Page 40 of Her Patron
She could feel her wetness, June’s wetness, their wetness touching her skin and her flesh. June’s eyes rolled back in her head, nipples hardening through her dress. I never even saw her breasts tonight. Whatever. Miquela knew what they looked like. She was happy to have her this much.
“Holy shit, you feel so good.” June’s left hand gingerly wrapped around Miquela’s neck before descending down her back. “Don’t move. Please.”
“I don’t want to anyway.” Nose grazed hers, lips tasting the salt on her cheek. “I want to always be like this with mi amour.”
Her other hand moved through her hair. “I love you, Miquela.”
“And I love you, June.”
They shared this moment a bit longer before they both simultaneously came to their senses. Miquela helped her stand on her own feet again, hair mussed but sweater dress unscathed.
“I have to get back to the party…” June struggled to get her eyes to focus. Damn, was I that good that quickly? “You should probably go… I’ll see you in a few days…”
Miquela fixed the hem of June’s dress. “You might want to stop by the restroom first, mi amour. You’re not supposed to embody those paintings, I think. Not quite that much.”
She strained to laugh. “Yes, you’re right.” Her hand coaxed Miquela’s head down for one last kiss. “Thanks for coming by.”
“You’re welcome. Now, go to your client. I’m sure she’s paying handsomely for you.”
Now June’s laughter erupted. “Not as much as I’m going to pay for this later.”
Miquela watched her head back to the party, regaining her composure and confidence. That woman loves me. She didn’t care how many of those other people looked at her with the samegaze of awe that she had. They should. Everyone should see what she saw when June walked away, whether it was in a designer skin-tight sweater dress, lingerie, or jeans and a T-shirt.
They should see the same golden goddess that Miquela saw, radiant and regal.
After gussying up in the women’s room, Miquela slipped into the back of the party. Far away was June, drinking another glass of Champagne with her arm wrapped around Sette’s torso. Cameras flashed. People swooned over their casual glamour.
Miquela didn’t venture farther. She needed to get back. Catch a plane south so she could go home… she wasn’t going to stay in New York.
When she turned around, she faced a particular painting.
It was June, of course. Miquela wasn’t too stupid to be surprised by that, but unlike the other paintings, this one showed her in a particularly vulnerable state. She lay on her bed, so languid and relaxed that Miquela didn’t doubt that she had recently been with a client, let alone enjoyed herself. Then Miquela looked closer. There was something familiar about the clothes strewn across her bed and the way her hair fell that way.
Fuck me, that was the day I barged in there. The client she said she had to get ready for… that must have been Sette.
She painted it?
The look on June’s face exposed the truth.“The Courtesan Caught,”the placard said. Miquela didn’t need to read the brief description. She saw the confusion, the pain, the light of love in June’s face. She swung between two worlds, each dominated by a different woman. Any desire she felt or decisions she made would be a direct result of that day.
Yet the way it was painted, with such careful and loving attention to detail, crafted June’s boudoir world and brought it to life.
Miquela had seen a million paintings in her life. Galleries, classes, her mother’s private collection, which had accumulated while she grew into the woman she was now… they all showed certain levels of skill and passion. Miquela may not have known much about Sette, let alone have ever heard her name in the art circuit, but she could tell from studying this painting that she felt nothing less than an earthshattering love for her muse. Miquela did not doubt that the other paintings told a similar story, but it was this one, indirectly involving Miquela, that made her have an incredible realization.
There was only one way to settle this whole dispute. Miquela and Sette had won their separate battles, but in the War for June, something drastic had to be done.
Miquela sent her assistant Aimee a curt text and left the gallery.
Four days later, Miquela sat at a bar known for its masterful chardonnay selection and German beers. She couldn’t say if they truly were masterful, since her mind was so full of what she intended to do, but they settled her nerves and allowed her to become the smooth and suave businesswoman her family had trained her to be.
“Would you like another, ma’am?” the bartender asked, holding up a German beer bottle.
“Make the next an ice water, and we’ll see.”
“Certainly.”
An exasperated sigh sounded behind her.
“Should’ve known it was you.”
