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I walked into the art room and saw the collection of paintings she’d made in the past few weeks. The one she painted of herself was still my favorite, a piece of artwork I would never sell, no matter the price. It was so moody, dark, and sexy. It captured the way I felt about her perfectly. It was complicated, emotional, and sad. It illustrated my view of her, the exact way I stared at Vanessa every single day.
She had other paintings that she’d completed, all leaning against the wall. They all contained images of Milan and Tuscany, all beautiful in their unique ways. Before long, she would have plenty of artwork to fill an entire gallery.
I noticed one painting had been turned the opposite way. It leaned against the wall, the paint hidden from view. I walked toward it, curious to see what Vanessa was hiding.
“No.” Her voice steadied me, full of authority and foreign power.
I stopped and turned my head toward her.
She sat on the stool, her black hair pulled back and a drop of blue paint on her nose. She was working on a golden field of sunflowers. She held the brush between her fingertips, a mixture of yellow and white paint on the tip. “That’s private.”
“Nothing is private here, not when I own everything.” I reached for it again.
“Off-limits.” She set the brush on the easel and hopped off the stool, her short legs only touching the ground once she was on her feet. “I mean it.” She grabbed me by the arm and yanked me away.
Like she had enough strength to make me do anything. I let her pull me, only because this painting seemed particularly important to her. “Tell me why, and I’ll think about it.”
“It’s private,” she repeated.
“You have to give me a better reason than that.”
“It’s just…” Her eyes moved down. “I’m just not ready. I don’t even know why I painted it.”
“You’re only making me more interested.”
“Just leave it alone, alright?” Her eyes flicked back to mine, green and beautiful. “I’ve pulled two bullets out of your arm and stitched you up twice. The least you could do is leave this alone.”
“You put one of the bullets there, in case you forgot.”
“And don’t expect me to apologize for it because I never will.”
There was my baby. I tried to hide my smile. “I want to see it eventually.”
“Fine.”
“Then why can’t I see it now?”
“I just don’t want you to.” She wore the white smock to cover her clothes, but even the shapeless fabric couldn’t diminish her unquestionable beauty. “It’s personal, and I’m not ready to explain myself or try to understand what I painted. Just drop it.”
“You really aren’t helping…”
“Let it go, Bones.” She returned to the easel and grabbed her brushes and set them in the water glass. Her painting was only halfway completed, but she didn’t seem motivated to finish it that evening.
I glanced at the painting again, more intrigued than ever before. I could just tell her she didn’t have any rights and do whatever I wanted, but her artwork was important to her. It was like seeing a piece of her soul. If she didn’t want me to have it, I couldn’t force it. Just like when it came to fucking—she had to decide.
“How’s your arm?” She peeled off her smock. The sun was going down, so she was becoming less hostile. As the night deepened, she couldn’t restrain her affection. Her kisses started, and then she would move into my lap and take it a step further until we were in bed together, rocking the headboard all night long.
“Don’t even notice it.” That wasn’t true. It was sore, and it ached when I put weight on it. I held myself on top of her every night but ignored the pain because my cock was in heaven inside that wet slit. I concentrated on her kiss and her awesome tits, not the pain in my arm. I usually swallowed a handful of pills before bed then I was good.
“Good. It seems to be healing nicely…” She finished putting away her supplies then glanced at herself in the mirror. She wiped away the dot of blue paint then headed to the door. “I’m getting cabin fever. I’ve been working on my art all week and haven’t stepped outside once.”
I usually made dinner for us every night because she didn’t know how to cook and never cared to learn. But maybe she needed a change of scenery. “How about we go to dinner tonight?” We’d only been to breakfast once, and that didn’t go over well.
“Like, you and me?” she asked incredulously.
“Yes. Man and woman.”
“In public?”
“Yes.”
She rolled her eyes. “Not a good idea.”
“Why?”
“Conway and Carter are in the city a lot.”
“So?”
“Imagine if they saw me with you.”
“You think I care?” I hoped I ran into them. It would be a nice coincidence.
