Page 14 of Endless Love

Actually, I was more than shocked. Her reaction hurt me. I mean, here was the woman I had loved—and still loved—with my body, heart, and soul. My wife, my lover, my light…the person for whom I would have given up my life…and she wasn’t even jealous. In fact, she looked like she might do a happy dance. Christ. Allee was feisty. A fighter. And she wasn’t fighting for me. Not one bit.

Miffed, I muttered, “I’m going upstairs. Are you ready?” On most nights, I mentally swept her off her feet and carried her up to my bedroom.

“Not tonight, Madewell.”

“Fine.”

Hey, Madewell, you gotta remember…” Her voice grew softer, the expression on her face more wistful. “I can’t do those kinda things with you any more.” She paused. “Give Willow a chance.”

She had a point. It was no different from what Dr. Goodman or Duffy had told me. I was having difficulty letting go.

By the time I hit the sack, the throbbing between my legs had died down. I was exhausted but restless. I rubbed my eyes, tossed and turned, and kicked off the covers several times. Each time I managed to doze off, I would awaken, searching frantically for Allee by my side, her lovely limbs draped over mine. True to her vow, she never came upstairs.

Finally, God knows when, I drifted off. A dream claimed me.

I was in Paris wandering aimlessly through the Musée D’Orsay. Behind me, I heard footsteps. Those of a woman wearing heels.

“Can I help you?”

I recognized the husky, New York-accented voice immediately. Allee!

Spinning around, I gasped. “Allee, what are you doing here?”

She looked as stunning as ever. In fact, more stunning, wearing the little black dress I’d bought her.

“I work here now.”

“No, you can’t! You belong in New York with me.”

“No, Madewell, I don’t. I belong here now.” She smiled. “I want to show you a wonderful new painting.”

Reluctant and confused, I followed her to an adjacent wing. The paintings were more contemporary. Like they could have been painted only yesterday.

“Look at this masterpiece,” she said, leading me to an exquisite, large erotic canvas of a man and woman making love.

My heart leaped into my throat. I recognized the setting. My bedroom. But the bed was different as was the woman who had her legs wrapped around me. Only her backside exposed, her long red hair cascaded down to her waist.

“Observe the impassioned expression on his face,” said my analytic Allee. “The energy in his body.”

I stared at the painting, my cock hardening as I did.

“Now, step into the painting. Experience it. Feel what the subject is feeling.”

“What?” I murmured, mesmerized by the painting and the erotic high it was giving me.

Allee folded her arms across her chest. Her bossy stance. “Do it, Madewell. Do it for me. I’ll be watching.”

Mentally, as if in a trance, I did as she asked. Jesus. This lithe redheaded girl, sitting on my lap, felt incredible, her lightness of being contrasting with the strength of her thighs straddling mine. My cock fit perfectly into her sweet, tight pussy, and as I pumped her, she took me to the hilt, bucking me in perfect harmony, meeting every thrust. I clenched her slender hips while she gripped my shoulders and rode me with a skillful blend of grace and precision. Arching her back, the rosebud nipples of her pert tits brushed against my chest while the tips of her flaming hair skimmed my thighs. Ecstasy washed over her exquisite face as little moans, like musical notes, spilled from her lips. As I picked up my pace, the moans crescendoed as we came apart.

“Ryan, say my name!” she begged, her muscles shuddering around my cock.

“Willow!” I cried out, so ready to come. Then, like a gunshot, I exploded. My release met hers as Allee looked on, a contented smile spread across her face.

Suddenly, with Willow’s name still on my lips, an alarm rung in my ears. I recognized it. My cell phone. My eyes snapped open, and in a cold sweat, I bolted upright to a sitting position. Grabbing the phone off my nightstand, I speed-dialed Dr. Goodman’s emergency number. The one that was reserved for suicides, overdoses, and murder attempts. In my book, this was an emergency. I couldn’t breathe, think, or function. Or get rid of my morning wood.

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