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“Faster,” I murmur, and he adds a second finger and increases the speed of his thrusts.
Moments later, I come with a loud cry, Jack’s name falling easily from my lips. Only when it’s over do I appreciate and curse the power of my imagination. In my mind’s eye, he was in the shower with me. I’m mildly disappointed but also relieved that the terrible ache between my legs is gone. I put on a pair of shorts and a T-shirt and over them, the overalls I use when I’m painting. I head to what was once a guest bedroom but is now my art studio.
The light is perfect in the curtain-less room, and I ignore my work in progress and put up a fresh canvas. My subject comes easily, and so does the outline of his face as I sketch it onto the canvas, with light charcoal and a pencil. I find myself smiling as I remember the details of Jack’s face.
As it often happens when I’m painting, I lose all sense of time and place. I have no idea how many hours passed when I hear a jarring sound. I look up in confusion until reality dawns on my brain. I’m in my art studio, and the noise I just heard is the doorbell.
I frown as I leave the studio and make my way to the door. As I walk past the living room, I glance at the clock on the wall. It’s two in the afternoon. Time just flew by. It’s probably Isla who tried calling me, and when she couldn’t get hold of me, decided to come over. It’s not the first time she’s done that.
I fling the door open with a smile that freezes on my mouth when I see Jack standing there. The first thing I do is glance down at my attire in dismay. Paint is splashed over the front of my overalls, and I’m sure my face is the same.
“Thought you might be hungry. I tried calling, but your phone went to voice mail,” he says in that deep drawly voice that makes me want to melt into his arms.
I notice the brown bag he's holding and the delicious smells it’s emitting. My stomach growls loudly.
“Sorry, I haven’t eaten since breakfast.” I can’t stop thinking about how I look. “I’m a mess. Come in.” I step to one side to give him space to pass.
He towers over me and stops to peer down at my face. “You look adorable. Is that paint on your nose?”
He flicks it with his finger, leaving my skin burning where he touched it. It reminds me that I masturbated to him that morning. My face heats up with embarrassment even though he can’t read my thoughts.
“Were you painting?”
I nod. “It’s a hobby.”
“Great, can I see what you were working on?” Jack says enthusiastically.
“Sure.”
He places the bags on the living room coffee table and then follows me down the hallway. I remember too late that he was my subject that morning. The nearly finished painting sits on the easel, Jack’s penetrating blue eyes staring straight at us.
Jack steps into the room and goes directly to the painting propped up on the easel. He doesn’t say a word as he stares into it. “Did you paint this?”
I nod before realizing that he can’t see me. “Yes,” I squeak and follow it up by clearing my throat to cover up my nervousness. The only person who has seen my paintings is Isla, and even then, it was a long time ago.
“You are so gifted.” He can’t fake the awe in his voice. He steps closer to the painting. “Look at the detail in the eyes.” His voice is almost a whisper as he studies it for what seems like forever and then walks around the room looking at the other paintings propped up on the walls. They are landscapes and portraits. My skin is dripping sweat, and it’s not from the heat. When he reaches the end, Jack turns to face me with his hands on his hips. “I’ve never seen anything like this. Are your paintings sold in a gallery somewhere?”
“No, not yet. I’m not ready for that. I have a lot to learn still.” That’s my standard response when anyone suggests I show my work.
He turns around to look at his painting again. Pride envelops me. It could be my best work. It came out of me with seemingly no effort on my part. Not that it’s without faults. I see Jack’s eyes look a bit off, but it adds a mysterious quality to him.
“Bullshit. I’ve bought works of art over the years, and I can tell you that yours are up there with the best of them. As a matter of fact, I’d like to purchase that one.” He walks around and points at two others. Both landscapes. “And these.”
