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I tried to nod but he didn’t release my hair. The moment I relaxed back into his hand, the line of his mouth softened, and his eyelids closed to half-mast.
“Yes, Lucky. I’d like that.”
My eyes fell to his mouth, my lips parting of their own accord.
He tightened his hold on my hair, bringing my eyes up to his. His mouth quirked up on one side, almost regretful, and he murmured, “For your punishment, I’m not going to fuck you.”
Taken aback, I went to pull away, but he held me closer and smiled, this one reaching his eyes. “But because that will also punish me, and we’ve already agreed I didn’t do anything wrong, maybe you’ll agree to let me take you out on Wednesday. I can’t wait until Friday to see you again. Besides, I already bought us tickets to a show I think you’ll like.”
He flashed his dimples.
I laughed.
Then, dropping his smile, he dipped his knees and searched my eyes. “We good?”
“Yes,” I immediately answered. “We’re good.”
“Good.”
The breath left his chest, he dropped a kiss onto the tip of my nose and, true to his word, we did nothing more than cuddle up on the couch and watch a movie.
It wasn’t much of a punishment.
Chapter Nineteen - Limits
Lucky
What the actual fuck?
I pulled the tickets out of my pocket, wondering if somehow we’d been admitted to the wrong gallery.
The Goddess at Play – A Celebration.
Those same words hung from the ceiling at the center of the exhibition. And there was no better word for what I saw.
At the entrance to the exhibit, the hostess explained that the walk-through of the exhibition took approximately two hours, allowing seven minutes at each of twelve stations, the remainder of the time spent perusing the open gallery. She requested that we neither rush nor delay, so as not to intrude upon the attendees either in front or behind us but pay heed to the soft bell that indicated when it was time to move on.
Narrow pathways swelled into intimate pockets, called stations, which again narrowed into a pathway until we happened upon the next. I imagined if we could see the layout from above, it would look like the unfurling of a rose.
The music, a heavy, lustful beat, seemed almost out of place.
At first.
The first pocket, or station, featured flowers. They reminded me of something, but I couldn’t quite put my finger on it. Following the flowers, we were treated to increasingly erotic depictions of women, first alone, then in pairs, then in larger groups, sometimes with men, sometimes without. As the number of characters in the paintings increased, the amount of clothing decreased.
We now stood in the next pocket, henceforth known as the ‘what the actual fuck’ station.
I cleared my throat. “Um, Minty. I had no idea,” I whispered.
Her tinkling laugh broke out and she squeezed my biceps. “I know,” she admitted. “I thought it was a strange choice and wondered if you knew what we were getting into. Watching you,” she laughed softly, “has been incredibly entertaining!”
I huffed out a breath in relief. “Thank, God,” I exclaimed, splaying my hand over my chest. “I thought it had something to do with mythology, or female empowerment and creativity. I pictured celestial paintings, maybe a trident if things got racy! I’m almost afraid to go to the next station.”
We worked our way through, and I began to appreciate the beauty and spirit of this celebration of female sexuality. Knowing the end approached, I relaxed, watched Minty as she took it all in.
I was still looking at her when the hallway opened up into the last station and saw the surprise on her face.
It should have served as a warning.
