Page 78 of Fury

He kissed the side of my face. “You’re going to have to get rid of it, though. Promise me. Tomorrow, rip it up, throw it away. Leave no clues behind.”

“I know,” I said, my fingers clinging to the edge of the damp strip of photos. “I know.”

We went by the art gallery where Tania worked on Wells Street in River North. Tonight they were having an opening for a new contemporary painter who had been getting lots of buzz. Finger studied the huge canvas of abstract purple and mustard strokes in the front window of the gallery.

“What the hell is that supposed to be?” he asked.

“Whatever you want it to be,” I replied.

Tania noticed us from inside the gallery. She only raised an eyebrow and shot us a grin. She knew how to keep things discreet at all times. I smiled back at her.

“You want to go in?” Finger tugged on my hand.

“No.”

“You sure?” His eyes creased. He hated keeping me from doing things or going places I wanted to go to because of us having to keep our anonymity.

“I’m very sure. I go to these all the time with Tania. Not being a painter or a sculptor or some kind of artist or gallery person, I’m not invested in having to go to all these parties and be seen, hang out, and make contacts and all that like she is. I enjoy them, but not all the time. And anyway, this is our time together.”

He kissed the side of my face, his arm circling my shoulders pulling me in close. “Yeah, it is.”

Two women exited the gallery, strutting down the sidewalk past us, and my eyes zeroed in on their Japanese-style asymmetrical coats and oversized scarves.

“You like clothes a lot don’t you?” he asked, tucking my hand inside his large gloved one.

“No, I LOVE clothes.” I laughed.

“All you girls do, don’t you?”

“My grandmother and I were really close. She pretty much raised me, and she had lots of hobbies she shared with me—knitting, crocheting, sewing. She’d taught me all those things by the time I was ten. I’d pick out patterns for a dress or a blouse, choose a great fabric, and then we’d rush home and pin the pattern on the material, cut it out, and then she’d sit at her sewing machine and bam—new dress, new blouse, new skirt. The whole process was very satisfying. Fashion for me is about how colors and textures and lines sing together and create a particular magic for each individual.

“Oh man—particular magic.”

“Yes. Unique possibilities. Fashion isn’t some static work of art that you stare at like those paintings on the wall at the gallery. It’s more.” My face heated. “For me, anyway. Sounds silly?”

“No, I like it. I get it. You got all excited there. Your eyes lit up.”

“Oh yeah?” I stood on my toes and pressed my lips against his warm ones. “I only light up for you.”

His eyes closed, his tongue swiping at my lips. He took in a deep breath. “We need to get back to the hotel because I’m dying here.”

“Do me here.”

“No fucking way. As much as I love your demanding side, this park is a wide open space. Any weirdo could come along and try to get in on our action. Then I’d have to kill him, then the police would come after us. Just a shitty idea all around.”

“Then I’ll make good use of this blondie getup and hail us a cab to get us to the hotel as quickly as possible.”

“Good call.”

I turned on the sidewalk and stepped to the edge, facing the steady stream of traffic as I raised my hand. A cab screeched to a halt before us within moments.

“Maybe you should consider the blonde thing permanently, baby,” Finger whispered as we slid into the backseat.

I gave the driver the address, and as soon as I got the street name past my lips, Finger’s hand went under my skirt, pushed past the elastic of my bodysuit, and slid down my pussy. His fingers stroked and dazzled me the whole ride, teasing me, keeping me just on the edge of coming. I clutched onto his leather jacket.

“Is this because of the blonde hair?”

He breathed heavily in my ear. “No, it’s because of your lush cunt.”

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