Greg woke up suddenly. Heart pounding, thin sheen of sweat across his chest, breathing like he had run a marathon. He had screwed up. He knew it.
When he started pursuing Helena it had been driven with wanting her. He admitted it. He was shallow. He knew it. But he had always known that once he had her then he would grow bored. The chase was his real love. The challenge. The problem was Helena was better than a chase. The woman that had fascinated him before totally enthralled him now.
He had mistaken her reluctance to have a relationship, a physical relationship, with lack of need. He had taken her past history, four serious relationships before him. He was the fifth and only her fourth sexual partner. He had taken that history to mean she wasn't as sexually driven as he was. But he was so wrong. After that first night the flood gates had opened and he had realized that though he had had more sexual partners in his lifetime he had never had better sex. She did things to him that he had never experienced. An orgasm with Helena wasn't a fleeting few seconds at the end of a groping session, it was like falling over a waterfall and in to a pool of deep warm sea water where you crashed with exhilaration and then floated on a peaceful wave right up until it all started again. She loved sex in the morning, at night, and one memorable Saturday five times in between. The woman who had barely held his hand in public before now took him to dark corners of bars and teased him until he couldn't wait to get her home.
But it wasn't just the sex. Though the sex was incredible. It was her. She had completely opened up to him now. They could talk about everything. And they did. He took her to the Angels and Demons exhibit when it opened and she shared all of the art history she knew. And she knew a lot. She talked about the artists, what drove them, what shaped them, she talked about the paintings and the way the church had tried, sometimes successfully, sometimes not, to get the deities of the past diminished so their vision of one god could shine. Though it never quite worked out. The gods of the past were always lurking. That painting of Mary, see how she poses? Now look at this painting of Venus, see how they match? Mary is now the mother of the Christ, but was she really Venus the goddess of love? Helena wove stories of artists and their visions. How they could see what was there, and what might have been there, and what should have been there. He could listen to her talk all day. Especially about the old Greek and Roman myths. She would tell him stories that were filled with little details that made learning about them all over again so much more interesting than anything he could recall from school.
The talked about money. About investments. She was building a portfolio of real estate holdings. She owned her own office building. Not many people realized how incredibly well off she was. She sat on the board of three different charitable organizations. Things he had never realized about her. She was so young to have been so successful. Though she admitted she came from old money so had a head start. Normally that would have made him feel small somehow. Like he hadn't done enough, but instead it made him feel proud. That this incredible woman had chosen him. And then shared with him. Told him who she was.
The nights they spent together she would fall asleep, head on his chest, her hand over his heart, their breathing deepening and matching, and as they would drift off he would think to himself how lucky he was. And in the morning? When the sheets would have drifted off of her, when he could see the line of her body? The wave curved from shoulder to hip? The swell of her backside as she snuggled up against him for a few more minutes before rolling over her mouth seeking his...his erection responding to just the thought.
"hmmm....morning, lover, I see you slept well."
Greg looked over at his bed mate Janice.
He had screwed up. He knew it.