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My life was on display in my strokes, but you had to know me. Know my soul to see it. I doubted anyone who looked at my work knew what was in front of them.
I positioned myself on a stool and dabbed the edge of the bristles into the blue water color paint. I brushed it on the easel, focusing on the edges the blue made as it came in contact with the paper. Everything changed when those two things came together.
The colors blurred and faded. The blues were hazier and yet more vibrant. I dipped the brush again, making another line.
I felt a part of me start to awaken. A part of me that had been sleeping ever since I was no longer McCade heiress and had become Warriors owner. I could never go back to the girl who locked herself in the studio for hours or wandered from museum to museum. From now on, I owned a team. And I was in the heart of the AFA.
At some point, the sun started to set. The hues in the room changed to orange and pink. My wine glass was empty, but I kept painting. Zeus had found me and was a sleeping wet mop in the corner on his bed.
“Vanessa? Darlin’?”
“George said she was here.”
I heard Isaac and Dylan’s voices, followed by their footsteps.
“Holy shit.” They
stopped in the doorway.
I looked up. “Hi.” I smiled meekly.
“Baby, what are you doing up here?”
I rubbed my shoulder. I had a kink in my neck from sitting in the same position for hours. I hadn’t stopped for a single break.
“Working,” I answered.
“Are you drawing up plays for us?” Dylan teased, walking around the room full of easels.
They trailed from one painting to the next until they stood behind me.
I realized they were about to see what I had painted. It bared my soul.
“Is that?” Isaac crossed his arms, taking it in.
I nodded. “Do you like it?” I’d never been so nervous about anyone critiquing my work before. But the painting wasn’t only about me. It was us.
“I’m not going to pretend to know anything about art, but it’s incredible.”
They were anchored on either side of me, staring at the painting. It was everything about us. Colors of passion. Expression of desire. Tangled and tossed in the wind, just like we were. Holding on for dear life. Grasping at each other to stay grounded in the ecstasy we craved under our skin.
“I didn’t know how else to explain us,” I whispered.
Isaac swept the hair from my neck as he lowered his lips to my throat. Dylan covered the other side, dropping to his knees.
They worked quickly, undressing me. Taking turns, handing me over while one worked a piece of clothing. Their movements were coordinated. Seamless.
I was wrapped in Dylan’s arms, his mouth hovering over mine, while Isaac spread a drop cloth on the floor.
“You like my art?” I purred. Dylan pulled one knee toward him, while Isaac gripped the other side and widened my left leg in his direction.
“Tell us about it, baby,” he dared me. “We’re listening.”
My breath was already erratic. But I loved having them in my studio. I wanted them to see the painting. I wanted them to know this side of me. The real Vanessa. Not the woman who paraded in the façade of being an owner. This was me. Vulnerable and artistic. Free and creative. A woman who loved colors and vibrancy. A woman who wanted her soul to dictate what she did—not other people.
My hands lingered over my head. They kissed my legs, inching slower toward my heat.
“I-I wanted you to see how I feel…ohh…” My head rolled back and forth. Isaac had pushed me toward Dylan so I was lying on my side facing him. He placed my foot on the floor, bending my knee and dove between my legs.
