Chapter 4
Dutch & Rosa -- Marcie & Evie -- Ann & Davy
They were in the largest room of a small San Diego art museum, a place he'd never heard of until Robert had urged him to visit one day while they were watching the Dodgers play the Padres. Of course he made sure Rosa accompanied him, dragging her away from what she considered a prospective client, a very prospective client. During the drive Dutch worried that Rosa might just lose a hefty commission because of his insisting that she accompany him. But now that they had been browsing through the galleries for thirty minutes or so he was pleasantly surprised at how much she was enjoying the pictures.
"Dutch, look at this." She said, tugging at his arm. "Do you think it's real?"
Arching his eyebrows, he smiled and said, "You're asking me?"
But, cupping his chin in his hand he gave the painting his careful consideration. It was an abstract in greens and blues of varied shades and tones. Rosa was reading the title of the piece aloud. He gave her a smile. "You're right. That's a painting on the wall in front of you."
She made a face. "Don't be funny, Dutch. I recognize the painting, it's a Kandinsky, I was just wondering if it's an original."
He cocked his head from side to side. Finally he shook his head, "Not an original, nope, no way."
But Rosa had already approached a guard and had her answer.
With a mischievous gleam in her eyes she studied Dutch. "It's a copy. A very good copy by another famous painter, but it's not the original. Now how did you know that?"
He shrugged, "I just felt it."
She laughed. "You're awful," she said. "Why did we come here anyway?'
"I told you, Robert recommended it. You know whatever he suggests you go for."
She laughed. "That's sexually, baby, not art."
He made a grab for her. "I'm up for anything, lady."
She swatted his hand away. An older woman across the room glanced disapprovingly at them.
"Stop it Dutch," Rosa whispered.
"What say we find a hiding place somewhere?"
She started walking away from him. But he followed on her heels. Rosa tried to look stern, but her dusky face was coloring. "You'll get us thrown out," she said, but he could tell she wanted to laugh.
I'm glad she has a sense of humor, he thought, and leered back at her.
Rosa stopped in front of a Picasso. "I can't believe I have a real Picasso in front of me. I've never seen one before. In fact I can't recall the last time I was in an art museum." Her eyes were glistening with tears of joy. "I want to thank you for bringing me here, Dutch."
He sidled up to her, put his arm around her waist. Rosa looked up at him. "Are you going to behave?"
"Only if you want me to," he said, gazing into her dark brown eyes. She was silhouetted against a pair of French doors that opened onto a tropical garden. The light cast soft shadows across her features; and heightened the natural pout of her lips. In his mind's eye he saw them closing down on his member and he groaned softly.
"What's with you? You're acting weird today."
"I was just thinking of you sucking my...."
"Dutch!" Rosa slapped him playfully, and rolled her eyes.
"I was!" He insisted, and she glanced down and saw his bulging trousers.
"I'm glad you didn't wear those shorts today, you'd be hanging out of them."
"Just know this, Rosa, I love you and I want you."
"Can't you wait until we get home?"
"There's no time like the present. And wasn't only a couple weeks ago that you were all over me at every opportunity? I mean, your office, the hospital, which almost got me fired."
'Dutch . . ." she said, feigning exasperation. But her lower lip was trembling with a sudden desire and he knew it. He inhaled and smelled the musky heat rising from her loins.
He reached for her. Rosa tried to duck, but he managed to get one finger in a belt loop. He hadn't intended it, but as she spun around, he found his other hand on her breast. Her face flushed crimson.
"Dutch!" She cried out in alarm. But her voice was throaty and she realized her lips had gone dry despite a fresh coating of lipstick.
"Do you want to or not? He hadn't moved his hand. "There's a bench around the corner . . ."
Her lips parted, her tongue darted out and swiped some saliva across them. Her mind was racing and her eyes began to focus on a place far away. Dutch pressed closer. He could feel the heat of her stomach through his trousers. He remembered moments like this from high school. The time in the pool house with Wanda Philips, who'd had those luscious melons.... The memory faded as he bent to kiss Rosa; brushed her forehead with his cheek.
"I have to ask you to leave." It was a huge black guard, standing a few feet away from them.
Dutch glanced over his shoulder, deadpan. "You're not allowed to kiss your girl in here?" He was still holding Rosa close.
"It's not about that. We're closing now," the man said in a neutral voice.
"You'll have to excuse him," Rosa said. She'd extricated herself and was pulling on his arm. Her professionalism surfaced and she said, "You have some marvelous things here, we must come back when..." she paused then said, "At an earlier time of the day.'
The guard nodded. "We'll have a new exhibit in two weeks, please come then."
Before he knew it, she had levied him out into the bright sunlight. "Kinda early to be closing," he said and then looking at his watch he realized the guard was right. It was after five.
***
"Why are you laughing?" He was behind her now, but had caught a glimpse of her face in the huge mirror across from the king-size bed at the motel they had rushed to after leaving the museum.
"I'm not laughing," Rosa said, turning her face against a pillow. Her eyes were closed, her cheeks flushed, her hair gone from black to ebony with the sweat. Long strands were plastered to her forehead. She bit her lip as he moved against her, then gasped with the sudden pleasure his thick prick bestowed as it churned into the deepest part of her passage.
"I saw you," he said, but had to close his own eyes now. He clutched at her hips, as if to pull her closer, as if it would be possible to move her inside him somehow, but her flesh was slippery and his hands were starting to work in some rhythm they had concocted on their own.
"I can't believe . . ." she broke off and tossed her head against the bedclothes.
He pulled back, trying to prolong the moment, but it took only one glance downward to see her labia stretched to their limits as they bulged around his member like a salami entering it's casing for him to give up; and with a soft groan, he rejoined her; and fell to his side. Rosa groaned softly, as the unbelievable sensations his huge prick brought about returned and she urged her pelvis tighter against him -- seeking to keep herself glued to him -- trying to keep their rhythms intact. She arched upward, rocked slightly, managed somehow to work him onto his back.
He opened his eyes again as she began to rise and fall above him, saw her face upturned, her hair tumbling free, her lovely neck arched; and his cock sluicing in and out of her crevice with each of her facile movements.
"Can't believe what?" he managed, after what seemed an eternity had elapsed. He felt giddy, slightly delirious, nothing in his mind but sensation. Slipperiness. A wet silk glove clasping him, unclasping him.
"That you had . . . this all planned," she spoke in bursts, her hands digging into the flesh of his chest for punctuation.
"It was . . . a spur of the moment thing," he rasped.
"Oh yes," she said after a moment or two. But she wasn't talking about plans of any kind.
"Yeah!" he answered with a groan of his own as he listened to her bright cries of pleasure spiraling toward him as he emptied his seed into her, until they both collapsed onto the soaking wet sheets, panting, both of them gasping for air.
***
He could smell the shampoo in her hair, the sweat, the hint of sex as she finally pulled away.
"Happy?" he asked.
"Oh yeah. I just think of you and Kathy, all the wonderful things we have going for us."
