HIS STUDIO IS FABULOUS, and larger than I initially thought. I’m mesmerized when we first walk in. One end is very industrial and a little scary, the other is full of color. By the entrance, there’s a cozy corner with a sleek red sofa, coffee table, and a little kitchenette. Cool framed vintage posters and art dot the tall grey concrete walls, and there’s an art table in the corner, and tons of shelving. Shelves with finished pieces; vases, pitchers, decorative glassware, in all the colors known to man. There are shelves of different glass sticks in every hue — I feel like I’m in a candy store. On the opposite wall, there are hundreds of glass jars containing colorful powder.

“I have a lot of supplies,” he tells me. “Come here,” he urges, takes my hand, and leads me to the finished pieces. “These are ready to go to the dealers.”

“Wow, this all seems like a lot of work,” I say. “There’s so much to think about, the business end…” I used to work in Marketing, and I wonder how he goes about selling all this stuff. “How do you promote yourself, how do you sell?” I ask, being quite nosy again but I can’t help it.

“Well, I have a website,” he tells me, “social media, and cards I give out at art shows, but that’s about it,” he says. “Thankfully, Albert takes care of all the sales. He’s great at what he does. He has contacts all over the world. He’s in New York right now.”

“You seem like you’re doing pretty well,” I offer, taking in everything around me.

“I’ve been lucky,” he admits. “I’ve made a name for myself so I can charge a decent fee for my work. I’ve poured everything I have into this studio, which is why I could never afford rent, clothes, travel, eating out, and the luxuries of life.” He smiles. “It’s why I don’t have a house or a car. And the rent on this place is kind of insane. This city is crazy expensive. ”

“I know. I’ve heard.”

“I just paid everything off a few months ago.” He’s beaming. “I’m officially debt free.”

“Congratulations.”

“Actually, this guy came over a few months ago and was asking me if I was interested in selling. He had one of those long crumb catcher beards, and was a little scary.”

“Oh wow,” I say. “And are you… selling?”

He grins. “Never. What would I do with myself if I didn’t have my studio?”

I study the beautiful pieces, the swirls of color, and the delicate details. What he does is truly incredible. There are tall vases, intricate bowls which look very breakable, and heavy glass balls. He reaches for one of the balls of glass. “I want you to have one of these,” he says. “It’s small and has no delicate edges,” he explains. “It shouldn’t take too much space in your suitcase, and shouldn’t break. It’s a paperweight.”

“Oh wow,” I say and reach for my favorite color — orange. “Thank you. The glass is cold and heavy in my hands. I study its insides carefully, swirls of oranges and tiny bubbles. “It’s really pretty. It’ll be perfect on my desk.” I know I’ll never forget Eli with this constant reminder. But how could I ever forget him anyway? He will be a part of me forever.

We continue our tour into the industrial part of his studio. There’s an industrial oven, which kind of looks like an old-fashioned wood burning stove, something from another era. “How hot does that thing get?”

“About 2500 degrees,” he tells me.

“Holy shit.”

There’s a shovel leaning against the wall, a giant floor fan, and strange steel contraptions. I can’t even imagine what they’re for. There are tons of scary looking tools; giant scissors, plyers, and clamps. “This place looks like a torture chamber,” I point out.

He shoots me a creepy smile. “Yes…” he whispers. “How well do you really know me, Gabriella?”

I laugh as he inches closer, and wraps an arm around the small of my back. “Maybe it’s all been leading up to this,” he whispers in my ear, his tone ominous. “I even have the oven to burn your body parts after I cut them up.” And then he plants the softest sweetest kiss on my cheek.

I let out a weak laugh. “You scared me there for a minute.” He really didn’t, he just made my heart beat a little faster like he always does. I feel a little weak in the knees.

“What is this weird chair for?” I ask. It’s an old theatre-like leather seat, sandwiched between two steel rods. It almost looks like something pre-historic, some kind of a torture chair.

He sinks into the chair and grabs one of the poles next to it, and rolls it along the steel bars. “I spin the glass on here.”

“Oh, very cool.” Damn, he looks sexy sitting there. I immediately have very inappropriate thoughts.

I reach into a steel bin of glass shards — they’re rough, but not sharp. “This place is amazing.” I’m still awestruck by my surroundings, so much more interesting than my little studio, or the boring grey office cubicle I used to work in when I had a day job.

He hops out of the chair and closes the distance between us. He presses his tall frame against my back, and wraps an arm around my waist. I close my eyes. My body is instantly aroused. Just a touch, and I’m on fire. “I’ve daydreamed about this,” he whispers against my ear.

“About what?” I ask.

“About having you here.” he says. “In my studio. About making love to you in my studio.”

Oh my… I open my eyes and study my surroundings. “Where… on the red couch?”

He laughs. “On that chair over there.”

Oh… he wants to fuck me on the weird torture chamber chair. “Yes… please.”

He pulls the zipper of my jacket down, and slowly peels it off, lets it fall to the floor. He slides his warm hand under my blouse, and instantly heats my skin. I melt a little. “Did you ever fantasize about me?” he asks.

“All the time,” I confess.

He reaches for the button of my fly, and I sink my rear deeper into him.  “What did that look like?” he asks.

“Well, sometimes we made love in a nice fluffy bed,” I explain. “But most of the time, you fucked me against a wall; brick walls in alleyways, bedroom walls, the wall in my little studio loft one time.”

He pulls my pants over my hips, down my legs, ever so slowly, all the while, planting kisses down my legs. “Wow, I came over all the way to your house? Where was your husband?”

I let out a soft laugh. “He was away on business. My children were sleeping soundly.”

He toys with my panties, and I feel myself get wetter by the minute. “Naughty,” he whispers.

“It was just a fantasy…”

He reaches his hand into the front of my panties. “But this is real…” he says. “God, you’re wet.”

I close my eyes and lean my head against him — this feels so good. I love it when he takes it slow.

He pulls his hand away, and bites my shoulder playfully.

“You’re… such a tease,” I moan.

“I like to make you crazy,” he admits. “So you have a thing for wall sex?”

I smile. “I guess.”

“We’ll have to do something about that.”

“Yes,” I breathe, my voice so small. I turn to him and he helps me out of my shoes and jeans. I’m standing there in my blouse and panties. I reach for his jacket — I want him naked. I peel it off, and sink to my knees. I pull at his white tee, and lick the hot skin just above his navel. He groans so loudly, the sound bounces off the studio walls. He falls to his knees too, and he kisses me again. How am I ever going to go without this? I can’t.

He slides his mouth to the curve of my neck, and works the buttons of my blouse.

I’ll never have this again. I’ll never feel this again.

I peel off his shirt, and bite his shoulder, the one with the tattoo. He growls and tears off my blouse, he slides his rough hand into the cup of my delicate lace bra and frees my breast. My nipples are hard with arousal. He draws his mouth to my breast and makes me ache with pleasure. We are going to fuck right here on the cold concrete floor, and I don’t care. I want it so much.

His delicious mouth pulls from mine, and I ache for him. He stands and pulls me up. He wraps his large hands under my ass, and draws me in against him. I tighten my legs around his hips, and he carries me to the scary chair. He sinks into it with me still on top of him.

“Tell me you have a condom,” I mutter in his ear. “Please.”

He tilts his hips and reaches into his back pocket, his smile mischievous. He cups my face and we kiss again. It’s soft and sweet, but I’m eager to feel him inside me again. I reach for his fly, and dig into his jeans — he’s hard for me, so hard. “I love what I do to you,” I tell him.

“And you do it so easily.”

I wrap my hand around him, and we kiss again.

We fuck on the scary chair, and it’s mind-blowing, a little awkward and uncomfortable at times, but he makes me come so hard, I fear my insides might explode.

We’re all sweaty, post-bliss. I still have my white lace bra on, one breast dangling out, pressed against his bare chest. I still have my socks on too; pink ones with white polka-dots. He still has his jeans and boxers, lowered to just below his knees, and work boots on too. My hair is a tangled mess, and his is spiking up at a weird angle. “You look properly fucked,” he teases. “I like that look on you.”

I laugh. “I like that look on you too.”

We’re all dressed again, I’m sitting on the red sofa while he works on an important piece he needs to get done. I go and sneak a few peeks. He’s sexy as he wields and spins that long steel pipe. I don’t dare stand too close because it looks dangerous, and that fireball at the end of his stick looks like it could burn through flesh in a millisecond. But watching him is amazing — he’s a true magician.

As soon as he’s done, he wants to get back home to Floyd. He says he often takes him to his studio, but today he wanted some privacy — I think he’s tired of the dog staring at us when we fuck.

I’m holding the pretty paperweight in my hands, ready to go, when he says, “I have one more thing for you,” he says. “Something I did for you a long time ago. I wanted to mail it out to you, but then, you ended things between us…”

I’m brought back to that day, a day which seems so long ago now. “I’m sorry… that was the hardest thing I ever had to do.”

“I know,” he says and reaches for a flat package tucked behind a chair. It’s wrapped in brown paper and has my name written on it. “Here you go,” he says. “I hope you like it.”

I set my paperweight down on the glass coffee table, and feverishly tear off the wrapping, eager to see. My heart warms at the sight of it. It’s a beautiful framed watercolor of an elephant, full of vibrant colors. It’s one of his best, in my opinion. “This is amazing,” I cry. “I can’t believe you made this for me.”

“Well, I know how much you love elephants. I thought you’d appreciate it.”

“God, yes. I appreciate it. It’s the best gift I’ve ever received.” It is. John has given me so much over the years, diamond necklaces, expensive earrings, the watch I wear every day, designer clothing, everything my little heart desired, but somehow, nothing ever compared to this.

I hop over to him, and kiss him on the cheek.

“Glad to see you like it,” he says.

“I love it,” I tell him. “I’ll hang it in my studio.” Yet, another reminder of him. I’m never getting over him. Ever.

I study the painting again, wishing I had half the talent he does. “I feel bad… I haven’t gotten you anything yet. You’re spoiling me with gifts, and I—”

He wraps an arm around me. “I don’t need anything from you… just you being here is my gift.” He laughs at his own words. “I’m sorry I sound like a Hallmark movie, but it’s true.”

I smirk up at him. “You ever watch those?”

“Well, my ex made me watch a few over the years,” he admits.

I smile up at him, thinking he’s the sweetest thing ever. John would never in a million years, watch one of those movies. I, on the other hand, love them. “Did you hate them?”

“Embarrassingly enough… no,” he confesses. “Remember, I grew up with two women in the house… even our two cats were female.”

I laugh out loud. “Well, Floyd is a boy, right?!”

“Yeah, I’m a real man now,” he says proudly.

I kiss him on the cheek. “A real man with a heart of gold.”