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Her smile was wide. She was going to burst if she smiled anymore, but I couldn’t find myself being able to look away. If there were a thousand smiles in the world gathered in one place, I’d only notice hers.
“You make me lose my senses.” She released a long breath and pushed her hair back, “I didn’t expect to fall in love with you. But I’m glad I did. You make me happy,” she expressed.
“Precious,” I purred, “Not much makes me happy, but you are number one on that list. As long as you’re here and we’re together, my heart will forever beat the way it needs to. And I mean it.” She looked up at me pressing her lips against mine until we started making out. A sloppy make-out session with her was everything and more.
“A friend of yours stopped me today. Did you fuck her, or is she just another obsessed woman?”
Oh, fuck.
“She’s not a friend, and Lucio told me he saw her approach you. She’s a journalist. No, I didn’t fuck her. I brought her to bed, seduced her, then left.” I wasn’t proud of it, but my mind changed really quickly.
She looked at me with her jaw dropped and then started laughing. “That’s why she’s so bitter. She told me you’re a bad person and you just ruin people. I told her to fuck off, and then I walked away.”
“She wanted to take advantage of my body while I was going through a highly volatile time, and she used me for insiders on my sister’s marriage. I made her pay the only way I knew I could, and so she did. Right as she was about to orgasm, I removed my fingers, fixed my tie, and left the room.” It sounded cruel when I repeated it, but that was in the past. I have no interest in that sort of lifestyle anymore.
“Oh, I’d be hurt too, but anyway, I don’t want to hear about you and other women, it makes me feel uncomfortable,” she said, shaking the disgust off her body.
“Let’s go somewhere.” I got up from the sofa and pulled her up with me. Her boobs slipped out through the side of her tank top, and I lowered my head and licked her nipple in one fast motion, then pinched it.
She moaned slightly, bit her lip, and then groaned when I stopped. We’ll continue the fun later; there’s something I needed her to see.
“That’s not cool,” she hissed, “Now my nipples are hard. I hope you’re ready to finish this later,” she exclaimed. I didn’t even bother responding. When am I never ready to finish her?
We walked to the third door on the left. I opened it and switched the lights on. Her eyes lit up when she saw all the canvases. I had the moving company bring all my paintings to the penthouse.
“You did all of these?” she asked in amazement.
“Yes, I’ve got practice over the years.” She took her time examining each piece and told me her thoughts on them. She couldn’t believe I was secretly an artist, which wasn’t really a secret because I told her this before.
Her eyes sparkled as her gaze met the most recent painting I did. The only thing I painted on the day I realized I felt something for her. My conversation with Mara quickly came back to mind.
“Don’t be hasty, Dillon,” she said, “explain this to me. A piece of this magnitude must have some special meaning to it.”
“Honestly,” I said and paused, “I didn’t think about this one. I just started painting.”
“But looking at it now, what does it mean to you?” There Mara goes, always asking the right questions but at the most difficult times.
“You look in the center of the canvas and you see a black heart, but in the middle of the gear, there’s a golden sparkle.” I chuckled.
“Is that like to represent light in darkness?”
“Not quite. The darkness represents fear and loneliness, but the light is giving a way out. The problem is that there’s too many layers of darkness, so the light gets easily buried. Looking to the left now we see streaks of heat colors, and to the right, it’s water colors, that just shows the different personalities and how much it’s affecting the heart,” I explained.
“But hold on,” she said, scanning the portrait, “what about the hand that holds it together and the veins?”
“Those are to show how much people want to break the barriers but how much of them can’t.”
“I love this piece, but I don’t think it came from nowhere.”
I gave her a puzzled look, and she sighed. There Mara goes, always trying to make something out of nothing.
“It’s obviously about you and someone. Not sure who yet. Maybe it’s you—”
“We’re not doing this today.” I rolled my eyes. “Let’s go eat,” I said, hurrying us both out of the room.
That painting was anything but something lacking thought and concentration. A true artist paints what they feel, and all I could feel was darkness and want.
“Tell me about this,” Azzaria said, as she ran her hands along the details.
