“I want to tell you that you’re talking bollocks,” Maeve says quietly. “But I also want to hear more.”
“When you kiss someone, and you’re enjoying it, what’s that like?” I ask. “I’m asking because I don’t know. At least I don’t think I do. Because my stupid allosexual brain nearly always goes to sex at some point during a fucking awesome make-out session. I’m jealous that yours doesn’t. I’m jealous of that… that clarity. Of that purity of mind.”
Maeve doesn’t reply. She falls silent and her eyes close. I keep my brush aloft above her back and I watch her body, her face, her hair, looking for signs that I’ve said something wrong, or that maybe she’s fallen asleep. Eventually, she speaks.
“Have you finished the painting?” Maeve asks.
“Not yet,” I reply.
“Finish the painting, Loncey.”
And that’s what I do. I add in the stars. I add in the subtle glow that surrounds each one. I add more depth and color to the gray background as more of the night reveals itself to me. I soften the edges so it blends into Maeve’s skin. I add a little orange to the shadows of the moon. And then I lean back and admire my painting.
“Finished?”
“Yes. And it’ll be dry in a few minutes. Water-based paints dry pretty quickly.”
“Could you… could you take some photos? I want to see what it looks like.”
“Of course.” I wait another beat or two before pushing up and getting off Maeve.
I leave my palette, paints and brushes by the sink in my kitchenette and then I quickly wash my hands and wipe them dry with a dish towel. Then I reach for my phone.
When I turn back ready to take a photo, Maeve has moved. She’s sitting up on her knees, her back to me and her long blonde hair still tucked over one shoulder. My painting catches new shadows and light in this position and I can’t help but stare at it intently.
Or am I staring at Maeve intently?
Maeve who looks so beautiful with her narrow waist, curvy hips and a perfectly formed side profile atop an elegant neck.
Maeve who looks so fucking sexy kneeling like this on my bed that my mind is filled with a thousand ideas.
But then she speaks and those thoughts grind to a sudden halt.
“Do you like it?”
“Yes, Maeve, I like it very much,” I tell her with my eyes still pinned on her.
“Show me,” she says and I promptly take several photos of her back, all from varying angles, before I turn the main light on in the room and then take some more.
“Here.” I reach out my hand so Maeve can get my phone but I very deliberately stay back far enough that I can’t see the front of her body.
“Wow,” she says. “There’s so much more detail than I expected. The moon… it’s perfect. I was looking at that moon for a long time before we started and… yeah, it’s perfect.”
“You’re guided by the moon, did you know that? As a Cancer sun,” I tell her.
“I am?” she says, eyes still on the photos I took on my phone. “And what are you guided by?”
“As a Scorpio sun? By Mars and Pluto.”
“So we’re not complete opposites? You the ethical porn star and me the asexual lifestyle influencer who can’t imagine anything worse than watching porn, let alone making it?” She’s challenging me and I don’t know why. I won’t rise to it either.
“Why did you want me to finish the painting, Maeve? Is it because you want to go back to your hotel?”
She shakes her head and places my phone on the bed beside her. “Do you… do you have a top I can put on?”
I move to my chest of drawers and pull out one of my favorites. It’s a spaghetti-strap silk camisole in a rich mauve red that flares slightly at the waist.
“Here you go.” I lay it down on the bed.
