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Alex
Iwas an asshole. Not just a little asshole, but I was the biggest asshole of all time. I stared at the door after it closed and hung my head. Man, I had fucked up big time.
I headed back to my apartment with my tail between my legs and paced back and forth in the living room for a moment.
When I returned home earlier, I was in a blind panic. Not because I had sex with someone, but because I had sex with Mya. It wasn’t the sex that concerned me either. It was this feeling that had come over me while I had been with her.
Every sound she made jacked my desire higher. Every lick of her body made me hunger for more. The feeling of being deep in her and touching her most sensitive and personal parts filled my chest with a heavy feeling. She had given herself over to me, and not just her body. Her soul was there for me to touch. I saw it in her eyes, heard it in her voice, felt it in her touch. I hadn’t been able to stop, hadn’t wanted to either, and that’s what scared the shit out of me.
I had been with a couple of dozen women in my life, and none of them had ever made me feel that way—except one. It hadn’t been the same, but it was similar, and that woman was currently hellbent on destroying me.
I took a shower, trying to forget about what had just happened, but unable to do so. I had fallen hard for Belinda, and the first time we had sex, I knew she was going to be mine. She would be my wife—my future.
How could I feel that same thing toward Mya? I barely knew the woman, and I sure as hell couldn’t trust her. I would never trust another woman with my feelings.
I stood under the shower, washing away the scent of Mya from my skin, and I hung my head under the spray. What a dick I was. “Fuck!” I growled, and I slammed my fist against the tile wall. I speared my hands through my hair. “Dude, you really fucked up this time.”
There were so many reasons to be pissed about having sex with Mya. First, she worked for me. Second, I was still fucking married. Third, I was never getting involved with another woman to the point of feeling something like that—not ever again. Fourth, Mya deserved someone so much better than me. Fifth, she fucking worked for me!
That was on the list twice because it was vital. She was helping me to get my image back and build my brand. I took advantage of that.
But even now, I wanted to sprint to her door, pull her into my arms—take her again. Taste her more, love her longer.
I stood in front of the steamed mirror and then took the towel from my hips and wiped at it. My reflection was foggy, and I realized that I despised the image staring back at me.
Who was the man with pain etched into his features?
My entire life, I had fought battles to survive and be happy, and no matter what I did, I could never find the peacefulness of happiness. I had thought I had felt it with Belinda, but that had turned out to be a cruel joke.
Only one thing calmed my soul and made me feel good about who I was and what I did. That was when I was painting. I grabbed a pair of track pants and shoved my legs through them, then went into my studio across the hall, and flipped on the lights.
The painting of Mya was front and center, and I stared at it for a long time. I knew what the picture was missing now, a little bit of mischievousness and another focal point. I had seen the playfulness in her eyes several times tonight. I grabbed my brushes and my paints and set about touching it up.
I worked on it for about an hour, losing myself in her painted likeness. A thump over my head caught my attention, and I stared at the ceiling. Had she fallen? Was she stomping her foot at me? My music was playing very low, so I knew that wasn’t it.
I sat back and stared at the artwork, and suddenly, I needed to see her. I had to apologize for leaving the way I did. I would explain it to her make her understand that I had a freak-out and it had nothing to do with her. I’d tell her that I wasn’t ready for anything else but that I needed her help. I’d get on my knees and beg if I had to.
Unfortunately, her friend wasn’t about to let that happen, and I returned to my apartment more frustrated than I had been before. I thought about sending her a text message, and then I remembered the phone that her friend had shown me.
I didn’t want to believe that she had done that because of me, but I was pretty sure she had. I had taken advantage of Mya. I screwed her hard, then I picked up my shit and fled like fucking chicken.
I returned to the studio and set her painting aside, pulling out a fresh canvas. The colors I chose for this one were dark. Not that I hadn’t used dark tones in her image; I had. I tended to use darker shades in the main work and accented with at least one bright, vivid color that grabbed your attention to the heart of the image. In hers, there were two focal points.
But this one was different. I changed my playlist, and instead of blaring the music, I shoved my earbuds into my ears. The moment the dark lyrics of Within Temptation began to play, I lost myself in the image I was creating. All other thoughts were gone as I ran the brush over the canvas, then through the paint. I painted for hours and didn’t stop until I’d added the finishing touches.
I stood back, staring at the image of me that I had painted. In my twenty years of painting, I had only done myself four times. Two had been required for my schooling, and another was because I was screwing around with something.
I shifted the easel to the side and pulled out a second one, erecting it beside my primary one so I could set her painting on it. I stepped back a few steps and felt my jaw drop as my gaze went from one to the other. They were perfect complementary pieces.
I had initially titled her painting, Do Dirty Things to Me, but as I looked at the pair, I decided to change it. My Loving Angel was a much better description. I stared at the other piece, and the words whispered into my head: Broken Angel Wings.
I withdrew the earbuds and dropped them on the table beside my music player, then picked up my phone. I blinked a few times as I stared at the numbers on the screen. Holy shit! It was seven in the morning. I had worked all night.
It wasn’t the first time that I had done that, but those times I had been on a deadline and pushing myself. Tonight, I had just let myself go. I turned to look at the two pictures one more time, then turned the light out and closed the door.
I went into my room and considered lying down, but I remembered that I was supposed to be someplace today with Rebecca. I wondered if Mya would be there too. I hoped that she wasn’t. It wasn’t that I didn’t want to see her. I did. I just didn’t need today to be more awkward than it had to be. I wanted us to talk about last night before we were thrown into another public situation or her boss found out that I had crossed the line and slept with an employee on my team. That kind of shit could get her fired.
I looked over the calendar that Rebecca had linked to me and rushed to get a shower. I’d grab something to eat on my way to meeting her at the office. I had somewhere else to stop on my way there.
