I

Bee’s Framing and Gifts was Bailey’s pride and joy. The tidy space was brightly lit and boasted an eclectic mix of artsy gifts crafted by locals, including many prints and pictures brought to life by Bailey’s thoughtful framing choices.

She was just finishing dusting the shelves at the front of the shop when she heard the bell over the door tinkle softly. 

Calling out a cheery “Welcome to Bee’s!” she tucked the dusting cloth into her apron and turned. Her gaze landed on a handsome man dressed in tweed trousers and a white dress shirt, sleeves rolled to the elbows and the top button undone. Definitely an artist, she thought to herself, noting the large leather portfolio he held in one hand. 

“How can I help you?” she asked, her eyes meeting his. He smiled at her, and her pulse quickened. 

“I have a painting that I would like framed,” he said, his voice warm with just a hint of an accent that she couldn’t quite place. 

“I have a show coming up, and if you’re amenable, this will be the first of a few pieces I’ll need you to work on,” he added. 

“Oh, that’s wonderful. Congratulations,” she said. “May I look at the piece?”

He nodded and placed the portfolio on the counter, opening it to reveal a canvas that took her breath away. In the distance, in the shelter of a large tree, brush strokes suggested a woman sitting looking up at a man who leaned over her, stroking her cheek with one hand. The light was bright, broken into jewel-like shards by the tree, and the artist had somehow made the landscape look luxurious, like a decadent bedroom hung with silks and velvets. Looking at it made Bailey feel a part of the scene, as though the man on the canvas might somehow reach out and brush her cheek. 

Suddenly, Bailey was very aware of the painter’s nearness, of his hands resting on the worn leather as he watched her look at his work. 

“It’s beautiful,” she breathed, eyes lingering on the image. Then she remembered that she had a job to do, and returned her gaze to the waiting artist. 

“Let’s talk about what you would like.” She began asking him questions, stopping now and again to pull out a sample from the drawers under the counter. She loved doing this, matching the frame to the mood of the artwork, using her eye for proportion and colour to choose a combination that complemented the piece perfectly. 

“Oh, this is going to look so good,” Bailey said when they had settled on a frame and mat. “I’ll just need your name and contact info, if you wouldn’t mind.” 

She handed him a form and showed him where to fill it out. He did so, pulling a fountain pen from his portfolio and writing in a swirling copperplate.  She watched his artist’s hands, long fingers tracing the letters with hypnotic grace. When he handed it back to her, she looked it over. 

“Kenneth. I love that name. I’m Bailey, by the way.” She put out her hand, and he shook it.  “Pleased to meet you, Bailey,” he replied softly. “I look forward to seeing you again soon.”

The sound of her name on his lips and the warmth of his hand on hers sent ripples through her. She tucked her hands into her apron, trying for a nonchalance that she did not feel. She thanked him again for trusting his work to her, and he departed, leaving her watching the door long after it had closed behind him. 

Later, when the shop was locked up for the day, she pulled the painting out and laid it carefully on her workbench. The late afternoon light slanted across the space, and she felt it warming her skin as she bent over the image, wondering why it called to her, why it drew her in. She looked at the man in the painting and wondered what it would be like to be the one whose cheek he stroked. Her fingertips drifted down the side of her face and over her lips. Sighing softly, she put the painting away, turned out the lights, and headed home for the night. 

II

Nearly two weeks had passed since Kenneth had dropped the painting off, and there wasn’t a day that Bailey hadn’t gazed at it, her eyes tracing each brush stroke until they returned to the man’s hand, brushing the woman’s cheek for eternity. She had finished matting and framing it days ago, and now it hung above her workbench, awaiting his return. The bell rang, and a glance told her it was him.

“Kenneth! So glad to see you.”

The tall man smiled at her, his eyes as warm as whiskey, and her stomach filled with butterflies. “Good morning, Bailey,” he replied. “How are you today?” 

As she babbled out a reply to his question, she wondered what it was about this man that turned her to water. Pausing for a breath, she regained her composure and returned to the reason he was here. 

“I think you’ll be so pleased with how it came out! Give me one moment and I’ll bring it.” She hurried to fetch the finished piece. Kenneth looked at it carefully, nodding to himself as he took in her meticulous work. “You have a wonderful eye,” he said. “This looks amazing. It feels complete now.” 

Bailey felt his praise as keenly as a touch, goosebumps rising on her arms and a blush staining her cheeks. 

“I have brought another for you as well,” he said. “I would have been back sooner, but I wanted to finish this one first.” He opened the portfolio, and she was pulled into the next painting in what was clearly a series. The landscape appeared even more lush and dreamlike, light and shadow directing her eyes to where the man knelt next to the seated woman, pressing a kiss to her lips, one hand tangled in her hair. The figures were still distanced from the viewer, the lush vegetation in the foreground and the tree spread above them creating an intimate bower. 

After a long moment, Bailey looked up to find Kenneth watching her, and something deep inside her began to heat. “It’s beautiful,” she said, inwardly kicking herself for not thinking of something original to say. She shook her head to clear her jumbled thoughts. “Would you like the same type of mat and frame as the first?” 

“Yes please,” Kenneth replied. 

She handed him the paperwork, feeling a sense of deja-vu as she watched him fill out the form in his looping old-fashioned script. His forearms flexed gently as he wrote, and her mouth watered as she followed the lines of his arms upwards, taking in his broad shoulders and admiring the skin at his throat, where the shirt was unbuttoned, exactly as it had been the last time. She wondered idly what it would be like to press her lips just there, then blushed and hoped he hadn’t noticed. He handed the form back, thanked her, and then was gone, taking the finished painting with him. 

That afternoon, after she had closed the shop for the day, she pulled the painting carefully out and laid it on her workbench, just as she had with the first one. Her breath quickened as she looked at the couple again, and she felt arousal heating her as once again she imagined how it would feel to be the woman under the tree. Tugging her hair free from the loose knot she kept it in during the day, she could almost feel Kenneth’s long fingers weaving through it. 

She pulled her apron off and then felt her hands slide down her body, brushing her erect nipples through her clothes, then skimming down to her hips, across her belly. Bailey heard a soft moan escape her lips, and blushed even though she was alone in her workshop. She imagined sitting beneath the tree, hungry kisses on her mouth, her throat, her hands tracing over Kenneth’s shoulders, feeling the solid warmth of him. Heat pooled between her thighs and her hands moved back up to circle her breasts, her fingers running slowly over the sensitive tips. Even more slowly, she lowered her hands, then put the painting away, locked up and went home, her body aching with desire. 

III

Kenneth delivered another painting the next week. Watching him set the now familiar leather portfolio on the counter and open it to reveal his latest work, Bailey took a shaky breath and willed her hands not to shake. A few minutes later, as he passed the now familiar paperwork to her, his fingers rested on hers just a moment longer than necessary. As butterflies played inside her, she wondered if she had imagined it, or if he felt this attraction as well. 

After he left, Bailey knew she couldn’t wait until the end of the work day. Hurriedly, she put a note on the door saying that she would return after lunch, locked it, then returned to the back room. She reverently placed the new painting on her workbench. 

Her breath was already coming quickly as she peered at the piece, wondering again how simple paint on canvas, nothing more than brush strokes, could make her feel this way, make her ache to be touched. 

In this piece, the couple was still depicted under the tree, its branches spreading above them in a canopy of emerald, but this time the lowering sunlight slanted across the canvas, ribbons of liquid silk wrapping the lovers in an ethereal glow. They were tangled in an embrace, the man bending, lowering his lover to the soft turf beneath them. In the foreground, wildflowers had appeared, glistening with dew. Bailey licked her lips. It was like Kenneth was reading her mind, anticipating her desires and then pinning them up on the canvas like butterflies under glass. 

Her hands slid instinctively over her needy body. Her skirt slid up, her fingers slipping into the slick heat between her legs to circle her swollen clit the way that she knew the man in the painting would. 

“Oh, Kenneth,” she moaned, imagining his mouth claiming hers, imagining his hands on her needy skin, stroking her as she stroked herself. Her eyes never left the lovers on the workbench as she began to shake with her rising orgasm. She pulled at one eager nipple and cried out, shaking, as her climax flowed over her. Her entire body felt at once satiated and hungrier than ever, her knees weak. 

Bailey cleaned up, ate her sandwich and drank a cup of tea, then reopened the shop, thankful that it was a quiet afternoon. 

She stayed late that evening, finishing the framing and hanging the painting above her workbench before she left for the day. Her eyes drank it in one final time before she locked up and went home, her body taut with desire. 

It was just over a week before he returned. Bailey found herself locking the door at lunchtime every single day.

IV

It was a Friday morning when he returned. The little bell jangled more stridently than usual. She looked up to see Kenneth stride into the little shop, looking slightly rumpled, but still mouth-wateringly handsome. 

“Good morning, Bailey,” he began, his tone a bit distressed. “I am so sorry to ask this, but somehow my time has slipped away from me. The gallery opening is this evening, and this is the final piece. Is there any chance you could have it framed by the end of the day? I know it’s a terrible imposition, but I would like the series to be complete,” he went on. “I do apologize for asking you to rush your work.”

Bailey put a calming hand on his arm, and he stilled, looking at her intently. 

“Of course! I’m happy to do that for my favourite customer,” she said honestly, resisting the urge to run both hands over him, to feel the lines of shoulder and hip and thigh that she had imagined so often now.  

She looked down as he laid down the final piece, this time wrapped neatly in brown paper, and her heart began to hammer. She was so eager to see it that it took all her self-control not to rip the wrapping off that instant. 

Instead, she looked back to Kenneth, her voice hesitant. “Would it be helpful if I brought the painting to the gallery for you when it’s finished?” she offered. “I would really like to see your work displayed.”

Kenneth smiled at her, his composure regained, voice steady. “If it wouldn’t be an imposition, yes, please,” he said. “It would be a pleasure to show you my work.” 

His gaze flowed over her, his eyes lingering on her cheek, her neck, the swell of her breasts beneath her apron, and she felt the fire inside her blaze higher. His eyes returned to hers. “Yes, I would like that very much.” 

He gave her the gallery name, and Bailey said that she would meet him there immediately after the shop closed.

Once again, they went through the ritual of filling out the paperwork, and with every stroke of the fountain pen, the desire inside of Bailey wound a little tighter.  When he was finished, Kenneth slid the forms across the desk, then leaned down and pressed a soft kiss to her temple. 

“Thank you again,” he murmured as he straightened. 

Bailey was too stunned to reply. He turned and walked to the door. 

“I look forward to seeing you soon,” he said, then the shop was empty, her pulse in her ears and the echoes of the bell above the door the only sounds remaining. 

Bailey’s hands shook as she carried the painting to her workbench and unwrapped it, shoving the brown paper aside and gasping softly as the canvas was revealed. 

The couple was no longer in the middle distance, face and forms only loosely suggested by brush strokes. Instead, they now filled the canvas. The man bowed over the woman as he pressed into her. She arched back, her eyes heavy with lust, locked on his face. The wildflowers in the foreground, beaded with dew, veiled the pair without obscuring what was happening between them. Sunlight snaked around them, almost alive as it caressed curves and angles, reflecting off the lush landscape. Bailey’s eyes returned to the woman’s face, to the hair tumbled around her shoulders, to her lips, parted just so, red and swollen from kisses. 

Her hands tensed into fists as she fought to resist the urge to lock her shop that very moment. She desired nothing more than to tear off her own clothes and relieve the ache that had blossomed between her legs, in her breasts, over every inch of her body. Instead, she took several deep breaths, then carefully picked up the fallen paper, folding it neatly. By the time she had tucked it away to reuse another day, her hands had stopped shaking.  

Then, she began working, methodically going through the familiar motions, preparing the mat, measuring and cutting with a focus that she had never felt before. It was mid-afternoon when she affixed the hanging hardware neatly to the back of the picture. 

Hanging the finished piece on the hook above her workbench, Bailey stood back and admired it. A ray of afternoon sun fell across the surface of the painting, making the drops of dew in the foreground seem so lifelike that she was sure they would wet her lips if she pressed her mouth to them. She stood for a long moment, unable to tear her eyes away. Finally, she lifted the painting down and wrapped it carefully.

She closed the shop a half hour early and after placing the painting in the trunk of her car, Bailey drove home. She took a quick shower, then dressed. First a simple pair of black satin panties, then a flowing dress. It reached to mid-thigh and floated over her curves in a way that made her feel sexy and sophisticated. She paired the dress with black heels and a silver bracelet that tinkled like a miniature version of her shop’s bell. 

Quickly swiping a tinted lip gloss over her lips, Bailey grabbed her purse and phone, then headed to the gallery. 

V

Bailey knocked at the building’s back door with the toes of one foot, the framed painting gripped firmly in her hands. Excitement tinted her cheeks, and her heart beat in her ears as she waited, eager to see Kenneth again. She had not let herself dwell on the memory of his kiss on her cheek while she worked, but now that she had left the shop, she could not stop thinking about it. 

After a moment, the door swung in, and Kenneth greeted her, a soft smile on his lips and heat in his eyes. He was dressed in wool slacks and a pressed shirt, the sleeves sporting elegant cuff links. He looks like something out of an old black and white movie, Bailey thought to herself. He smiled and welcomed her inside, taking the framed painting from her hands once the door closed behind her. 

“You look absolutely perfect, Bailey,” he said to her, bending to kiss her cheek again. “Just this way, we’ll get this hung with the others,” he continued. 

Kenneth led her down a corridor and into the exhibition space. Bailey looked around the room, realising that while this back corner held the series of paintings that she had framed, the entire gallery was crowded with Kenneth’s work. She could not wait to explore and look at everything. He moved to an empty space on the wall and hung the final painting neatly on the waiting hook.  Stepping back, he nodded in satisfaction, a wistful smile on his lips, then turned back to her. 

“Thank you again, I really appreciate this,” he said warmly. “It wouldn’t look the same without your clever work.” 

Bailey blushed, his words a warm caress. 

“Come, I think a toast is in order.” He led her back down the corridor and into an office. The walls were a deep green, like the shadows in the paintings that she had framed for him. A leather sofa stood in one corner, across from an old-fashioned oak desk. There were windows, set high in the walls along one side, and the late afternoon light wandered across the ceiling in green and gold ribbons. The room felt almost familiar after her weeks of gazing into the leafy bower in the paintings. 

Kenneth closed the door with a soft click, and then crossed to a small drinks cabinet. “Bourbon?” he asked, pouring a finger of golden liquid into a glass. 

“Yes please,” Bailey replied a little breathlessly, watching his every movement.

Sitting side by side on the buttery soft sofa, they sipped their drinks and talked, though later Bailey could never remember exactly what had been said. She was aware of little more than the heat of him so near to her and of the taste of bourbon as it burned its smoky way down to her core. Her nipples were hard and aching under the silky layers of her dress. 

When their drinks were empty, Kenneth put his glass down on a small table and turned towards her. His eyes were on her mouth, sparks flashing in their amber depths. “May I?” he asked. Bailey nearly wept with relief. “Yes, please. Yes,” she replied, barely able to choke the words out past the wanting coiled in her throat. 

Like a dam bursting, desire flooded the room. 

Kenneth’s mouth crashed into hers, and her hands wound themselves in the curls at the back of his head. He pulled her into his lap and she sighed into the kiss as his fingers traced up her side, working their way boldly beneath the soft layers of her dress to caress her naked breasts. Bailey moaned, needy, her body more than ready after so many weeks of wanting. She didn’t know if her desire was for Kenneth, or for the man on the canvases, or if they were one and the same. She only knew that nothing her mind had conjured over the past weeks had been as good as the reality of this moment. 

He tasted of bourbon, and she kissed him almost desperately until he gently tugged her dress up, breaking the kiss to slip it over her head and leaving her in nothing but a sliver of satin and her heels. 

He looked down at her with fire in his eyes, and she could feel his steely length pressing against her. With a boldness that astonished her, Bailey stood briefly and slid her sodden panties down, kicking them to one side. Then she knelt and freed Kenneth’s cock, her mouth watering at the sight of it standing thick and eager. She leaned in to take it between her lips and was rewarded by a groan of pleasure. 

“Bailey, my sweet girl, you are perfect,” he said, his voice rough with need. She took him deep into her mouth, bobbing up and down once, twice, before she felt him tug her gently upwards. 

“Come up here, I miss your kisses already,” he said. She slid off of his cock with a playful pop of her lips and did as he asked, kneeling to straddle him and tilting her head to kiss him again. Her slick pussy rubbed over his length, and she mewled with pleasure, sliding up and down as their kisses grew deeper. Just when she thought she might die if he didn’t fuck her, he moved from her greedy mouth to suck one aching nipple into his mouth, his tongue circling and teasing and driving her passion even higher. 

“Oh my god,” Bailey cried, arching into his touch. Unable to resist any longer, she lifted her hips and slid down onto his cock, taking him into herself in one smooth motion. She felt him gasp as her heat surrounded him. She rode him, slowly at first, then more frantically, delighting in the feel of his length filling her, of his mouth devouring her nipples, one and then the other. She felt that she would surely come apart like a supernova, her orgasm about to burst through her flushed skin. 

Kenneth lifted his head, seeking her mouth again, his tongue plundering as he thrust up into her. Once more, and she threw her head back, cries of exhilaration echoing off the walls as her body began to shake with her climax, waves of pleasure crashing relentlessly, one after the other. Kenneth continued to thrust, her pussy gripping him greedily, until he cried out his own release, pulsing into her hotly. In the aftermath, they clung to each other, skin damp with exertion, sticky with lust. 

After a few tender minutes, Kenneth helped her stand. She giggled as he handed her an old-fashioned handkerchief and she cleaned up as best she could. She squirmed back into her dress just as they heard the thump of the door closing and steps echoing down the hall. 

“There is a ladies' room just across the hall,” Kenneth said softly. “I need to go and see to the final details. You should take your time, then go and enjoy the opening,” he continued. 

He took her face between his hands and pressed a tender kiss to her lips. “Thank you, for everything,” he said, his voice thick with emotion. He stepped back. “You should go.”  

Bailey smiled up at him. “I’ll find you later,” she replied, then turned and let herself out of the office.

VI

Twenty minutes had passed. Feeling almost liquid with lingering satisfaction, Bailey sipped a glass of champagne as she walked slowly through the gallery. After tidying up, she had quietly let herself out the back door. Walking around to the front of the building, she joined the other guests gathered in the atrium, eager to view the exhibition. 

She began at the front of the small gallery, admiring a landscape alive with light and flowing water. Then she passed a series of small portraits, sensitive and intimate. She peered into the face of each person, wondering who they were to Kenneth, the man who had set her world alight. When she came around the corner and into the nook containing the works she had framed, she smiled, her body warm with memory. She looked at each one fondly, and she was pleased for Kenneth’s sake to hear the murmurs of appreciation coming from the gathered patrons. 

A woman, dressed in a gray pantsuit with pearls looped around her neck, glanced at Bailey, then back at the final painting, then back at Bailey. “Darling, it’s uncanny how much the woman in this piece looks like you,” she said, smiling at her. “What a wonderful coincidence.” Bailey thanked her, then hurriedly looked back at the piece she had spent all day with. How had she not seen it before? The woman in the painting was her. She smiled to herself and stood a bit taller, delighted by the thought that Kenneth had done this, had made her his muse and then his lover. 

She strolled around the gallery one more time, drinking in the beautiful images in a haze of contentment. As she did, she looked around for Kenneth, wanting to congratulate him on the evening’s success and ask when they could see each other again. When she had finished, she still didn’t see him, so she approached the curator. “Excuse me, I was hoping to speak to the artist,” she said. 

The curator smiled bemusedly. “Oh, aren’t you sweet. Didn’t you know? This exhibit is showcasing a collection of paintings found in the attic of the Sterling family home as it was being cleaned out in preparation for sale of the estate.” 

At Bailey’s look of confusion, the curator continued, clarifying. “Mr Sterling died in 1932. He was only 38 years old. Such a loss. The house passed to his brother and then remained in the family until his great-niece passed about a year ago. We are so lucky that the agent cataloging the estate recognized the value of his work and brought it to our attention.” 

The curator paused, noticing Bailey begin to tremble, her face ashen. “Are you all right, my dear?” she asked. 

“I have to… I…” Bailey choked out. “Please, excuse me.” 

She handed the startled curator her empty glass, then turned and hurried down the hallway to the office where she had left Kenneth. The door was open, and she stepped inside, her heart pounding. She found herself in a storage room, dusty and dry and lined with shelves. 

She stood there, trying to understand. Her body was still warm with the memory of his touch as she trembled in shock, alone in the dimly lit room, dust motes lazily floating around her. She hugged her arms around herself and turned slowly in a circle, searching the room through her tears. Nothing was as she remembered. She put a hand to her mouth, remembering the taste of his kisses, all bourbon and heat. 

Finally, after a long moment, she slipped through the hallway and out into the cool air. 

“Goodbye, I guess,” she whispered to the night-bruised sky before climbing into her car and heading home. 

VII

A few weeks later, a uniformed man stepped into her shop, the jangling bell announcing his arrival. “I have a delivery for Bailey Sanderson,” he said. Bailey signed and he handed her a large parcel. Before she could open it, several customers came pouring in the door, holding it open for the departing man. She set it aside and promptly forgot about it as the rest of the day flew by in a flurry of activity. 

She was about to leave for the evening when her eyes fell on the waiting package. Curiously, she laid it on the workbench and began to open it. As she lifted the cardboard away and saw what lay inside, a cry slipped from her lips, and her hands began to shake.

Neatly swathed in bubble wrap was the final painting, the one of her. She lifted a slip of paper that had been tucked under a corner. The looping, old-fashioned script read simply, “For Bailey.”