31 comments/ 113323 views/ 74 favorites Letter to the Artist Ch. 01 By: 1rndm1 It's a slow start, but do give it time. It's my first submission to lit and I just want to thank the Guild for everything, especially cedar_needle for putting up with my crazies. And to JG for making me realize a lot of things. Edited by meathead96 Chapter 1 It was just after sunset when Jac Carlson arrived at her now empty West Hollywood loft. She had purchased a new loft downtown just yesterday and already she was moved in. She didn't like staying in one place for too long. She had cut her appearance short at the premier of yet another summer blockbuster. A few press photos and some polite backstage conversations, and then she was done for the day. Many would say that it was the perfect and successful life for a young woman such as herself, but Jac, quite frankly, did not care. She really had no reason to be in this loft, but somehow she felt the need to walk through the empty and hollow space. She wanted to feel like a stranger or a ghost, but she felt nothing passing through the shadows of the loft that she had once owned. Jac eventually found herself in the spacious walk-in closet of the bedroom. It was there that she noticed a drawer that was slight ajar and she could not help but close it. The drawer, however, would not close. She tried again and again, but the drawer simply would not close. She pulled the drawer out of its shell to see the cause of the problem. Jac found a book wedged within the shell of the drawer. She removed the book and realized it was a book she received twelve years ago. The cover was gone, but she knew exactly what it was. 'Atlas Shrugged' by Ayn Rand. She remembered how she loved that book, but now, she couldn't even summon any sort of feeling or attachment to it. She flipped through the pages and a piece of glossy paper fell out. It was torn from some picture magazine and she found something scribbled on the bottom. I hope you find what you are looking for. Jac read it repeatedly. It was in her father's writing. She had no idea what he was talking about. With the glossy paper forgotten, she tried to recall her father. She remembered their enormous house. It was the house that her father had designed and constructed with his bare hands. It was an empty house, having only a father and child to occupy its massive space. Once, when she was five, she was photographed in the kitchen with her father by 'Vogue' and being the topic of discussion by women neighbors when the issue came out. At the age of ten, she was already part of dinner events and parties just for belonging in that house. Parties that included an Academy Award winning director, a multibillion dollar business mogul and a few international heads of state here and there. She hated being from that house. She fought everything and challenged everything it stood for. She hated being offered things without due basis. Like the time she got offered an academic spot at Andover just by simply being the child of money or that time she was offered an internship with Teen Vogue. She hated it with a passion. She hated being the epitome of what she hated most. But in the end, no matter how hard she fought, she lost that battle. She was handed everything and given everything. She remembered both the envy and accolades being from that house. She was expected and assumed to be perfect. And she was. She had to be because it was what was expected. She stopped fighting and stopped living all the same. It had been twelve years since the day she gave up her fight to live. Twelve years since she last felt any drop of emotion. Not once did she feel an ounce of excitement, lust or love towards the men she took in her six years at Princeton. Not even the simple bond of friendship. She had many suitors and so called boyfriends during those years. They all easily showered her with affection, as if it was a simple act of breathing or blinking. She was never able to reciprocate anything. She never evoked any sort of emotional want, lust or love, which were so common for women her age and for the men in her life. She simply felt nothing. The women she knew talked of kisses and sex as if they were the most pleasurable acts on Earth. She tried kissing many times, but it only resulted in disappointment. She felt nothing. She concluded that sex was all the same. Terse, boring and unemotional. Since then, she never bothered with the idle thoughts of pleasure. It was a foreign word to her. Jac disposed of her memories and looked at her father's writing again. It was there that she saw the picture on the torn page. It was a large scale installation in an empty warehouse of bleached white paper pieced together to form the most uniform matter. Suddenly, she felt a pang of jealousy. Her heart began to race at the sudden pour of emotions. It was so simple yet so powerful at the same time. It was as if the art work forced her to see a truthful, yet ugly, fact. It was like being bludgeoned in the chest with an axe, beating her inside until she felt the truth. She suddenly remembered what she hardened herself against twelve years ago, her love for art. More specifically, photography. She forced herself to forget about that love. She willed herself to forget. But the picture she held made her remember. It suddenly made her feel again. She frantically looked through the paper to place a name on the art, but only found an address. She ran like a mad woman to the twenty four hour Kinko's across her building. The workers looked at her like she was a woman possessed when she asked for a pen and paper. She didn't care. She needed to show her passion and emotion without censor. I don't know who you are, but I am in love with your work. I envy the simple materials you use. I envy how you touch them and make them yours. I envy that you give them all of you and that they have all of you. I hope one day I will see all of you through them. Then I will be happy. Then I will be content. Do not reply, I beg of you. It will only shatter my being. Jac Carlson. =========================================================== It was high noon in Warsaw with a clear summer day and Jerzy Gorszewski sat silently in the middle of his cold and empty studio. He held a hand written letter in his hands with a postmark from Los Angeles. Jerzy read it once more and felt a quiet passion emanating from the simple letter. He could not help but smile at the sender's honesty. He stared at the signature that orchestrated the letter. He immediately did his own research on the signature, thankful for the first time that his assistant purchased a laptop for his use. He found that it belonged to the daughter of the renowned architect Philip Carlson. She was a female editor in her own right, with numerous articles published under Sartorial Press. He also found numerous photos of the associate editor among socialites at high profile events. But it was not her social status the piqued his interest. Rather, it was the way her eyes were void of emotions. In her letter she was passionate in a fragile surrender, but in her photos she was simply detached with a frightening cold intensity. The contradiction made him all the more curious. He could easily contact her and speak with her over the phone or simply send her an email. Somehow, he felt the need to get to her on a personal level and calling or replying would not satisfy him one bit. Jerzy proceeded to read a few of her articles and could not help but laugh. She was ridiculing her subjects with biting sarcasm without them realizing it. She had a way with words, Jerzy noted. In all of his thirty years, the women and men he encountered were usually shallow and untruthful. Simply put, they were afraid of him. Not because of his brute appearance, but because of his silence. People never really knew what he thought in his head and that was what frightened them. The women he saw in the past were equally deceitful. They showed a brave façade, marveled at his work, but they never really understood him or his work. The women who sought after him, he realized, only sought after his status as an artist. As one of the few elite modern day Polish artists to reach international acclaim, they said what they thought he wanted to hear and what he would find appealing. It was not a misconception that he liked his women brave. He did like his women strong and brave. But this woman, this Jac Carlson, was a breath of fresh air. She said what she thought, without regard of how weak and vulnerable he would view her. She professed her greed and envy as if he belonged to her. But her honesty only made him see her as the one brave soul he had been looking for. Jerzy stepped out of his dark studio and could not help but squint under the bright summer sun. He sought out a pay phone, for his presently absent assistant was his only form of communication with the rest of the world. He found a dilapidated phone booth just outside of his studio. He dialed a number with an international code and waited for a reply. He knew the time difference would not matter. A raspy voice, clearly awoken from slumber, answered. "George?" Jerzy heard the man address him with his Anglo-Saxon equivalent and smiled. He used that name publicly, reserving his given name Jerzy only to his most trusted friends. "I will do it," Jerzy said quietly without hesitation. There was a stunned pause before the man could reply, "Ok." Jerzy ended the call with that acknowledgment. He returned to his studio and tore out a blank page from his sketch book. He finished the letter in no time. He would bait and test her envy and greed with his letter. Jerzy worked nonstop for the next seven straight days. He did not sleep or eat. He was much too driven to stop. He finished his massive installation made of pure glass. It was his test for her. It was all for her. =========================================================== Jonathan Marshall was beyond himself. The Rowan Gallery, along with every prestigious gallery throughout the country, had been trying to book an exhibit with the elusive George Gorszewski. And a three am call from the artist ended it all. At first he thought he was dreaming when he first heard the distinct, yet ambiguous accent. He knew Jerzy to be an educated man and rumored to speak seven languages. Sleep was now impossible for the ambitious curator. It seemed getting his assistant to prepare the much needed paperwork and calling his friends for bragging rights were the two things that would calm Jonathan Marshall. He had three months of grueling preparations before Jerzy Gorszewski would show for the first time in the U.S. =========================================================== Jac was deep in thought when she breezed inside the decadent art deco lobby of her building. She was heading straight to the elevator without care to anything or anyone. "Ms. Carlson?" Jac was snapped from her trance and whipped her head around toward the voice. She saw the front desk attendant. "Yes?" "The postman left this," the young man pushed forward a bundle of envelopes across the marble counter top. He suddenly felt nervous. The look she gave him made him want to question everything he did. "He said he couldn't put anymore envelopes in your box." Jac looked at the mound of mail on the table. She had been purposely avoiding her mailbox for the past two weeks and now here it was. "Right." She approached the table and gathered her mail. "Thanks." She said curtly and headed up to her loft. She wanted to be rid of the mail. She didn't care. The moment she reached her loft, she headed straight to the kitchen and dumped all of her mail in the trash bin. But it seemed the 'Fates' wanted to mock her show of weakness. Atop the pile in the bin, she saw something with foreign writing in red ink. Her heart sank and rose at the same time. She fished the envelope with the Warsaw postmark out of the bin and tore it open. There, in the middle of her kitchen, she read the letter... note. This is not a reply. Do not flatter yourself, writer. I will collect on your greed. Jerzy Gorszewski. Jac shuddered out of disbelief, anger and excitement. Never had she been addressed in such a demeaning manner, a commanding manner. The way he called her writer made her feel dirty like some used whore. She stormed out of the kitchen, through the spacious living area with a delicious view of the city and into her home office. She fired open her MAC and angrily typed the name Jerzy Gorszewski. She realized he used George Gorszewski publicly. As to why he would use his real name with her, she had no clue. She found his website and was about to fire off an angry email when she saw his newly posted creation. It was a massive glass installation. It somehow reminded her of giant shards of ice pieced together and fighting each other for control. The piece was strong and powerful, but fragile at the same time. She read the description. Writer was the name of his piece. Jac closed her laptop as if she saw a haunting ghost. She was suddenly terrified of Jerzy Gorszewski. His statement to collect was no longer empty. Somehow he saw through her and knew then and there that he would conquer her. She sent another letter and trembled at the fact. Jac Carlson finally met her match. =========================================================== Stop this. You have already broken me. Through me. I can not allow it. I will not allow it. Jerzy received her second letter a week later and it pleased him greatly. Again, she was honest, but not as fragile as the first. She was pleading to him, despite her command. He did not return her letter. Instead he communicated in the most tortuous manner through his work. And so weeks turned into months and his obsession with Jac only grew stronger. He knew it was unhealthy, but he could not stop thinking about the possibility of their first meeting. Would she make him smile? What would he say to her, better yet, what would he do with her? Would her lips be as delicious as he imagined? The thought of her lips on his made his breath quicken. He had been looking at her photo for the past month and her cold and icy demeanor only made him want her more. He now looked at her first letter and read it for the millionth time. I envy how you touch them and make them yours. He then imagined his calloused hands caressing her soft body from the swell of her breasts to the curve of her bottom and into her warm and wet folds. Jerzy grunted at his thoughts. He knew he needed to get her out of his system, but, somehow, he could not imagine being rid of her. He called Jonathan again. "George, my man! Have you decided on a title for your show?" Jonathan cheerily answered. "Yes I have." =========================================================== Ana Walker watched her boss in amazement. To intern with Sartorial Press was a dream come true, but to be assigned to Jac Carlson, her modern day hero, was heaven. "Have you finished your tasks?" Jac asked her young and eager intern as she wrote her current article. She stared at her screen with a hollow gaze as her fingers typed mindlessly on their own. "Yes," Ana nodded. "You may leave for the day." "Alright boss." Ana was about to leave Jac to work on her article like a programmed machine, when she remembered an important question for her boss. Ana still couldn't quite grasp how the woman could write passionate articles and reviews while looking like a programmed robot. "Oh! I almost forgot. I was wondering if you know where I can find a picture, a self portrait even, of that Polish artist George Gorszewski? Karl down in photo told me you are the one to see. He says you specialize on the esoteric." The sudden stillness of her boss' fingers and the silence that stood before them made Ana's heart lurch in fear. Somehow, Ana saw a momentary flash of fear and weakness... fragility from her boss. Jac Carlson was many things, but fragile was not one of them. The mention of Jerzy's name threw Jac's focus off. She realized that she had addressed him as Jerzy and not George like everyone one else in the world. She had not heard from him in nearly two months. Jerzy, or anything related to him did not belong in anything that was Sartorial Press related. Jac calmed her senses and looked up from her work. "No Ana. The man is a recluse. He refuses to be photographed. Even with his work, he is particular about whom to show," Jac answered, trying to be as detached as possible and returned to her work. "Alright," Ana shrugged and turned to leave. "Well if you haven't already, you should check out his new stuff. He's posted about seven or eight new installations. A new one each week. He's crazy! They're odd, but interesting nonetheless." She looked to Jac and it seemed that her boss was frozen in time. Ana, dumbfounded, exited her boss' office in silence. Jac browsed his website and looked through his newly posted creations. Ana was right; he did them each in a week's time. She knew what they were about when she read the titles. Broken Through, Shattered and Allowed were three of them. He was taking from her without consent. In his contact page, she pressed the button to compose an email. She needed immediate action and sending a hand written letter would not do. She needed instant gratification. This needs to stop. This needs to stop now. Jac sent the email and felt a feeling of uneasiness wash through her being. Regardless, she ignored the feeling and returned to her article. It was ready for submission when Jac pressed the delete button and destroyed her nearly finished article. She would start a new one. =========================================================== Jerzy was pounding away with his hammer when his assistant interrupted him. "George, you have an email from a Jac Carlson of Sartorial Press," his young assistant said with laptop at hand. Jerzy rushed over to his assistant. "Did you read it?" he asked, almost angry at the thought of his letter being read by another. His assistant shook his head. Jerzy then took the laptop in a possessive manner and retreated to his office to read her email. He wanted to laugh at her valiant attempt. Again he would not reply to her. He would push her more, almost to a breaking point. =========================================================== "Jac, darling," Greta Vanderwoods began. "The article you sent me last night, it was great... but I'm afraid it is way out of our demographic. Our readers will not be able to understand it. It's practically ready for Harper's or Times. Just rework it and have it in by the end of the day." Greta left as quickly as she came inside her associate editor's office. Jac nodded and watched the chief editor leave her office. Jac was angry. Not at her editor, but with herself. She knew the reason for her momentary slip up. She wrote passionately and truthfully last night because of one man. Jerzy Gorszewski. Apathy was one of two things that kept Jac sane in her hollow world; apathy and her love for Jerzy Gorszewski's work. His work gave her hope that the world was not as empty and hollow as she saw forth. But he was shattering her cold and listless reality. She needed to nip this personally. Jac visited his web site and eyed the contact number listed. Her hands shook as she dialed his number. =========================================================== It was eight o'clock in the evening when Jerzy received the international call. He knew it was not Jonathan Marshall for he instructed the curator never to contact him. There was a high possibility that it was Jac Carlson. Letter to the Artist Ch. 01 "What do you want?" he grunted over the phone. Jac was startled at his tone. Only one person had ever dared to address her in such tone. She knew who it was on the other line and it angered her. "Do you always answer the phone in this manner, Jerzy?" Jac said haughtily. "And who said I was Jerzy?" She took note of the way he said his name. Yer-dge. "Only an insolent oaf would address me in such a manner!" she replied clearly angry. "And who might you be?" Jac grunted out of anger and frustration. She refused to answer his question. He knew very well who she was. "Stop what you're doing Jerzy. Just stop it all." "Assuming I knew what you were walking about, why should I? It is obviously working... enough for you to call." "You're hopeless!" she blurted out of frustration. "Well, stranger, can you PLEASE tell the GREAT George Gorszewski to stop!" she said dripping with sarcasm. "And what if I told you I will not? Not now. Not ever. What would you do then?" "I will stay on this line until he accepts my terms!" Jac said defiantly. "Call rates be damned!" There was a tense pause before Jerzy answered. "And what if I told you I want you for myself?" His tone was quieter and much more intimate now. She laughed nervously as fire raced through her body. He heard the nervousness in her brave laugh. "What if I told you all my wants and desires. Would you hang up?" "Stop it!" "How I imagine your soft moans while I touch you. How it would be so sweet to taste you. How you scream my name while I claim you." Jac could not reply. Her breath caught in her throat. The images he presented were bold and outlandish, yet she could not stop listening. Her heart was pounding too much. She felt an unfamiliar wetness pooling between her thighs. No man had ever elicited such a reaction from her. "What are you going to do Jac?" he said as he heard her shallow breathing. Jac was panting at the image he presented and embedded in her mind. She could still hear his low tone, raspy and thick with desire. His accent, somewhat a mix between English and Russian, made it all the more appealing. Jac was fighting a losing battle. Dear God how she wanted this man. But fear won over her desire. "Just stop," she said in a whisper and hung up. =========================================================== "Alright team! We have two major events to cover next month." The chief editor was ecstatic to bring what she had lined up for her team. "Pool and CD release party at The Standard by Kanye and Lagerfeld at the Barker Hangar with Chanel's CC11." The Sartorial office gasped in unison, except for Jac. She was buried in her moleskin, absentmindedly jotting down ideas for the events. The whole table was in chatter about who to meet and what to wear and everything else in between until eventually the meeting was adjourned. Jac was the last to file out of the board room, but before she could do so, the chief had some parting words. "Oh! Jac, I almost forgot. Jonathan down at Rowan has this big opening reception next month for this internationally acclaimed artist. Anyway, I just need an article about the event and about Rowan and nothing else. Jonathan says the guy refuses to deal with the press," Greta said as she rolled her eyes. "Apparently, he's always refused show in the US, but Jonathan managed to snag him. And since you're my best writer, I'm sending you to handle the situation. And apparently the artist is a recluse. Can you imagine a recluse in this day and age!" Greta laughed. "And the artist?" Greta Vanderwoods was surprised at her best editor's question. In her two years with Sartorial Press, never had she seen Jac with one bit of interest until now. Greta had always wondered why Jac chose Sartorial Press. The girl could easily work for The New Yorker or TIMES if she wanted to. She fished out a piece of paper from her folder and handed it to Jac. "Go get 'em kid!" Greta said as she exited the board room. Jac did not hear the door close for her world stopped. She felt faint and sick at reading the one name she dreaded seeing. The one name that kept her sane. Her one sanctuary. She skipped the date, the time and the location and read the only information that mattered. "I envy how you touch them and make them yours" by George Gorszewski. =========================================================== The rooftop pool of The Standard Hotel was the place to be. It was where the world gyrated its heated limbs to the intoxicating pulse of the music. Scantily clad women walked about, wet from their swim, as if the pool water was the only form of validation for their existence. Men were tense from the summer heat and the anticipation for instant gratification hung thickly in the air. Jonathan Marshall saw Jac Carlson towards the end of the pool. She wore a simple black dress made for a summer evening. Her attitude made the dress elegant somehow and oddly fitting in this crowd. She was leaning against the railing in a mindless conversation with two gentlemen. She was engaged, yet detached at the same time. He saw her smile and laugh politely. He could not tell if she was laughing with them or at them. He remembered meeting her for the first time nearly two years ago. He had known her as the socialite who grazed the New York Post's Page Six frequently. He purposely asked for an introduction for he knew her connection would take him as far as he dared imagine. He knew that she viewed him a parasite, that her apathetic insolence was the only reason he remained in her elite social system. And he would remain to be that lecherous parasite so long as he could hold on to that feeble and artificial relation. He was terrified at the thought of her. As if her one look from her would flood his shallow world with the truth and that he would drown and die in her presence. Yet he pursued her regardless. He wanted her status and he wanted it all. He approached her to announce to the world of their acquaintance. "I hear you'll be writing about me," he came up from behind her and whispered in her ear. She didn't jump like he wanted her to. Jac turned her head and smiled coldly. "Yes... yes I am." Jonathan suddenly felt cold from her reply. He placed a hand on the small of her back and whisked her away from her companions. "God Jac, you are so beautiful," he said as he drew her closer and gently placed a kiss on her bare shoulder. Jac should have felt revulsion at his insipid gesture, but she didn't. She just felt... nothing. "Tell me something I don't know," she replied with a cold smile. Jonathan grinned widely to hide his unease and fear. Regardless, he had Jac all to himself for the world to see. "Come by my gallery," he slipped a key in her palm, "I'll give you an exclusive with the artist." Jac tensed at the mention of Jerzy. Her Jerzy. She felt bile and disgust rising from her stomach at the thought of Jerzy next to this man. This pity excuse of a man. For the first time since meeting Jac, he saw emotion pass through her face. She seemed stunned at his gesture. He knew it was the opportune time to leave. Quite frankly, he didn't want to know the truth behind her reaction. He was too afraid to know. She watched Jonathan leave her with a smile of satisfaction on his face. As if his poor and insipid gesture was the end of her. =========================================================== Jerzy arrived from Warsaw to Los Angeles just hours ago and already he was working in the gallery. Of course, his first impulse was to see her, but he knew better. He would make her come to him and make her surrender all of herself to him. He would wait. He knew that Jonathan Marshall was a boastful man and he knew that the man would announce to the press the completion of his installation. Would she attend? He would find out by tonight. "Vav, when you see her, I want you to try your best at wooing her," Jerzy told his most trusted friend and cousin in their native tongue as he put the finishing touches on his pieces. "I want to know if she is who I imagine her to be. I want to know if she will throw herself at you upon seeing your beautiful face," Jerzy finished with a hint of sarcasm. This was a common, but rare practice between the two. It was a symbiotic relationship. Jerzy hated the attention and Vav, well, he didn't mind the attention. The handsome young man only laughed. At twenty two, the young Jurgis Wawrinka, better known as Vav, stood at 6 foot 3 inches. He had a lean frame fit for a runway model and his perfectly chiseled face could make any woman swoon. Their native conversation was cut off with a light rap on the door. High above atop a ladder, Jerzy saw Jac standing outside the gallery and was unprepared at the sight she presented him. He was suddenly swept with an unbridled feeling of possession. His body hummed with anticipation upon seeing her face and her body. Perfection and beauty were understatements compared to her. She wore a short summer dress that hung loosely around her frame. A light breeze made her dress billow against the dusk light. Somehow, it reminded him of a cold winter sunset. His location allowed him to remain hidden while he was granted a generous view of her frame. He quietly commanded his friend to allow her inside the gallery. Jac's heart began to flutter the minute she knocked on the glass door. The anticipation at meeting Jerzy for the first time made her hot and her body tingle. She closed her eyes to calm her senses, but she was met with disappointment when she opened them again. She saw a perfectly chiseled face before her. Her anticipation and excitement dissipated and she suddenly felt indifferent. Vav knew who the woman was for she was the topic of his friend's obsession for the past three months. He smiled beautifully at her. "Hello. You are friend of Jonathan?" he asked in his best English. The term friend made her laugh internally. She also noted that his accent was so much thicker. "I'm early," she replied curtly with a polite nod. He waited for her to enter before reaching out his hand and introducing his self, "I am Jerzy." She studied his extended hand. It was smooth and perfect. This was not the hand she had been imagining during her most intimate moments. She looked up at the angelic face that matched the gentle hands. This was not her Jerzy Gorszewski. She laughed cruelly at the man before her. Of course he would test her. Bastard, she thought. "Of course you are," she ignored the extended hand. "Listen," she said summing the man up before her. "Don't do the show. Tell Jerzy that." She turned to leave but stopped in her tracks, "And tell him... Tell him I don't intend to lose." =========================================================== Jerzy saw every single expression on her face. He saw the excitement, which she tried to contain. He saw her close her eyes. A move which left her looking vulnerable and enticing much like her letter. He also saw her sudden change in demeanor. She retracted to her cold frame upon meeting Vav. He couldn't help but smile at that. Jerzy halted his work and descended down the ladder. "What happened?" he asked Vav as he saw Jac depart. "She told me to tell you not to do the show and that she doesn't intend to lose." Jerzy smiled widely at her noble front. "We are done for the day," he said exiting the gallery and leaving Vav dumbfounded. =========================================================== Bastard! To think he could play his mind games with me! Jac thought as she made her way up Spring Street towards her loft. The sun was barely hiding behind the horizon. She used to love how the city looked at dusk, but now she just passed through it like a ghost set to her destination. Fear, hate and desire. Those were the three things she felt for this man. She feared that she would give herself up to him unconditionally. She detested his power over, how easily he could command her with his brash manner. But oh how dearly she desired him. She wanted him, all of him for herself. "Ms. Carlson?" Jac was interrupted from her train of thoughts. She hadn't realized that she had already reached her building and was already heading for the elevators. It was the same young man. But this time, instead of a pile of letters, it was a giant bouquet of flowers set in a tall glass vase. "These are from a Jonathan Marshall." Jac stared at the flowers. She didn't feel joy. She didn't feel disgust. She just didn't feel anything knowing it was from Jonathan. She was just going to ignore it and head up to her loft when she felt someone watching her just outside the lobby. She turned her head to meet the gaze only to be met with the most intense green eyes. She could not help but feel fear, anger and desire course through her body as she locked eyes with this stranger. There was a possessive gleam in them much like a predator would eye its prey. No one had ever dared lock gazes with her and yet this stranger did so without fear, as if he was challenging and mocking her at the same time. The sight of this man immediately put forth Jerzy in her mind. She had a growing suspicion of the man's intent. To think he would challenge her, arrogant fool! She would find out who the stranger was. =========================================================== Jerzy had followed Jac after she left the gallery. Despite the urban beauty that the city presented, he did not take his eyes away from her. He watched her brisk walk, noting its machine-like efficiency, uncaring of what she passed by or who. He patiently stood outside her building, as she conversed with the concierge. He stood there, waiting, watching. Finally their eyes locked and he could not help but smile internally with her reaction. This was where he wanted her; spitting with emotions and miles away from her cold, cold frame. Jac was enraged at how he viewed her. How her dared to view her. All her life she was given everything and none dared to displease her. She had never encountered any form of opposition or authority due to it. And now she was faced with blatant opposition. The mere idea of a challenge was foreign to her. She answered the stranger's challenge as best she could. She answered like an insolent person of money and power. Jac slowly walked toward the stranger, summing him up and degrading him at the same time. The building doorman opened the tall glass doors at her approach toward the wide entrance. She stopped by the door frame, uncaring of the door man, and spat at the stranger with blatant insolence. "You there!" Jac did not wait for the stranger to reply. "You look like a sturdy construction worker. How would you like to make easy money?" Jac took in his large frame and looked him up and down. "I suppose a man like you is priced at about $15 an hour?" Again she did not wait for his reply. "Never mind, I'll match your rate regardless." Jerzy quietly smiled at her insolence. He was dressed in his typical installation garb of tattered clothing splattered with paint. He could not blame her for her assumption. Her ceaseless ramblings, however, made him realize that she was grasping desperately for power. He would taunt her with his silence. They stared silently at each other, fighting for dominance. His silence and his subtle mockery enraged her until she could no longer take anymore. "Answer me!" Jac demanded. Jerzy could not help but crack a tiny smile at her loss of temper. He was dressed in paint splattered clothing and he could not blame her assumption. He finally approached her and closed the distance between them until he was mere inches from her face. "Ok," he quietly said. Jac watched him approach her as if she were some meat to be devoured. She fought down the urge to run and hide from this man. Not out of fear of danger, but from a foreign feeling of intensity she felt toward this stranger. "Very well," Jac said, breaking the intensity of the moment. "Fetch that bouquet of flowers and follow me," she said haughtily and proceeded to her destination without waiting for the man. However, she could not help herself from looking back to see if the man followed her orders. What she saw made her feel irrationally jealous. She watched his large hands, his rough and calloused hands, handle, caress, the smooth glass vase. She stormed off and did not give the man the satisfaction to see the intensity of her emotion. She also ignored her thoughts and suspicion, discarded them, that this man might be Jerzy Gorszewski. ========================================================== Jac was now stopped in front of Rowan Gallery's entrance with a sign that said CLOSED. Perfect, Jac thought as she fished out the key that Jonathan handed her at the party. The last ten minutes en route to the gallery had been a silent, but tense journey. She could feel his heated gaze burning onto her back, despite the distance she kept as he followed her from behind. She found a sick satisfaction at the fact that he followed her like a servant or a slave. She had employed many servants, assistants and plain out slaves in the past, but they had all been willing and she never had the desire to command them. They had readily enslaved themselves to her for the sole purpose of her social status. But this stranger, this man, was different. She wanted to enslave him, to posses him as her own. She had no idea why. Maybe it was his challenging and possessive gaze. Maybe it was the way his intense green eyes saw her. Maybe it was the raw and violent intensity of his body. Maybe it was the fact that this man reminded her so much of how she imagined Jerzy Gorszewski to be. But whatever it was, she had no intention of finding out. She just wanted to taunt him, defeat him and put him in his place. She also, for some twisted reason, wanted him to be jealous. To have him as a puppy was one thing, but to have him carry another man's form of affection was another. She surmised it would be torture. And tortured was what she wanted him to be. Jac had never been one for flirtation or seduction, but somehow, unbeknownst to her, her walk had become an alluring sway under his heated gaze. Jac began to unlock the gallery door when she accidentally dropped the key. Without any thought, she quickly bent over and picked it up. She realized too late the position of her body and the generous view she gave him. She should be appalled by this lowly act, she hated women who used such tactics, but somehow, she lingered in the position for a bit longer. She wanted him, this man, and this stranger, taunted and tormented with the perfection of her body. Just as quickly as the thought entered her mind, she was up and had unlocked the gallery door. She turned to face the man to pin him with a haughty gaze and stood to the side. She folded her arms across her chest and stood waiting with a pose of insolence as if implying he could never get it. She wanted to test him, to push him, but the smug look on his face only angered her. There was no smile on his face, but something in those green eyes told her that he was laughing and mocking her. She also saw in those green eyes a basic animalistic look. It was pure unadulterated lust. There was a time in her youth when she loathed, hated, the idea of obligated chivalry and gallantry. The opening of doors of men for women was an idea she abhorred. And then she gave it all up and became indifferent. Now, however, it thrilled her, to the very core, to command this man, this stranger. "I'm not paying you to stand about. Now wipe that insolent look off of your face and open the door," Jac said out of irritation, not caring of the massive bouquet that must have weight over fifty pounds that he was carrying. Letter to the Artist Ch. 01 She was pinned under his intense and mocking gaze. She watched him shift the heavy item under one arm, huge muscles buldged and worked to hold onto the vase while his other arm opened and held the wide and heavy door. For one fleeting moment, she imagined what it would be like to be held tightly under those arms. She immediately discarded the thought, but it seemed much too late. The proud look she saw in his eyes told her that he understood her thought. Arrogant bastard, Jac thought, as she haughtily entered through the gallery door. A door which he held open for her, not because he was obligated to, but because she commanded him to. The moment she entered the gallery and her eyes met the art, she forgot everything. She forgot Jerzy Gorszewski, she forgot the stranger, and she forgot everything. There was only art. =========================================================== This woman had been taunting him for the last ten minutes. From the seductive sway of her hips to the intoxicating fragrance that wafted in the warm summer breeze as he followed close behind. She seemed so innocent of her effects on him. No woman had ever had the power to torment him until now. It was not until the moment that she dropped the key that he understood. She truly had no idea until this moment. He drank in her perfect breasts bound in an erotic black lacy bra, her slender arms reaching for the keys with delicate fingers, her long and sexy legs and the swell of her pert bottom. He did not miss her sudden realization and her purposeful pause. He knew then and there that she, too, wanted him. Jerzy did Jac's bidding with the thought that she would lose to him, despite her ministrations, and that he would have her. He wanted to smile widely at Jac's reaction upon seeing his work. It was as if he never existed. He had to stop this for now before she lost her excitement and momentum. "Where do you want these?" he said without a trace of emotion. Jac was broken from her trance by the clear and concise voice that was from the stranger. It was the first time she had truly heard him speak. It sounded vaguely familiar, but Jac ignored the thought. Instead she retrieved her check book from her purse and scribbled quickly. "Here's $3.75," Jac waved the check to his face without looking at him, clearly irritated with his interruption. "It's been exactly 15 minutes. Once you do the math, you'll know that my rate is correct. Now dispose of those in the trash bin inside Jonathan Marshall's office." Without eye contact, Jerzy took the check with amusement. She seemed so engrossed with the work that she wasn't even trying to be rude, but managed to do so anyway. He did as he was told and was glad to be rid of that horrendous bouquet of flowers. Not because he was jealous of the sender. He was glad to be rid of them because they were visually offensive. The sender was of no consequence to him for it came from the pitiful Jonathan Marshall. Jac was instantly drawn to the installations. There was a delicious thrill that coursed through her veins and into her core upon seeing his work for the first time. The works intimated raw and violent intensity in its purest form. There was not a single ounce of tenderness in his work. Somehow, she knew that he understood her. Jerzy leaned against one of the distant walls and watched this woman inspect his work. He saw her face contort with emotions, her eyes fill with thought. He watched her heaving chest, the pulse on her neck. He knew that she understood fully. Jac nearly jumped at finding the man still inside the gallery, watching her with those devilish green eyes. "Now what on Earth could you still possibly be doing here? This should be of no interest to you. After all, you're only a laborer. You couldn't possibly begin to understand all this," Jac said in plain mockery as she insulted him to hide her startled and emotional state. Jerzy did not reply. He simply watched her in silence. Jac focused her attention on another work. His presence irritated her and his silence drew her mad. "Come here," she commanded. "Look at this one closely," she pointed at a particular piece as he approached her. "Do you know what critics would say? They would say every known adjective. Beautiful! Ah! Pristine! Blah, blah, blah, amazing!" Her tone was mocking of her mindless constituents. She took a momentary pause to look at the work before speaking once more. "But they would never say violent. That word is banned from the press." "Do you see the tension in these lines? It's violent, isn't it? It's completely void of tenderness," she spoke with a tone of admiration, but she cringed at the last word. Jerzy broke his silence. He noticed her disdain for the word tenderness. "What do you have against affection?" Jac picked up a slight accent from the way he said the words 'against' and 'affection', but it was too subtle for her to identify. Jac laughed at his question. "People give it away so easily, without thought. It's really quite repulsive," she paused again realizing having said too much already. She began to move towards the back part of the gallery, but in doing so accidentally brushed against his side. She was momentarily stunned at the heat he was emanating and how much her heart began to race. She quickly walked past him. "Now look at that one," she said pointing to the massive piece. "Every tension, every line fighting for dominance, everything is planned. Everything well thought out. Could you imagine the hard work, the painstaking detail to get just one angle precisely correct?" Jac felt lively speaking about the work, but suddenly fell silent upon a thought. "Affection?" She said quietly to herself. "What good is affection when it is so easily attainable?" Jerzy wanted to kiss her passionately then and there and marvel at her sweetness as he explored her body. He heard her devotion and understanding for his work. He wanted to give into his urges, but he knew to do so would revile her. He would to have to follow his plan precisely. "This artist, you like him very much, yes?" Jerzy was subtly moving her towards the back by simply inching closer to her every chance he got. "Like him?" Jac laughed. "I hate him!" "Why?" Jerzy had now cornered her without her even realizing it. Jac started off into the distance as if pondering the question. Then, very quietly, she replied in vulnerability. "Because he understands me." Jac finally looked up, after a silent pause, and realized her current predicament. She looked up at her stranger as his large body trapped her in the corner wall of the gallery. His once fiery green eyes were now inflamed with intense desire that clearly spoke his calculated intent. She made a move to walk past him, but her face only met his chest. She tried to move past him again, but he blocked her all the same. Jac looked up with anger in her eyes. "Move!" she commanded. Jerzy only shook his head as he trapped her under his gaze. "I said move!" Jac now pushed him with her arms, with all her might, but it was useless to move a mountain. Despite her anger, she could not help but marvel at the feel of his firm muscles under her hands. For a brief moment, beneath her outrage, she wondered how it would feel to run her hands against his bare chest. Suddenly, she felt moisture pooling between her legs. Dear God, I think I want this. She stepped back as if to deny her sudden thought and to move away from the heat of his body, but she was met by a solid wall against her back. In that moment, she felt tiny and powerless because she knew she wanted him as much as he wanted her and hated the fact that she couldn't stop him if he seduced her. She began to hit and punch at his chest with blind rage, her only method of fighting back at this point. Suddenly, she wanted to be free of him, to get away from his heated eyes and strong body that were sending her to a level of arousal that she had never felt in her entire life. Instead of letting her go, he quickly grabbed her arms and pinned her against the wall with a frightening grip. Jac had a fleeting thought that she should be terrified, that she should scream, but nothing came out. Instead she met his crazed look that continued to fuel her arousal and challenged him to do his best. He held her tight against his body and stared down intently at her, surprised when she suddenly stopped fighting him. He wanted her to feel his power, how easily he could crush her, how helpless she was against him. That there was no way she could fight him in anyway and this acceptance was throwing the balance off. He needed her to accept this, not challenge him further. He needed her lost in passion and begging for him to take what he knew was his. Jac's eyes widened at being handled so roughly. She held his gaze and held still, coiled in tension, as she felt her body flushed against the hard and muscular contours of his large body. She felt his large hands crushing her arms, as if ready to mold and destroy her as his own. Her eyes widened even more at the realization that he could easily conquer her, without reserve. Jac's eyes widened when his large hand ran down the side of her torso as if he were claiming her as some prize. There was a thrill at being possessed by another being, something so foreign to her that she decided in that moment that she wanted this – right or wrong – she wanted to be dominated for the first time. She held his gaze and remained motionless while he continued to explore her body as he pinned her against the wall. While he did so, he leaned his own frame closer to her, so she could feel the hard, muscles beneath his jeans and his throbbing erection as he pressed into her soft body. Jac had never felt this way before. She was on fire and needed him to keep touching her in places no man had ever touched before. She knew she should fight, but she couldn't, she wanted it too much. She had accepted moments ago that he could take her on his own even if she denied him, but she didn't. She wanted this and wanted whoever he was to ravage her until she screamed herself hoarse. How fitting that she felt this passion amongst Jerzy's art, for that was the only other thing in this world that awoke any passion in her at all. So Jac accepted his power play, decided to give up and let him claim her. In her mind she envisioned this was her Jerzy and that only sent more moisture to her already sopping core. Jerzy, her artist. She tilted her head back and exhaled as his hand had worked under her dress and was now caressing her bare skin along her thighs and ass. When he encountered her panties and ran his thick finger under the lace, Jac's head snapped forward until she saw the raw need in his eyes. There was something there that touched her soul and she unknowingly wiggled her hips in response for him to take it, take it all. Jerzy saw the realization in her eyes and grinned with a feral hunger of one about to devour their prey like a predator. He was consumed with his need for her now that he was touching her, feeling her warmth. He wanted her like he'd never wanted a woman before and was extremely pleased she had let him win this little power game they had been playing. One sad thought did find its way into his mind at that moment causing him to pause momentarily – she was giving this to a stranger and not him as himself. That truth was not part of the plan though and would come later. For now, he needed to finish what he started and knew she was his, so he claimed what belonged to him. He quickly crushed his mouth against hers with a passionate kiss that left no room to question who was in charge here. She closed her lips tightly because she felt that dominance and feebly resisted. But the moment his soft tongue pressed against her lips, licking gently while he waited for her to accept, Jac crumbled. Her body responded before her mind and her lips parted enough so this man could claim her mouth in the most primal kiss she'd ever imagined. Jac moaned against his lips and wished once more that this was Jerzy. She let her fantasy soar as her stranger dueled tongues with her. His hands gripped her hips firmly; grinding her body into his while he devoured her with his mouth. He pushed her up against the wall, her legs dangling above the ground with only his body to hold her up. Jac fell limp and averted her eyes. He grabbed her jaw and gently, almost tenderly forced her to look him straight in the eyes, making sure she didn't look away, "Watch me," he whispered arrogantly sending a thrill of excitement through Jac. He stared at her alluring brown eyes intently for what seemed like an eternity, conveying to her his calculated intentions. Jac knew in that one look that she was in trouble, but she was not sure if she was in danger or not. He looked feral in a sexy way and that only further advanced her need for him to claim her. In that moment, she decided that she would fight him in a different manner. He kissed her again, with his hand still gripping her jaw. It was not a tender kiss. It was possessive and conquering. His grip on her jaw only tightened. Jac was not fighting him anymore, not in the usual force of resistance. She was fighting and defying him through forcefulness of her kisses. She felt powerful and liberated because of it. He was taken with the force and intensity of her kisses as if she was trying to dominate the situation. He realized then that she was fighting him. He wanted to smile at her valiant effort. The little minx!He became even more vicious and feral with his kissing, letting her know that in no way she would ever win this power play. His skillful tongue was inside her once more and the pleasure that shot through her was like none that she had experienced before. He was rough with her mouth, biting and sucking and licking all there was to her. He was everything but tender and affectionate and this further intensified her experience. She knew she was sick and demented for enjoying his rough treatment. A subtle sound slipped past her lips and he took advantage of that moan to consume more of her. The feel of his tongue battling against her was so delicious. Now she realized what women talked about. Suddenly her hands grabbed and caressed his face. It was not for dominance but simply for her needs. She wanted more of him, his lips, his mouth, his tongue closer to her. She suddenly remembered her fantasy of kissing her Jerzy. She could not help the moan that escaped her lips. At the sound of her delicious moan, Jerzy grabbed her legs and wrapped them around his waist. He marveled at the heat coming from her center and ground his painfully hard and throbbing cock against her moist heat. Jac realized her lewd position, his hard length throbbing against her. Before she could internalize what was happening, she was unceremoniously dropped on one of the ground installations. She realized where she was, but more importantly, what she was on. She scrambled to get off the piece but he was much too quick for her. Jerzy smiled at her realization of where he'd dropped her and also at her weak attempt to fight him. He watched her swift effort to scramble off of his piece, as if it burned her. He didn't allow her to move much farther than the end of the wooden canvas when he pinned her against his art work. He straddled her thighs and held her arms above her head using one of his strong hands. She was glorious in this position, pulled tight and wiggling. It was driving him insane with need. A part of him hated being this rough, but he knew the rules of this game if he wanted the ultimate prize. Jac struggled to be free. She focused more on getting off of the art work than escaping his grasp. Her struggle only made her dress hike up her waist which revealed her black lace bikini thong. He hardened even more at the sight of her underwear and the way she squirmed against his hard length. Jerzy pinned her with his gaze, commanding her to stop her struggle and surrender to him. Still she struggled, pleading with her eyes; she begged him to violate her anywhere. Anywhere, but on the art work. His gaze only increased in intensity. "Stop fighting. I can smell you." Jac had never felt pure terror until that moment. To be forced to face her worst fear and surrender to a man terrified her to the point of panic. It wasn't the act of having sex. It wasn't even the fact she was about to lose her virginity. It was the fact he demanded she surrender to him completely. He licked his finger and parted her damp panties only to drive his middle finger inside of her. She was impossibly tight. He played with her clit and saw the pain and pleasure cross her face. He wanted to drive her mad with lust and punish her with his deft fingers at the same time. At first she resisted him, but realized all too quickly that his violating fingers were pleasurable. She imagined Jerzy's rough and calloused fingers inside of her and when she felt a second finger inside slip inside, she could not help but moan. She was now gyrating absentmindedly to his questing fingers. With Jac mindless with pleasure, Jerzy began to unbuckle himself with his free hand. Jac absentmindedly grabbed onto his hands, driving him on further inside of her without realizing the effect it would have on him. Jerzy felt her walls quivering against his fingers and so he inserted his third one and watched her face intently. He pushed and pulled his three fingers mercilessly inside of her until she was close to cumming. And just when she was on the brink of shattering, he pulled his fingers away from her. "Not yet," he said in a voice dripping with desire. He gave her body one more possessive look before he pulled down her damp panties and swiftly drove himself inside her tight walls without heed of the barrier within her. He watched a million emotions cross her once cold and listless face. Good God she had climaxed from his entry and he'd never seen anything as beautiful as Jac Carlson falling apart speared on his cock. A smile of utter pleasure lifted his sensual lips as he realized he'd truly won, for he had finally shattered her frozen defense. He had felt the resistance as his large cock possessed her scalding hot pussy. She screamed, both from having experienced an orgasm and the pain of being taken for the first time. The tears that escaped her eyes and her pain-contorted face, despite the orgasm she just experienced, only confirmed his belief that Jac Carlson was a virgin. These realizations made Jerzy feel like the devil himself, but then again, he didn't plan on letting her go, so was this really that horrible of an act? She'd never be with anyone else but him if he had anything to say about it, so this really was his own way of branding her his. His Jac. His writer. For the first time in several years, Jac was able to feel pure unadulterated emotion. It was pain, it was fear, it was excitement. To be conquered for the first time by a man worthy of her insolence. She knew, in the back of her mind, that he could be her Jerzy. She tried her best not to cry at the pain of his intrusion, but lost miserably. Jerzy felt terrible for having caused her pain. He wanted to kiss her tears away and hold her and console her, but he could not afford to weaken or show signs of tenderness and affection. He had never been in so much pain at seeing the woman he loved, yes loved, being in pain and being helpless about it. This was the hardest thing he ever had to do. To hide his emotions from the woman he wanted to share everything with. This act of severity was harder than any precise and calculated art piece he had ever done. Jerzy had also never felt such violent possession until that very moment. To be the conqueror of her very being drove him to near insanity. He knew, then and there, that he would have her forever. Not once did he break his gaze. He didn't move despite his most basic urges. He was deathly still, like a thief in the night and allowed her to feel his hard length and wide girth. He allowed her to feel his power over her. Letter to the Artist Ch. 01 Jac had never felt so full and complete until now. He was impossibly huge inside her virgin pussy. The feel of him inside her was delicious, despite the pain. She was helpless against him and he knew it. She stared, lost within his violent green eyes and felt as if she were some sort of possession, a property to be owned without trespass. She belonged to him, at the mercy of his disposal, now and forever. Their silent conversation seemed to have spanned eons. He witnessed her dark cold eyes transform into warm brown ones and he knew that their understanding was beyond any spoken agreement. He quickly pulled out of her warmth and heard her moan. Whether it was pain or protest, he did not care. He needed her full submission and his ultimate act of possession. He flipped her onto her hands and knees and parted her legs with his muscular thighs. He drove his massive cock inside her pussy without mercy. Jac moaned loudly out of pain and pleasure. To be possessed in this position was to submit her whole being fully. She felt excitement at the thought of Jonathan Marshall entering at any given moment. She buried her face onto the art work and reveled at the feel of it. It was as if she were part of the art as they desecrated the meaning of it all. She moaned and panted and screamed at his relentless pounding. Fucking and fucking and fucking her dripping wet pussy with his hard and enormous dick. It was sacrilegious. It was beautiful. He grabbed her bottom and waist to drive harder and faster into her. He felt her now quivering pussy and knew that she was close to coming. She went up for air and saw their reflection on another installation. Their position was violently erotic. She saw his calloused hands against the smooth expanse of her ass and it reminded her of a lion's massive paws pouncing onto a poor and unsuspecting antelope from behind. "Come now," he commanded through a labored and lustful grunt. She saw her breasts jiggle and the intensity of his eyes. She pushed back and met his violent thrusts. There she screamed the one name she'd been imaging. Jerzy. There she shattered, still mindlessly meeting his powerful thrusts and whimpering his name repeatedly. His lust only intensified at her orgasm as he heard her scream his name without even knowing it. He fucked her even harder. The power of this thrusts lifted her off the ground every time and she moaned and moaned and moaned until, finally, she shattered again and he, in turn, released rope after rope of his cum into her virgin womb. He had planted his seed deep inside her and now she was truly his. Jerzy pulled out of her and hated the feel of it. Jac's current state, on the ground atop his installation, was his most perfect creation. A light sheen of sweat covered her body and her hair was a tangle of light brown and reddish mess. He saw her warm brown eyes filled with dazed contentment and a light smile on her pink and luscious lips. She looked exactly like a woman who had been properly ravaged. How he wanted to hold her tight against him and stay inside her, but he could not afford affection. Not now. "You are mine now, writer.(,)" he said instead before retreating to leave her dazed form. Jac watched him retreat into the back office. No introductions were needed. His word usage and the sudden recognition of that voice, the same voice that left her lusting over the phone, she knew then and there that her stranger was Jerzy Gorszewski. The one person she took comfort in treated her exactly how she wanted to be treated. Just the thought of Jerzy understanding her so well, with barely spoken words, frightened her. Jac got up, her legs weak and her muscles sore from the act she just performed. She knew full well that she was his, but she was not ready for him. She would fight him for as long as she could because she resented the fact that she lost to him. Defeated by his caress and how easily her body responded to his touch. She located her forgotten purse, tossed to the ground, reached for her handkerchief. She wiped the mixture of blood and semen that ran down her inner thighs. She didn't wipe herself, however. She wanted it to stay with her, the violent act of their passion. She searched the floor for her underwear, but could not, for the life of her, find it. Jac, then, saw him leaning against the wall, watching her with amusement in his eyes. "Just because you've possessed me doesn't mean you have me," she said with nonchalant arrogance as if nothing transpired between them. "I told you I don't intend to lose. Don't do the show, Jerzy. These people don't deserve you." "It's Yer-dge," he simply said, correcting the accent of his name. Jac was just about to leave when Jonathan entered the gallery. He seemed pleased that she utilized the key that he gave her and grabbed her around the waist before she could exit. "Hey babe, I see---" "Don't touch me!" Jac pushed him with utter revulsion at his touch and his lecherous eyes. "You disgust me you pitiful excuse of a man! Don't ever touch me or look at me like that ever again if you want me to remain part of this shallow and superficial world of yours!" she pinned him an intense gaze and exited the gallery. Jonathan had never felt so terrified in his life. The intensity of her gaze conveyed to him that her statement was not an empty threat. He bowed his head in shame, at the truth. He would do anything not to lose his place in the world. "Are you alright?" Jerzy asked Jonathan not really caring, but instead pushing for a new agenda in his head. "I'm quite alright. Just a long day." "What if I agree to do an interview?" Jonathan's eyes widened. The main reason why he was able to snag Jerzy was that he promised no press interview or any photos to be taken of the artist. "George! Of course! It would make my life! Let me call---" "Jac Carlson will do it," he simply stated. Jonathan paled. He did not want to deal with Jac and her fury. "Are you sure? I mean there are---" "Jac Carlson or I will not do it at all." Jonathan grabbed his phone and searched for Greta Vanderwoods. "Jac Carlson it is," he mumbled to Jerzy. Letter to the Artist Ch. 02 Edited by meathead96 Chapter 2 "No Greta, I won't do it!" Jac stood up in anger, but winced slightly at the soreness that shot through her muscles due to yesterday's activities. Greta was surprised, again, by Jac's sudden outburst. It seemed that any mention of that artist seemed to put her in a fit of rage. Greta was also mindful of the fact that Jonathan instructed her that Jerzy specifically requested her. "Well I suppose I can send Stacey instead..." Greta knew that Jac hated Stacey's superficial personality the most. Jac suddenly felt sick at the image of Stacey interviewing Jerzy. The woman did not deserve the grace of her artist. She paused to collect herself, but she was seething against this trap. "Is this Jonathan's idea or is it his?" Jac asked quietly still trying to contain her anger. The tone of her voice and the emotion she was pouring made Greta suspect that there was something deeper going on between the two. Whatever it was, Greta was glad. Finally, someone was making Jac lively. Yes it was anger, but at least she saw signs of life in her cold associate editor. "How in the hell should I know... or should I care? You're doing the interview. End of discussion. You'll find what you need here," Greta handed her Jerzy's contact. She headed to the door and paused. "Oh, and don't be late." Jac watched Greta leave her office. Was that a wink? Jac pondered before reading her directive. "Mother f---" she grabbed her purse before she could finish her profane words. She was to meet Jerzy at The Biltmore at 4:30 and it was already 4:20. She ran out of her office annoyed and angry at the same time. She kept a standard of never missing an appointment or ever being late for one. She always met her deadlines regardless. And this stunt, his stupid little stunt, was making her lose even that standard. After walking at great speeds, weaving in and out of pedestrian traffic, Jac was now pushing the UP button of one of the main elevators of The Biltmore. She looked at her watch as she waited impatiently for the doors to open. It was 4:30. She heard the familiar ring and the elevator doors opened. She was just about to step inside when the tall, hulking form of a man that was Jerzy Gorszewski emerged through the elevator doors. "You're late," he said as he walked briskly past her. Her frustrations were mounting. She was stunned at arrogance. She expected he would seduce her during the interview. Secretly, in the back of her mind, she waited for it. She did not, however, expect him to ignore her. He didn't even spare her a single glance. "I wasn't really given much choice," she retorted defiantly as she stood rooted by the elevators. She watched him stride toward the main entrance. She knew he wasn't going to wait for her. "Wait, where are you going?" she asked in annoyance as she began to follow him outside. She walked briskly in an attempt to catch up with his strides. He had been ignoring her purposely. It was his plan to make her come to him. But the minute he set his eyes on her by the elevator, he knew he had to ignore her or else he would have pulled her inside the elevators and had his wicked ways with her. She wore a short summer dress; its dark green colors accentuated her reddish brown hair. The light and loose fitting dress revealed the creamy white skin of her slender thighs. He decided he liked that color on her, for it accentuated everything. Her skin, her eyes and her luscious pink lips. It was going to be a long and painful day for him. He looked up the street and saw the upcoming bus just a block away. "I take it you've never taken public transportation before?" "I don't see the relevance..." She saw his distant gaze and turned her head to see what he was looking at. There she saw the orange MTA bus heading their direction. She whirled around and saw a smug grin escaping his lips. "But the interview!" she stared in disbelief as he boarded the bus without even acknowledging her. Jac let out an exasperated groan and followed him in pursuit. She didn't even stop to realize that one needed to pay upon boarding a bus. The driver rolled her eyes at her. "Its fifty cents," the bus driver said with exasperation in her eyes. Jac was annoyed. Who the hell carries change in their pockets? All she had on her was a one hundred dollar bill, her check book and her Master Card. She fished out her wallet and waved the one hundred dollar bill at the driver. The bus driver laughed. "Lady! We don't give change. Now you're holding up my line. Either you pay or get off my bus!" Jac was shocked in disbelief. She was about to storm off on the woman for talking to her that way when Jerzy stepped in and paid for her fare. He smiled at the driver and dragged her along by the arm. He sat her down in the back of the bus. "There is a whole world around you and you don't even know it," he huffed at her as he stared into the distance. "You owe me fifty cents." Jac laughed sarcastically as she fished out her moleskin and pen from her purse. "Can we please get this over with?" "Put that away," he said, noting her moleskin. "Today you're just going to watch." She laughed haughtily. "Listen, if you think you're going to tell me how to do my---" "Have you ever just stopped and watched the world around you?" he asked quietly, interrupting her rant. "What?" she was confused and taken by his question and was slightly annoyed. "Look at that woman over there," he nodded his head to the young woman a few seats before them with a child in her arms. "What do you think her story is?" Jac looked about the empty bus and found a young woman cradling a baby in her arms. The child was probably only a few months old. The woman looked so tired and haggard, but the twinkle in her eyes as she looked at her child made it seem that everything will be alright. "I don't think about it," Jac said flatly as she ignored the look she saw in the woman's eyes. Jerzy chanced a look at the beautiful woman next to him and saw the thoughts brewing in her eyes as she watched the young woman with her child. "You're not as cold as you think are," he said quietly to her. It angered her that he knew what she was thinking. "I'm thinking she should have aborted that child. If she truly did love that child, she would have never thought of bringing up that child in this sad reality," she replied coldly. "Does that answer your question?" "But you agree, you see the love she has for the child. To have given up on that child without giving it a chance to fight and live is the worst thing she could have done." Jac remained silent at his words. She watched the woman again. She knew this was true. The woman's love for her child would be the one thing that would keep her going to give her child the best life possible. Despite the hardship, she would do it because of her love. Jac was suddenly envious of the woman. She had something to love. Something to live for. "I never said I agreed to anything and quite frankly I don't---" her haughty rant ended when the bus hit a pot hole and her body was thrown closer to him. Her hand instinctively grabbed onto his thigh for support. She felt the hard muscles of his thigh and squeezed it absentmindedly, reveling at the feel of the heat emanating through his jeans Jerzy nearly lost himself as the softness of her body pressed closely to him. The hand near his crotch had him hard instantly as he felt her squeeze inquisitively at his muscles. She heard a grunt and realized how close her hand was to his crotch. She immediately removed her hand and folded her arms across her chest trying so very hard not to blush. She should be ashamed of herself for reacting to him so easily. How her body responded at the mere touch of him was annoying. Jerzy looked down at her and saw a blush creeping up her cheeks. He also couldn't help what he had been trying to avoid. His eyes traveled down lower. His height gave him a generous view of the tops of her breasts, which were now pushed together because of her arms. He moved uncomfortably in his seat as he hardened even more at the sight of her cleavage. This was definitely going to be the longest day of his life. =============================================================== "You're not trying," he warned her as he wound the disposable camera. He thought she looked so cute looking like a petulant child "Tell me why I have to do this again?" Jac felt like a fool holding up some sort of Polish figurine before the Hollywood sign in Griffith Park this time of day. First he had her take pictures at John Wayne's footprints at the Chinese Theater, next to a John Wayne impersonator, now this? "Don't move!" he commanded before he took the picture. She just looked so damn beautiful with her hair up in a loose bun. There was a bead of sweat that ran down her neck and how he just wanted to lick that sweet spot and taste her again. She walked towards him and handed him the figurine. She was in the middle of a mountain trail sweating her ass off and taking pictures with a figurine. This was most definitely the worst interview in her life. She was working down the main trail when she was suddenly hit by a memory. In her youth she would go with her best friend Dagny, who belonged to a family of avid adventurers, to hike hidden trails around Los Angeles. She remembered the trail so well because it was the last time she talked to Dagny. It was her very own goodbye to her best friend when she gave up her fight to live years ago. Without thought, she moved past the tree line and began following the rarely traveled path. It was nearly sundown and he checked his watch to make sure of the time. He wanted to catch the show at the observatory, but it seemed his writer had other plans. He watched her disappear into the bushes and he suddenly felt a momentary panic of the dangers that awaited her. "Jac!" he yelled in an angry and scolding tone as he followed immediately behind her. He had to duck down a couple branches for the trail she was following was definitely unused. "Will you calm down," she said as she ducked under a branch to reach a clearing that revealed an unobstructed view of the city. She stood there silently watching the setting sun. Jerzy reached the clearing and the view it presented of the city was beautiful. The pink and orange and blue hues of the sky made it all the more breathtaking. He watched Jac's form against it all and everything else paled in comparison to her. He joined her in the clearing and stood closely beside her as he enjoyed the view in silence. "My neighbor, he owns a cow. That's all he has now," he said quietly breaking their comfortable silence. "What?" "You asked why I'm making you do all these things," he began again trying to explain. "He's never been to America. His wife always wanted to be a Hollywood movie star. She died two years ago. That figurine, it was hers." Jac wanted to laugh at his honesty. This whole thing was all for a man who owned a cow? "And John Wayne?" she asked trying to contain her amusement. "When I was growing up, he would always tell me 'Get off your horse and drink your milk.'" Jac couldn't help the smile that was creeping up her face. Who would have thought that somewhere in Poland, a farmer would be quoting John Wayne. Jerzy did not miss the smile that escaped her lips. He smiled to himself. He was getting close. "I've forgotten how beautiful this is," she said quietly staring off into the distance. He watched her intently. He wanted to kiss her desperately, but he restrained himself violently. It had to be her choice this time to come to him. How his hands itched to hold her small and delicate ones. "You know I used to come here with my best friend," her gaze was distant as if recalling a fond memory. She let out a small laugh. "We'd ditch class and go for hikes. We were such nerds," she said as she pondered on their activities. While many kids ditched school to go to the mall or watch movies or drink alcohol and do drugs in between, she and Dagny would hide away in her own private stretch of beach and would just go surfing and read books and light a bonfire and pretend they were two castaways marooned on an island. She looked up to Jerzy with a genuine smile on her face. It was a small smile, but it was real. "You know we would go down to my beach and ju---" Jac immediately stopped herself when she realized Jerzy was looking intently at her. He seemed happy for some reason. She immediately averted her eyes from him and again stared off into the sunset. She looked so beautiful with that smile, Jerzy thought. He just wanted to hold her in his arms and have her smiling. He knew he would do everything in his power to have her smiling again. He wanted to say something, to ask her more about herself, but he knew this moment was much more important than any spoken word. They watched the sun set beyond the horizon, together, in comfortable silence. "You're going to miss that show if you keep staring at something that's not there anymore," Jac said as she waited for him by the tree line. Jerzy sighed at her stubborn head and only smiled at her before entering the forgotten trail again. Jac was so confused at her feelings for this man. She followed him close behind as he led them back to the main trail. She wanted to hold onto his arms, be held by his hands, but at the same time resented the fact that he made her feel this way. She followed him close behind and watched his walking form. The top of her head barely reached his shoulders. She wanted to rest her head on his back and just hold onto him and stay there in that moment, lost in that embrace. She wanted to keep him away from those shallow people. They didn't deserve him. She just wanted to hold onto him. But she knew she couldn't. She couldn't weaken now. She quickened her pace and soon overtook him down the trail. She couldn't watch him so closely. She couldn't bare it. She busied herself with the path toward the observatory, intent on purchasing the tickets for the show at the planetarium. =============================================================== They sat in their reclined seats as they looked up at the dome of the planetarium where the stars were projected against it. It almost seemed real, as if they were outside gazing up at the galaxy itself. The woman who told the story of how the planets came to be had a soothing and lulling voice. They were practically lying next to each other as they watched the projected stars surround them. She knew it was all an illusion created by technology to enhance the experience, but somehow, Jac felt so tiny and alone in this fake universe. Her hand suddenly sought out Jerzy's. She felt his gaze shift to her, but not once did she take her gaze away from the dome. "Don't get any ideas," she said coldly. Jerzy just smiled silently to himself and squeezed and held on tightly to hers. =============================================================== They were back downtown by 10 pm. The bus ride back was a quiet, yet comfortable one. They sat across from each other, the bus nearly empty at that hour. His gaze never left hers. He wasn't smiling physically, but she could see that his eyes were. He looked happy. Jac kept her face cold and distant. "You can't weaken now, not now," she repeated in her head. They had just gotten off the corner of Pico and 12th Street and were making their way back up to Grand when a man poked his head out the window of a two story brownstone building. "Yo! You guys here for the party?" the man with dreadlocks bellowed above them. Jac ignored the man and kept going but Jerzy, amused, looked up at the man. "Yeah," he answered. "Cool! Just go out back to the alley." Jac looked back at Jerzy in disbelief. "You're not serious are you?" she looked up at the marquee on the building. "It says Venus Printing for crying out loud." Jerzy just grinned at her, hands in his pocket, and proceeded to the alley. Jac let out, yet again, an exasperated sigh as she followed him into the dark alley. =============================================================== The building was most definitely a warehouse. It had exposed wooden beams and painted white bricks. The place was old and dilapidated, but somehow everything looked cozy. There was one narrow hallway and the small warehouse was divided into three rooms. Jac watched the people and her surroundings. She would never have imagined being present at a place such as this, through an alley. But she watched as people conversed among themselves easily without pretension. There were bands playing in each room and people were dancing... silly, but it was carefree. Jac had been to many warehouse parties, but this one was genuine. There were no event planners and photo ops with the press and big names to drop here and there. They were just people having a good time to good music. She was beginning to like the cozy and intimate atmosphere of the place. Jerzy headed towards the makeshift bar of one of the rooms to get some drinks when the bartender greeted him with a big smile. "You're Polish!" "Yes," Jerzy replied in his native tongue. "You are new in the country?" the bartender asked. It was the beginning of a conversation spoken in Polish. "No," Jerzy smiled. "I'm just here for business." "Gods, I am so happy right now! I have not met anyone from the old country in a while now," The bartender said with the most enthusiastic smile. "Ah! We must drink for the mother land. I have been meaning to share this vodka from Krakow. Its very strong." The bartender ran and disappeared in one of the rooms only to come back with a large and dusty bottle. "I am Iwan by the way," he said extending his hand. "Jerzy,)" he said shaking the man's hand. "So what business, if you don't mind my asking, brought you this side of the world?" Iwan asked as he poured them their drinks. Jerzy smiled at Iwan and turned his head toward Jac, who was standing across the room. "That kind of business," he took a swig of his vodka. The two men started laughing and Jac could not help but hear the booming sound coming from Jerzy. She watched him converse with the bartender and he seemed so at ease. "You are a brave man," Iwan said as he poured them another. "She looks... cold. Don't get me wrong. She looks beautiful... but cold." Jerzy chuckled. "You have no idea!" Jerzy looked at Jac again. She stood out among crowd. She looked like a cold and beautiful goddess that graced their presence. "She's warming up though. She just doesn't know it yet." Iwan watched Jerzy stare at the woman with so much love that he couldn't help but laugh. "Brother, you are in so much trouble." Jerzy chuckled and nodded. "I know. I know. But do me a favor. When she comes over, just play along." Jac approached the bar and over heard them speaking in what she could only guess as Polish. She ignored Jerzy as best as she could and planned on ordering just a glass of water. She opted out of alcohol because technically, she was on the job. And quite frankly, she hated losing control of her mind and body. Then she heard Jerzy mumble something in Polish to the bartender. It was obviously pertaining to her because the man looked at her first and then nodded to Jerzy. "What did he say?" she demanded in a cold manner. The bartender just smiled at her and said, "He said not to give you anything alcoholic." Jac laughed coldly and glared at Jerzy. "Well in that case, give me the strongest one you've got." Letter to the Artist Ch. 02 Iwan poured her a tall shot of the vodka. "This one is called Spirytus. I suggest---" his speech was cut short when the woman took a straight shot of the liquor he just poured. Jac felt the vodka course through her throat and straight down to her stomach like fire. She fought hard not to cough. She immediately felt warm, especially through her throat. "What is this? 100 proof?" Jac managed to ask as the liquor coursed through her veins. "192 actually," Iwan replied and handed her the much needed full glass of orange juice. Jac finally let out a cough. "That's like four shots!" She immediately downed the full glass of orange juice that was handed to her. She tried to keep her composure, but the room immediately seemed 20 degrees warmer. She began touching her throat trying to contain the warmth emanating from it. She then retied her hair up in a bun trying to cool her self. Jerzy wanted to laugh at her reaction. He could see the pink blush creeping up her skin from her cheeks to the top of her breasts. He was transfixed with how she tied her hair. The picture she presented him looked so sexy, the way she arched her back and presented her bosom to him and how her hands raked through her hair. Jac noticed the way he was looking at her. "You think this is funny?" she huffed and placed her hands akimbo while she leaned against the bar for support. She saw him shake his head with that stupid grin on his face. Her pulse began to race with the heat and she began to hear the beat of the music. Jac let out a frustrated groan. "How could this man look so good with that stupid grin," she thought as she left their presence. "I think now would be the time to go to her," Iwan said with a grin. "I have to start setting up anyway." =========================================================== Jac found herself a nice solid wall to lean against. She was definitely beginning to feel the effects of the alcohol after wandering through the warehouse. She watched the people around her and they were definitely having a good time listening to the band that was playing. Even she couldn't deny the fact that she, too, was having a good time. In the center of the room, she noticed a girl dancing and singing her heart out. She couldn't help but smile at the girl's carefree enthusiasm. Jac didn't even realize that the man on the so called stage was the bartender until he winked at her. She turned to look for Jerzy when she met a solid wall of chest. She looked up to meet Jerzy's green eyes. She didn't think it was possible for get any hotter, but it did. She felt the heat emanating from his chest and felt his steady heart beating against her hands. She licked her lips, suddenly feeling parched. Jerzy could feel the heat of her questing hands against his chest. Her eyes were so warm they resembled the color of gold honey. He immediately hardened when she licked her lips. He nearly lost it at the thought of ravaging those lips when, thankfully, they were interrupted. "This song here is for my fellow country man!" Iwan began. "And to his lady friend," he added with a wink. Jac immediately felt embarrassed at being the center of attention and being caught in that moment with Jerzy. She was never one to get embarrassed, she was used to being the center of attention, but to be so out of control of her emotion was just simply embarrassing. Jerzy handed her the drink he had been carrying the whole time. He just smiled at her and moved them closer to the 'stage'. "I'm beginning to suspect that you, sir, are trying to get me inebriated," Jac said as she took a sip of the sweet drink. She could not, try as she might, hide the amused tone in her voice. The band began playing. It most definitely sounded Eastern European and Gypsy with a modern twist to it. She heard people, including Jerzy, begin to clap to the beat of the music. She saw the big smile on his face as he mumbled along to the Polish jig. Again, she could not help the smile escaping her lips. Iwan beckoned for him to join him on the microphone. There really wasn't a stage. It was more like an area in the room where the band decided to set up. Jerzy looked down at Jac, who was watching him mumble along. She looked like she was trying hard not to smile. It was there that he decided that he would make her laugh. Jerzy locked her gaze and began singing only to her. "Stop," she said, covering her mouth with her hand, clearly trying not to smile. Without breaking his gaze from her, she watched him walk toward the man on the microphone. "What are you doing!?" In that moment, Jerzy began singing, very loudly, the chorus. Jac could not help the laugh that came from deep inside her belly as she watched Jerzy sing, his deep voice booming in the microphone. Again she tried to cover her mouth with her hand, but she could not help but laugh at his big hulking form singing in Polish while still holding his drink in his hand. She finished her drink on hopes of covering her amusement. Jerzy finally saw her laughing. He heard her laugh heartily, but still trying to control herself. He put down his drink and then headed towards her. He quickly locked her arm with his and began dancing. Jac could not stop laughing. She was in a dilapidated warehouse dancing like country folk to Polish music with Jerzy Gorszewski. Somewhere during their jig, she and Jerzy were handed yet another Polish drink. She tasted vodka, raspberry and Tabasco somewhere in there but she was too caught up to care. The song finished but Jac kept laughing. He led his quivering beauty to a darker and much less occupied room. The music that the band was playing was a complete opposite of the room they just came from. It was mellow and electronic and Jerzy immediately like the band. It was quiet and minimalistic, yet powerful. Jac was transfixed by the band. There were only two people on stage, yet they commanded it with a certain powerful quiet. They were a couple, most definitely. She could tell from the way that they stared at each other. Jac was suddenly envious of how the couple on stage functioned as one. They seemed so aware of each other. "When was the last time you did that?" he asked as he held her in his arms. "I stopped laughing twelve years ago," she said quietly without hesitation. Now that they stopped moving to the Polish beats, she was most definitely feeling the effects of the alcohol she had consumed. She closed her eyes suddenly, feeling very tired. Her head began to spin. She rested her head against his chest with her eyes closed. "Don't get any ideas!" she warned. Jac was conscious of the fact that he had not tried anything with her and was thankful for his patience. She was trying very hard to even out her breathing and snap out of it but her mind was drifting very closely to sleep. Jerzy only smiled at her warning. He kissed her forehead and held her close to him as he led them out of the warehouse. He gave a nod to Iwan as a form of goodbye and Iwan, in turn, gave him a sly wink. Jac could barely walk as he let them out to the alley and into the street. She was practically stumbling half asleep. "Get on my back," he said suddenly stopping in front of her and crouching. "What?" Jac blurted out in confusion. "Get on my back!" "I'm not g---" Jac was suddenly hurled forward and was now riding piggyback on Jerzy. "Let me down! This is embarrassing!" she demanded as she tried to move her limbs, but realized she had lost command of them. "Why should you care what others think?" "No Jac-leeeen!" She mumbled in a mock French accent. "You mustn't do that! No Jac-leeeeen! You must be proper. No Jac-leeeeen! No! No! No! Always no..." They remained silent for the rest of the walk back to his hotel. He could feel her breasts pressed close to his back and the pulsing heat between her thighs. This was torture for him. He could feel her soft breathing on his skin and the accidental brushing of her lips on his neck. Jac kept inhaling his scent. She couldn't get enough of him. He smelled so male and comforting. It reminded her of a warm log cabin in the middle of the woods during winter. "Do you ever get... tired?" she began quietly breaking their silence. Jerzy heard the tone of her voice. She sounded so vulnerable. He knew she wasn't indicating physical exertion. "Sometimes I get tired," she continued. He allowed more silence to pass until he replied, "Its ok. I used to, once, when I was young." "How did you stop?" she suddenly asked "I learned not to compromise. I learned that I am right and I have nothing to hide." "That's hard," she said after internalizing what he just said. "I know. But it gets better," Jerzy placed a light kiss on her arm. =========================================================== Jac awoke with a start, head pounding in her skull. The room was still dark, but she knew she wasn't in her room. Memories of the night suddenly came rushing in her head and she immediately clutched the blanket close to her chest. She looked under the blanket to check what type of predicament she was in. She was in his t-shirt, which reached way below her knees. Her bra and thong were still on and she was relieved at that. She then swept the massive bed looking for his equally massive figure, but he was nowhere to be found. She then looked around the dark room and found his sleeping form on the couch. Jac watched his steady breathing and marveled at his peaceful form. She was impressed with the control he maintained in her presence. Throughout the day she saw his glances and always caught lust in them. She knew many would take advantage of her unconscious form and would marvel at taking her without the consequences of dealing with her mind. She got off the bed and draped a blanket over Jerzy's sleeping form. She noticed his itinerary on the mahogany desk by the bed and saw that he was leaving for Krakow today at 11 pm. He didn't even plan on staying for his show. She headed toward the massive window that was hiding behind the thick and lavish curtains of The Biltmore. She drew the curtains open to reveal a gorgeous backdrop of the city. Dawn was approaching and the soft light it provided against the skyscrapers was just beautiful. She had forgotten how beautiful everything was and now she was beginning to see. She loved him, that much she knew. She loved him more than anything she could think possible. But she didn't deserve him. He deserved someone better. Someone honest. Someone who didn't live a lie. He deserved someone who was alive. She would give herself to him, right now in this moment. He deserved that much. Then she would bid him goodbye. Jerzy awoke to the sound of the curtains being drawn. The room was still dark but he knew from the light outside the window that it was almost sunrise. He noticed he was under a blanket and concluded that Jac had draped it over him sometime in the night. Then he saw her pensive form standing in front of the massive windows and gazing out into the city. He immediately hardened at the sight of her. She looked so beautiful against the soft light of dawn that was the back drop of the city. He hardened even more knowing that she was wearing his t shirt. Jac heard him shifting and drifted her gaze over to him. She could see that he was watching her intently despite the darkness. She began walking towards him, her gaze never leaving his. Jerzy removed himself from under the blanket, intent on moving, but her gaze pinned him in his spot. She stopped mere inches from his sitting form, letting him know that she knew exactly what she was doing. Slowly, oh so slowly, Jac climbed on top of him and sat straddling his thighs. Jerzy sucked in his breath through his teeth just feeling her warm center against his very hard length. He searched Jac's eyes for hesitation or confusion but all he saw was determination. Jac reached behind her and under her shirt to unclasp the straps of her bra. Jerzy stared, transfixed, at her arched form and thought he would unman himself that very moment. They stared at each other intently and knew, in that moment, that there was no stopping what was bound to happen. Jac placed her hands on his solid chest and lowered her mouth to his. It started off as a shy kiss, as if she was unsure of her skills, but it quickly turned to something hot and heavy as Jerzy opened his mouth to her. The tentative licks of her tongue inside his mouth were enough to snap what little control he had. He immediately began squeezing and caressing her thighs. Jerzy soon devoured her mouth hungrily. The delicate hands that were on his chest were now holding on to his face as she tried to press her body closer to his. Jac was breathing hard at the wanton needs of her body. She wanted him so much that it was ridiculous. She couldn't get enough of him. She wanted his skin on hers and to be enveloped in everything that was him. She began tugging at his shirt to remove it and he, in turn, broke their kiss and peeled off her shirt along with her bra. The way he looked at her made her so hungry with need that she pressed her naked breast against his bare chest and began kissing him like a mad woman. Jerzy groaned at the feel of her breast against his. Their first joining was so harsh and conquering that he had no time to show her affection and explore her wondrous flesh. Now he could have her and explore every single gift she had to offer. He would have her and, in turn, give her what he had to offer. He grabbed her ass and squeezed it lovingly as he stood up with Jac in his arms. She instinctively wrapped her legs around him and held onto his neck as she kissed him unrelentingly. He had to pry her body away from him to lay her down in the middle of the bed with her hands resting above her head. He stood above her, drinking in her lovely sight. She was breathing hard with a smile on her face. She looked as if all the joy and excitement in the world were contained in that smile. He placed his hands on either side of her shoulders, locking her within his arms. He finally lowered himself to her and covered her body with his. He lowered his mouth to hers in a slow, sensual and tender kiss. Leaving a trail of gentle kisses, he moved to her ear, his lips planting a soft kiss on it before he sucked in her earlobe. He smiled knowingly at her shivering reaction to his ministrations. Then he continued his exploration of her slender neck. He felt her shudder when he placed a kiss on the hollow of her neck and licked it right after Jac's whole body was on fire at the mere touch of his lips on her skin. The anticipation of what was to come drove her to madness. She was so responsive to him that her thong was now soaking wet from all the attention he had given her. Jac could not help the moan that escaped from her throat when she felt his lips giving her nipples a kiss. Jerzy felt her arch her back to press her breast closer to his mouth. And he devoured her wholly. She tasted so delicious as he suckled onto her left breast. He would tease her nipple with the tip of his tongue and let it pucker before sucking it into his mouth. He did the same to her other breast before he trailed kisses down to her stomach. He ran his hands down and up her thighs before spreading them open before him. He could smell the delicious aroma of her arousal as he gazed down at her. Her dark green lacy thong was soaking wet. He looked up at her and waited till she met his gaze. Jac couldn't stop whimpering. She tried to cover her mouth with her hand and even bit onto her knuckles, but still she couldn't stop herself. His tongue and mouth was just so devilishly wicked on her skin that there was nothing else to do but writhe and moan. She felt his exploration suddenly stop. She groaned in anguish at being separated from his touch. She sat up on her elbows to look down where he was, only to gasp in pleasure. Jerzy met her confused gaze and that's when he pounced on her soaking pussy. He began flicking his tongue directly on her clit through her thong. He heard her yelp and felt her arch her back and he could only smile at her reaction. He sat down on his knees and lifted her legs to rest her ankles on his right shoulder. He locked gazes with her and began removing her thoroughly wet thong. He tossed the garment over his shoulder and began kissing her ankles all the way up to the inside of her thighs. He was torturing her with his slow trail of kisses and that deliciously wicked grin on his face. She could feel his hot breath on her pussy lips. There was nothing more she wanted than to feel his skillful tongue on her. She lifted her hips to seek his mouth but was only held down by his strong hands. Jerzy delved into her folds and licked from her entrance to her clit. He then stayed on her clit, kissing, licking and nibbling at it. "Oh god!" Jac moaned breathlessly, feeling his tongue and lips on her pussy for the first time. She then felt his tongue delve deep inside her quivering heat. She grabbed his head with both hands trying to bring his mouth closer to her and began humping his mouth. Jerzy smiled at her uninhibited reaction. He kept snaking his tongue in and out of her pussy until he felt that she was close to shattering. He then latched onto her clit and began flicking and sucking mercilessly. "Oh god, oh god, OH GOD!" Jac wrapped her legs around his neck and grabbed onto his head for support as she arched her back and shattered into ecstasy. She fell back on the sheets breathing heavily with her legs still wrapped around his shoulders. Jerzy lapped up every single drop of her honey and began running his hands up and down her thighs in a soothing manner. When she finally released him from her hold, he began making his way back up to her, kissing and licking a trail up to her flat stomach, to her belly button, to the valley between her breast, the hollow of her throat and finally to her succulent and delicious lips. He then straddled her hips so that he could lean down and explore her with both hands. She could taste herself on him and all she could do was wrap her arms around his neck as he, again, covered her body with his. She shivered as she felt his fingers running down the side of her breast and to her waist. She then felt his large hands grab her breasts and gently squeeze them. She knew she had just come moments ago, but she was ready for him again. He seemed so intent in exploring her that he missed her needy moans and the suggestive lifting of her hips. "Jerzy...," she said in a breathless whisper. "I need you." He stopped dead in his tracks and stared straight into the golden brown pools of her eyes. It was such a breathy whisper that he nearly missed it. She gently held onto his face and locked those devilish green eyes with hers. "I need you," she said quietly again. It was the fastest he had ever removed his pants when he saw the need and hunger in her eyes. He locked gazes with her and positioned himself at her entrance. Slowly he slid inside her tight channel and watched every single emotion running through her beautiful face. She closed her eyes with a satisfied smile on her face when Jerzy connected their hips together, burying himself to the hilt. She felt so incredible around him that he could cum just by having her around him. He began to move with long and steady strokes when he heard her whimper. She wrapped her legs around his hips and began thrusting her hips up to meet him. Jerzy quickened his pace and rested his head on the juncture between her neck and shoulder. Jac could only whimper and moan mindlessly as he picked up his pace. She could feel him breathing harshly against her neck. She then felt him grab her hips to slam them against him in his now hard and maddening pace. Letter to the Artist Ch. 02 "Oh god Jerzy!" she began moaning loudly as she held onto his shoulders. He was ready to explode, but he wanted her to join him so he changed the angle of his thrusting so that he could grind into her clit. "Jerzy!" she moaned. "Oh god!" she moaned louder feeling his length torturing her clit. "Jerzy, Jerzy, JERZY!" she screamed his name and shattered into a blissful orgasm. His name on her lips and her quivering pussy milking his hard length was enough to unman him. He exploded, rope after rope after rope of his cum, spurting deep inside her, coating her still contracting pussy. He gave her a long passionate kiss; pouring all of himself in that kiss and resting his forehead against hers. He saw confusion in her eyes and only smiled affectionately at her. He wanted to let her know that she had nothing to worry about. He then rolled them over and draped her body against his. Her head rested on his chest and all he could do was kiss the top of her head. "Go to sleep," he said soothingly as he wrapped her in his arms. He watched the light of the rising sun caress the skin of his writer and he could not think of a more beautiful beginning than this moment. =============================================================== Tears were streaming down her face as she drove down the 110 in the early morning light. She left Jerzy's sleeping form less than half an hour ago and it broke her heart to do so. He seemed so happy. So content. What transpired between them was the most beautiful thing she had ever experienced. Everything felt so right; the way he kissed and looked at her and the way he held her in his arms. Nothing ever felt so right just being in his arms. She felt loved. But she hardened her heart and denied herself Jerzy. He would find someone better, someone honest, someone who didn't live a lie. Soon she was pulling her silver Audi R8 into the massive driveway of the isolated family estate in Palos Verdes. It had been eight years since she had last stepped foot in this place. Eight years since she had last seen her father. All those years came rushing to her, making her suddenly feel homesick. She had no right to feel that way since she damned her roots twelve years ago. She suppressed the tears that were threatening to spill out of her eyes. She looked up at the front door to see her father standing there watching her. He seemed so happy seeing her, despite the distance she had kept from him. She stood rooted in the middle of their driveway and just looked at her father. Suddenly she was running to him like a lost child finally finding a parent. She hugged him tightly and he embraced her wholly. No words were said and no tears were shed. There was only silence between a reunited father and daughter. Philippe Carlson held his daughter tightly. He knew she had been crying, but he dared not speak of it. There was too much pride in her to show that kind of weakness. He led her inside their massive and spacious house. "I only wanted the best for you," he said solemnly. It was his apology, though none needed to be given. She stared at her dad and saw the love that he had for her. She had been so stubborn in her desire to make it on her own that she had never acknowledged his love for her. "Père," she began hesitantly with a French accent. She had not called him that since her childhood. "Can you make me hot cocoa... like you used to?" Philippe gave his daughter a loving smile and ushered her to the large and modern kitchen. Jac watched her father work the high tech coffee machine as she settled on a stool by the breakfast bar with a granite countertop. They settled into a nice and easy conversation, as she sipped her drink, about what they had been up to lately. They talked mostly about new designs, architecture, people, articles and everything in between as if they had not had a twelve year void between them. "Père," she began hesitantly again. "What was Antoinette like?" Philippe took a long pause at the question, thinking about his wife. Even as a child, Jac had never asked about the absent mother in her life. "We were married out of convenience," he began. "I know she didn't love me like a woman should, but she was a faithful wife." Philippe continued the story of the late Antoinette Carlson and their short lived nine month relationship. "We tried, looking and seeking for something in one another. We cared deeply for each other, but we just never found it," Philippe paused thinking of the beautiful and faithful woman he was once married to. "Antoinette was not a hard woman to love. I think we would have grown to love each other if we had been given the chance." She felt a heartache for her father and for her mother. To be bound to one another without the passion meant for lovers was tragic to her. She knew she was bound for something like that, without Jerzy. It was what was proper for someone like her. She didn't deserve love. "I've found it," she said quietly after a long pause.¬ Philippe knew she was referring to the note he'd scribbled in her book. He sighed and gave her a knowing look before he kissed her on her forehead. He had written it on Antoinette's death anniversary twelve years ago. He wanted her to find the love and meaning he never found with his wife. He just wanted his daughter to be happy. "You should rest, Jac. You look tired." "Père, thank you for letting me be." Philippe smiled quietly at his daughter. He remembered the day she turned cold. It was the look in her eye that told him that she had made up her mind. "You would have only resented me if I tried." It pained him to be away from his daughter. But he knew, then, that only time would bring her back to him. She smiled sadly at her dad before she could retire to her old room. She knew what kind of rest he was talking about. She was most definitely tired. She was tired of living a lie. But she had been living it for so long that she was afraid to stop. Sleep would not come to her as she lay silently in her bed. All she could feel was Jerzy. His mouth, his touch, his body, his love. She would not cry this time. Instead she got up and began to write her assignment. There was not censure this time. There was only her heart. Compromise. That is a word nonexistent in the vocabulary of Jerzy Gorszewski... =============================================================== Jerzy stormed inside the Sartorial Press building demanding to see Jac Carlson. He was angry at her. More so hurt because she had left him. He remembered the empty and cold feeling of not finding her delectable body next to him. He didn't care about the security personnel now surrounding him in the Sartorial Press lobby. He wanted Jac Carlson and he wanted her now. "Mr. Gorszewski?" Jerzy heard a tiny voice, almost afraid, from behind him. The anger in his eyes did not recede at seeing a young woman in her early twenties. "Yes," he grunted out. "The editor in chief sent me to get you. If you would, please follow me." The elevator ride was a quiet one and he was eventually led inside the EIC's office. Behind a desk sat a handsome woman in her late 40's dressed in expensive and fashionable clothing. "George, right?" she began. "Greta Vanderwoods. I'm Jac's editor. Please have a seat." "I prefer to stand. Where's Jac?" "She sent me her resignation letter this morning." Jerzy began to head for the door. "I think you should read this before you leave," she said, holding up three pieces of paper to him. He reached for the papers in her hands and examined them. "She submitted it via email just this morning." Jerzy forgot about the woman before him and was suddenly lost in Jac's writing. He could never be angry with her. How could he when she professed her love and devotion to him and his work for the whole world to read. She was so honest and vulnerable and brave at the same time. Not once did the word love appear in her article, but it didn't need to be. The whole article was enough to spell out love. More than she could ever know. "Where is she?" "I'm afraid that I can't answer. I simply don't know." Jerzy stood silently in Greta's office thinking. He would find his woman if it was the last thing he did. He mentally went through their brief conversations yesterday. ...we would go down to my beach... He heard her voice in his head. "Do you know anything about a beach that she owns?" "Yeah. The Carlson's own a whole stretch of private beach property in Palos Verdes. Why?" Jerzy could only grin at the information. Of course she would go home. He bolted out of Greta's office without a word. He was determined to have his woman. "You're welcome!" she yelled, amused at the big man's reaction. She then pressed the send button of her email containing Jac's article. It was to William Hartford of The New Yorker. =============================================================== It was four in the afternoon when Philip Carlson heard the call from the security of the main gates. "Mr. Carlson, there is a... George Gorchevsky here to see you. He says he has no appointment." "Let him in Frank." He surmised that this was the man who was the cause of his daughter's torment. He would meet this man and judge for himself if this George Gorchevsky was worthy of his daughter's love. Philip had seen many men visit his estate and walk the same path as the man that was making his way up the driveway. Many had the same look on their faces. They were filled with apprehension and doubt. This man, however, was full of quiet confidence and determination. Philip was a tall man, standing at 6 foot 1, but even he was no match for the man that towered before him. "Philip Carlson," Jerzy began. There was no hesitation or doubt in his voice. "I'm here to take your daughter." Philip had seen many things, but boldness in his presence was a rare occurrence. He looked up at the man before him, summing him up, for he was a great judge of character. He only saw proud honesty in the man. Unyielding of the truth he held in his mind. "And what have you to give my daughter? My daughter who has everything." "The truth," Jerzy said simply. "And what might that be?" "That life is not worth living if it is lived in a lie. That denial of the truth is denial of happiness. That denial of happiness is denial of love. And denial of love is denial of life." Jerzy stared at the man intently. "I cannot let her live a life of denial because then I would be denying myself of living." Philip could only stare at the man before him. He knew in that moment that this man was the only one for his daughter. He then extended his hand to the man that was to become his son. "It's a pleasure to meet you son." Jerzy took Philip's hand in his. "She's out back down at the beach." Philip began to head towards the garage. "Tell her I'll be back by tomorrow." He gave a knowing grin to Jerzy before disappearing into the garage. =============================================================== This was her sanctuary, Jerzy thought as he settled himself on the far corner of her porch that surrounded her beach house. It was a small, but modern one. He liked the harsh angles and simplicity of structure. Her beach was tucked away in a cove and it was most definitely secluded. Its only access was through the wooden cliff side staircase that started back atop the cliff of the Carlson estate. He noticed she had set up a makeshift pit ready to be lit as a bonfire later in the evening. Even her towel was set up just a little below the fire pit. Out in the ocean he saw her drifting off in the distance atop her surfboard. Jac exhausted herself with a day of surfing. She thought being out in the water again would ease her mind of Jerzy. She lay on her board past where the waves broke and tried to feel the lulling calm of the ocean. But it only made her feel empty and lonely. She felt like she was under the stars again, feeling tiny and insignificant in this vast ocean. Her arm reached for an invisible hand. His hand. She groaned and splashed her hands against the water. Stop being so stupid! This is your fault. Plus he's probably on his way to Krakow by now. She would not be defeated by her feelings. I'm Jac Carlson. I have no feelings. She began to paddle back to where the waves broke when she saw the sun beginning to set below the horizon. She would catch one last wave before calling it a day. Jerzy marveled at her agility as she suddenly paddled towards the shore and popped herself up on her board. She mastered the wild and crashing waves easily under her feet. She commanded them to shore. And just as easily, as she rode the violent waves, she was on her feet walking on the shore with her board in tow. Jerzy watched her glistening body under the setting sun. Her matching pair of green bikinis left little to the imagination. She was glorious with rivulets of water streaming down her body. She was reflecting the light from the sun and it seemed to him that she was the sunset itself. He noticed that she was shivering though and her nipples were pebbled through her bikini top. Oh how he wanted to warm her with his tongue. Jac threw down her board and headed toward the fire pit. She didn't care how cold she felt. She welcomed the numbness it brought and tasked herself with lighting a fire. She needed a task to fill her senses at the moment. "You're going to catch a cold." She stopped dead cold in her tracks. Had she gone mad imagining his voice? His distinctly European and manly voice. The very voice that could soothe and light a fire inside of her at the same time. She was so immersed in lighting a fire that she missed his arms around her and his solid chest on her back. She felt his warm and large hands on her flat stomach and immediately she relaxed. She inhaled his scent and melted into his embrace. Now this feels right, she thought as she reveled in his embrace. No. Suddenly she spun around and out of his embrace. She stepped back a bit. "What are you doing here?" She said as she looked up into his eyes. "The show. Your show. You're missing it." Jerzy only grinned at her and captured her in his arms. "I don't care about it." He would not let her go this time. "You can't!" she said leaning away from him, but his grip did not allow much distance. "Why not?" Jac stopped fighting and she paused in silence. She thought about the article that she submitted to Greta. She had let him go with that article. She never wanted to share him with anyone, but she realized that she loved him too much to keep him for herself. "I... I let you go," she said, averting her eyes. He moved his arms and pulled her face to his until his forehead rested on hers. He locked his gaze on her for what seemed like an eternity, "I know. I read it." He then captured her mouth to his and kissed her passionately. Jac lost her train of thought when his lips met hers. She forgot the cold wind on her back and the drying ocean water on her skin. There was only Jerzy. No. "Jerzy... I can't," she said weakly breaking their kiss. "Yes," he said as he kissed her again. She was panting now and she broke their kiss once more. "Jerzy... I... I don't deserve you." "Isn't that for me to decide?" he said, before trailing kisses on her neck. "You deserve better." He stopped and pulled her face to his and stared at her intently. "You of all people should know that I don't compromise," he began. "Jac, I love you. It's not the kind of love so common where men profess one is worth more than their life. That's irrational love. The love I have for you is so much more. It is life itself. I will not be denied my life, Jac. You are my mine. You are my life. And that is why I love you." Jac only saw love and severe honesty in his eyes. How could she ever deny him this? How could she deny herself this? The most basic human need. She could not stop the tears that had started running down her face. "Oh Jerzy," she said as she held onto his face. "I'm so afraid." He began wiping the tears from her face with his thumbs and gave her a reassuring smile. It was she who kissed him this time. She poured all her feelings and emotions into that one kiss, letting him know that she was ready for anything. For love, for heartache, for anything. Anything that would allow her to be with him. Jerzy lifted her into his arms and she instinctively wrapped her legs around him. He fumbled in the sand and was barely making his way to the porch of the beach house when he heard her demands. "Jerzy, I need you now!" she said kissing him hungrily. "Now sit down on the porch. I want to do this my way this time." Her eagerness only fueled his lust. She straddled his lap once again, as he sat on the low lying open porch of the tiny beach house. It was she who unbuckled him this time, releasing him from the confines of his pants. His beautiful cock stood proudly erect between them. If she had not had sex with him before, she doubted that he would ever fit inside her. But she knew he fit her like a glove, every thick perfect inch of him. He unstrung her bikini and they both groaned in pleasure when her sopping wet slit met his hard and pulsing length. Jac got up on her knees and took his length into her hand and guided his head to her opening. She stared straight into his eyes, into his soul and lowered herself onto him in a slow and torturous pace. "I love you," she said looking straight into his eyes as she felt his hard length sliding inside her. She heard herself say those three words. "I love you," she said again as he was half way inside her walls. It was like learning the most beautiful language and being able to speak it. "Oh god! I love you!" she yelled breathlessly as she impaled herself fully, bottoming out, onto his cock. That was the last of his resolve. He grabbed her wonderful ass and began thrusting up powerfully. "Oh god Jerzy! I love you!" She kept repeating those words as she slammed herself down on his cock. With every downward stroke, she would grind her clit on him and soon she was on the cusps of a mind shattering orgasm. Jerzy felt the tightening of her inner walls and was thankful because any minute he would spill himself completely inside her. He held onto her tightly and began violently thrusting up into her, meeting her equally powerful strokes. "I love you! Oh god! JERZY!" Jac screamed and held onto him for dear life as she reached her peak. Hearing her scream his name as she wantonly fucked him was the end of him. He grunted his release and came deeply inside her and shot his seed into her womb. She collapsed in his arms and rested her head against his shoulder. Jerzy held her in his arms and ran a hand up and down her back to soothe his panting beauty. She then looked up into the bright green pools of his eyes and smiled. This was a smile she was not afraid to show. She was happy for the first time and wasn't lying to herself. "I love you," she said in a tone only meant for his ears. Jerzy could only smile at her. He had never been so happy until this moment. He had the woman that he loved. "I know," he said with a wicked grin and placed a kiss on her lips. He stood up, with his woman still in his arms, still deeply imbedded inside her. Jerzy entered the beach house and headed for the open air shower area just past the bed room. He allowed the water to run hot before stepping into it, with Jac still in his hands. He let the hot water run down her back and soothe any present tension in her muscles. "Hmm," Jac moaned half dazed. "This feels so good," she said luxuriating in the water and the feel of his cock still inside her.