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I grabbed her hips, lying her down on the couch and laying on top of her. My cock slammed into her hard, her thighs wrapping around me as I worked my cock into her hard and fast. She whimpered below me, chanting my name like a siren’s call.
“Bear, Bear, Bear….”
“I’m all your’s…your’s….your’s…”
Everything else disappeared. The flashing lights, the people, the pumping music, even the couch below us. All I knew, all I felt, all that filled my brain was Chloe. Chloe’s warm, inviting body. Chloe’s hunger, matching my own as she opened herself up to me, her soul needing exactly the same thing that mine did.
We crashed over the edge together, the music and lights mingling with the cries escaping from her mouth and the fireworks exploding in my head. The world erupted in a spectacular display of sensational expressions of lust and hunger, our love binding us together as we melted into each other…
Chloe
“I’ve always wanted to see the Mona Lisa!” I squealed. I couldn’t believe today was the day I’d always dreamed of. When Bear told me I could pick the location for our honeymoon, I needed no time to think. When I told him why, he laughed and promised to take me to the museum of my dreams.
“You’ve told me that a million times in the last two weeks,” Bear teased.
“I’m glad you were listening,” I said.
“I always listen to you,” he said. “And I always will.”
“How did I get so lucky?” I asked.
Bear just smiled and shrugged. For an arrogant bastard, he sure could be humble sometimes.
“We were meant to be,” he said, placing his hand on my knee. He’d hired a car to take us all around the city today and although I was a little tired, I was ignoring it. I seemed to be getting exhausted easier these last few days, but my doctor told me that was to be expected. “Oh, look, we’re here!”
I looked out the window and gasped when I saw the majestic building, the sparkling pyramids standing prominently out front.
“It’s even more amazing in person,” I said.
“Wait till you see inside, Beauty,” he murmured, looking out the window with me. The car pulled up to the front and we got out, standing there and taking it all in. “My parents used to bring me here when I was a kid. I’ve come back many times since then. I can’t wait to show you my favorite pieces.”
We walked up to the front doors and as soon as I saw the sign on the front door, tears tung my eyes.
“It’s closed! Bear! I can’t believe this,” I said. “The sign says it’s closed for a private party!”
He nodded, wrinkling his eyebrows. “So it does.”
“I guess we should have checked the schedule,” I said, my heart filled with disappointment. I’d gotten so worked up about visiting the museum, seeing things I’d only ever dreamed of seeing.
The door opened and a man in a suit walked out.
“Mr. Dalton?” he asked. Bear smiled and took his hand.
“Mr. Rousseau?”
“Yes! Welcome to the Musée du Louvre! It’s a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Dalton. And this must be your lovely bride!”
“Yes, this is Chloe,” Bear said. I reached out a hand and the man took it and kissed it.
“Hello…” I said, completely confused.
“Mrs. Dalton, welcome! Please, won’t you come inside?” He turned and walked back in. Bear took my hand and followed him.
“What did you do?” I whispered.
He shrugged and flashed me a smile.
“I rented out the museum for the evening. It’ll be easier to see everything without all the lines and people wandering around…”
“You’re insane!” I said, my heart racing, my eyes wide with absolute delight. I let out a tiny little squeal and kissed his cheek. “God, I fucking love you!”
“Sure you don’t just love my money?” he teased.
“That too!” I said. He laughed and squeezed my hand.
“Only the best for my girl,” he said. I sighed and looked around, overwhelmed right away by the beauty of the museum. It was so quiet, our footsteps echoing through the empty halls.
Mr. Rousseau handed us a few maps and smiled.
“You’re sure you won’t reconsider the tour, Mr. Dalton?” he asked.
“No, but thank you for offering again. That’s very kind of you, but we’d prefer to just wander around at our own pace.”
“Very well, monsieur,” he said. “There are a few guards throughout the museum, please let them know should you need anything. Dinner will be served just as you requested.”
“Thank you, Mr. Rousseau, you’ve been quite helpful.”
My eyes were wide as saucers. I had no idea Bear had set this up and I didn’t even want to think about how much it must cost to rent out the entire Louvre for the night. And dinner, too?
“You, Mr. Dalton, are full of surprises,” I said, as we walked hand in hand through the lobby.
“I try,” he said. He looked down at me, completely pleased with himself. My heart swelled with adoration for him.
We spent the next hour trailing through the maze of exhibits, each more breathtaking than the last. I spent a good fifteen minutes sitting in front of a Monet, tears streaming down my face.
“This is the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen,” I cried. Of course, I’d said that about a dozen times already tonight. Bear handed me a handkerchief, patting my back, patiently waiting while I tried to commit every paint stroke to memory.
Not only did we see the Mona Lisa, which was absolutely breathtaking, but we also saw Venus de Milo, Jean Antoine Watteau’s Nymph and Satyr, endless paintings by Rembrandt and daVinci and Matisse and Renoir…
My head spun.
Sculptures by Picasso, entire rooms created from gilded furnishings, ancient Egyptian hieroglyphs, the four seasons paintings that Poussin had created in 1660….
The treasures were endless and of course, Bear seemed to be an expert. I wasn’t surprised. He seemed to be a source of endless knowledge about an endless amount of subjects.
We walked into a large room filled with two huge marble sculptures that took my breath away. A small table was set up in the middle of the room, with flowers and lit candles flickering on it.
But my eye was drawn to the two towering sculptures.
“Beautiful, aren’t they?” Bear said. “These are my two favorite pieces. I’ve been drawn to them since I was a little boy. They’re named the Rebellious Slaves, and they were carved out of marble by Michelangelo beginning in 1513 and ending in 1515.”
“They’re stunning,” I said, slowly walking around them. They were statues of two massive men, the first one with his head thrown back, his eyes closed. The other was bound in chains, struggling against them.
“This one is the Dying Slave, and the other is the Bound Slave,” Bear said. One arm was raised over the Dying Slave’s thrown back head, the other resting on his chest. His naked body rippled with muscles. “They were both originally intended for Pope Julius the Second’s tomb. He commissioned Michelangelo to sculpt a very elaborate tomb, with forty of these sculptures. But Michelangelo was pulled away to paint the Sistine Chapel. The tomb was redesigned on a smaller scale, with a few of the original sculptures used alongside a sculpture of Moses. These two ended up not being used at all for that tomb and now they stand here today. The tomb is at a museum in Italy.”
“That’s fascinating.”
“I think so too! This one, the Dying Slave, seems to be completely internalized, almost as if he’s in a trance, as if he’s in an entirely different place, as if he’s giving in to whatever pain or pleasure he’s in, letting go of something, letting go of himself. The other one here, the Bound Slave, he’s my favorite.”
“Why?”
“Look at him. His strength is almost palpable. He’s resisting. His head is looking up as if he’s confronting God, confronting whatever is holding him down. He fights, he struggles against his restraints. Some interpret him
as struggling to be free from the earthly realm and struggling to be one with God. And look,” he pointed down to the Bound Slave’s feet. “He’s bound into the stone. Michelangelo once said that when he saw a block of marble, he immediately envisioned the character struggling to be free of the rock. He felt as if his work allowed that. As if he himself were freeing them. Even though they’re still here, still part of this solid marble, they’ve never escaped, but they’ve never given up fighting to be free, either.”
“It’s as if the Bound Slave is really bound up in himself,” he continued, his eyes lighting up. “His body is twisted in a serpentine fashion, as if he’s trying to escape the very bounds of his flesh.”
My heart was racing as Bear talked. I’d never had a piece of art affect me so deeply. Tears stung my eyes as I circled them, drinking in every detail.
“I’ve never seen anything more beautiful,” I whispered, for the millionth time. But I meant it this time.
Bear walked up behind me, wrapping his arms around me.
“I have, Beauty,” he whispered, his voice low and soft in my ear. He turned me around to face him, his deep ocean eyes staring into mine. “You, Beauty. You’re more beautiful to me than anything in this place. In thousands of years, in all the countries, nothing more beautiful than you has ever been created. You’re my masterpiece, Beauty.”
