human who was aware of him as an entity separate from her own desires and compulsions. An upbringing based on praying for hours of every day had no doubt given her the capacity for speaking to unusual creatures such as him.

He sat in the seat next to Oliver and watched with deepening pleasure as Ashley overcame her fears. He licked his lips as she pulled apart her sweater. Such panic was beating in her heart, yet she pushed it aside to satisfy her desire, her ache, her curiosity.

His father would be interested in meeting a mortal like her—

Marcus wouldn’t allow that to happen, of course. His father wasn’t known for sharing. Having the power of a god did that to you.

Indeed it was a good thing Marcus himself wasn’t the jealous type; his little pet was now devouring Oliver’s fine human form with her eyes. While her fingers found a nipple and squeezed.

Marcus was already on his feet when she called to him. He cast a wake-up call to Oliver—the lovely dream he was having could be lived in real life—and strode over to Ashley’s side.

Oliver rubbed his eyes and stared at Ashley, as oblivious to Marcus as he was every other passenger on the train. Only the blonde angel existed in his world right then.

Not so angelic at the moment, not the way she was touching herself and staring right back.

I know what he’s dreaming about,
Marcus told her.

Hearing his voice again after the brief hiatus, her eyes brightened.
You’re back!

Oliver’s dreams aren’t too unlike what you were imagining.

Oh?
Her throat moved as she swallowed.

He’s an aggressive man,
Marcus told her.
He doesn’t like to wait for what he wants, and is willing to take big risks to get it.

Like you?

Surprised, Marcus laughed.
No, not like me. I’m just a spoiled mischief-maker. That’s what my father always says, anyway.

She glanced at the ceiling of the train, as if scanning the heavens.
Your father?

Now why had he brought up his family? He meets one mortal who can talk to him and he starts spilling all his dreary secrets.
Don’t worry about him. Oliver’s waiting.

He certainly was. Grinning, Marcus rubbed his palms together. He’d steal a little taste for himself before sitting back to enjoy the show.

He slid his hand behind her soft warm neck, enjoying the way she gasped, and drew her up on tiptoes for a quick kiss. Her eyes fluttered shut, a small kittenish sound escaping from the back of her throat. The arousing sound inflamed him. Unable to resist stealing another moment, Marcus clouded Oliver’s mind as he caressed his hand down the gentle curve of Ashley’s back to the swell of her bottom. He pulled her hard against his pelvis while his tongue licked along the seam of her lips. To his deep satisfaction, she mewled again. Heady with the taste of her innocence, he ground his arousal against her belly to show her how hot she was.

The car screeched into another station. Barely in time, Marcus pulled away from Ashley and stopped Oliver from getting up to leave through the open doors. Marcus had clouded his mind so effectively, the man thought the fun was already over.

Sorry,
he told Ashley.
Not my turn.
With a flick of his wrist, the doors shut, the lights dimmed, and the train rumbled onward while Ashley found herself compelled to smile seductively into Oliver’s hungry, appreciative gaze.

* * *

She still wasn’t convinced the voice in her mind didn’t belong to the businessman with the black eyes. He was watching her so intently, whereas nobody else spared her a glance, though she was stripped open to her underwear.

Even the two rough-looking guys, sitting right next to where she stood, decked out in soiled blue work shirts and jeans, kept talking to each other about some game the night before. They should’ve seen her—she was right there, her ridiculously exposed body barely a foot away from their animated faces—but their gazes swept past her as if she were invisible.

Like he is,
she thought.

I can make them see you if you’d like,
the voice said.

Her heart beat faster.
No, no, of course not.
Her fingers reached up to pull her sweater shut again.

His low chuckle made her shiver.
Suit yourself. Just Oliver, then. For now.

She licked her lips and let her eyes drift across the car to the man reclining in the seat with the newspaper in his lap. A slow, predatory grin spread across his face.

A bolt of desire shot through her, landing somewhere deep between her legs. Oh, she wanted him. From the way she’d been acting, he probably thought she was an experienced, easy woman, maybe even a prostitute.

Shane’s insult reverberated in her mind.
Whore.
Just because she wanted to feel something, to use the body God gave her.

But she knew nothing. How could she please this gorgeous man she didn’t even know? She felt paralyzed and ignorant—as if not one of the hundred fantasies she harbored about what a man could do to a woman had ever crossed her mind.

Cursing herself for her cowardice, Ashley reached out to the railing for support and ducked her head, one hand reaching up to fasten the top button of her sweater. Then the one below it.

A finger stroked her cheek. Not the invisible finger, though. This touch was different.

She glanced up sideways between the strands of hair falling around her face.
Oh.
It was the businessman.

“Hello,” he said. His voice was very deep. “Tell me your name.”

Her mouth opened, but no words would come.

He turned his hand and brushed his knuckles along her face and down her neck, then over her breast, where he slid it back and forth. Her nipples hardened. “I think you’re a dream,” he said, gazing down at her body.

She managed to nod. The two young workmen, facing them in their seat only a few feet away, had finished their sports chat stared silently ahead, arms crossed over their broad chests, looking bored.

Could they really not see her?

Breathing shallowly, she kept her gaze on the men as she stepped closer to Oliver and pushed the sweater off her shoulders. It slid down her arms, caught briefly at her elbows, then fell to the dirty floor of the subway car. Her breasts, still in the bra, brushed against Oliver’s crisp white shirt.

There she froze again, unsure, and looked up into Oliver’s beautiful face. “Tell me what you want,” she whispered.

His voice grew deeper. “You
are
a dream,” he said. He captured her hand and brought it to his lips. He dropped slow, moist kisses along her skin. “So willing.”

“Just tell me what to do.”

His hands reached around her body and unfastened her bra as if he’d done it a million times before. Suddenly she had the image of him doing this other women before her, many other women, and she felt a rush of arousal. Not jealousy of those other women, but pride that she was one of them, desirable, sexy. She wasn’t on the outside; she was one of them.

Her naked breasts sank forward into his waiting hands. “First, You’re going to let me touch you,” he said.

She nodded. His hands were warm and large. Strong.

“And look at you,” he continued.

Her knees trembled. The pressure of his fingers on her breasts made her unable to focus on what he was saying. Nobody had ever touched her there before. She’d developed early and had always been ashamed of her body; an attitude encouraged by her parents, teachers, even her friends.

Even Shane, the man she’d thought she’d loved.

And now she was naked to the waist in a big city subway car, surrounded by strangers who she’d been taught were going to hell.

God, it felt so good. Oliver wasn’t just caressing her breasts; he was studying them, admiring them. When he dragged his thumb across her left nipple, she felt a jolt of sensation shoot down her body. And then, when he ducked his head and licked her hard and slow, she felt a surge of hot, tingling moisture between her legs.

She was losing control of her own body, something she’d been warned about her entire life. She’d wanted a carnal experience, but could she afford the cost?

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5

YOU’RE NOT LOSING control,
the voice said in Ashley’s mind, soothing her.
You’re reclaiming it from the prison of your upbringing.

Oliver cupped the other breast and lifted it to his mouth. His dark red tongue lapped the erect tip with long, confident strokes. She felt her knees buckle.

“So lovely,” Oliver said. His breath was warm on her wet nipples; she lost her balance. His powerful arm came up behind her waist, steadying her. “You need something to hold on to, don’t you, sweetheart?”

She snaked her hands up his chest, feeling his broad strength under the dress shirt, glad he was supporting her weight because her own muscles were melting like butter.

“You have beautiful tits,” Oliver said, “but I’ve always been more of an ass man. Let’s turn you around so we both get what we need.”
 

His rough words made her blush. She liked it, she realized as he rotated her in his arms so she was facing the workmen.

She braced her hands on the railing and bent forward until her head was level with the men’s blank faces. She was so close she could see gold flecks in the blue eyes of the young blond one, and a two-inch scar on the chin on his older, rougher-looking companion.

It was crazy they didn’t realize they practically had a naked woman in their laps.

Not naked yet,
the voice said.

Oliver took hold of her hips from behind and pressed himself against her. She still wore the skirt, but the material was thin and loose, and she could feel the hard, probing length of his arousal grinding into her. Instinctively she widened her stance and shifted her hips higher to meet him.

“Oh, baby,” Oliver said, sliding his hand over her bottom—her
ass
—in firm circles. Then he grabbed a handful of her flesh through the fabric and squeezed, kneaded, stroked, and patted. She bent forward a little more, a groan escaping from her throat. Then the fabric of her skirt was being pulled up and hitched over her hips. She felt cold air on the backs of her thighs, then her bottom, and finally—

He yanked her panties down her legs. The damp cotton caught on her calves, binding her legs together; she lifted one foot and kicked them off.

She was entirely exposed now. She felt the folds of her sex open, knowing he could see everything.

Her heart pounded against her ribs as she waited for him to penetrate her like she’d see in dirty movies. All that pornography she’d discovered on the computers since she’d left home had scared her a little.

A lot.
 

Most of her fantasies weren’t about being
impaled
like that. Just imagining a man (or, God help her, more than one man) looking at her that way, taking off her clothes—that was enough to compel her to slide her hand between her legs and rub herself until she’d completely shamed herself.

Of course
a girl like her had had to leave home before her capacity for sin was discovered. Better to flee into exile than be locked up at home, forever without a man, with her parents. Better to discover pleasure where it was allowed.

If she was going to go to hell anyway, she might as well enjoy herself.

I knew I’d chosen well
, the voice said, sounding amused.

I’m afraid,
she admitted to him. It was almost like talking to God.