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“Sometimes, I dream of that night I tried to swim away,” she said, thoughtful. “It’s terrifying, but then I remind myself that I know how the story ends. I know what’s on the other side.”
“And what is that?”
“You.”
I’ve been away from her too long.
I reach Daphne and Leo and Haley at the same time Eva does.
And Eva is not alone.
Daphne’s eyes sparkle, bright and excited. She hugs Eva tight. “I’m so happy you’re here.”
“We wouldn’t have missed it,” Eva says, her eyes huge. It’s an impressive collection. “Finn, you know Leo and Daphne. This is Leo’s wife Haley, and Daphne’s boyfriend Emerson.”
There’s a general round of greetings during which Leo seems mildly skeptical of Finn and Daphne and Haley share a look. Finn shakes my hand. There’s something about his expression. I wouldn’t be surprised to find he was hiding something.
“How’s your family?” Daphne asks.
“Great,” he says, a little too smoothly. But then we know all about family secrets.
Eva normally has a regal bearing, but now she appears almost uncertain. “Actually, I didn’t just bring him over to say hello. I wanted to tell you that he and I are now… together.”
“Together?” Daphne says, her voice brimming with excitement.
“Together,” Leo echoes, his voice much more dire.
“Together,” Finn confirms, putting an arm around Eva’s waist and pulling her close. A flush colors Eva’s cheeks. I don’t know her well. Only the poised public face she uses. And the private moments of care she gives Daphne. This is a new side of her.
“When did this happen?” Leo asks, his voice intimidating. I’m familiar with the inquisition that potential partners of Morelli sisters face from the Beast of Bishop’s Landing.
Eva glances at Finn, and he glances back. There’s a palpable current in the air.
Finn doesn’t look particularly worried. He answers with his usual affable charm. I’m too distracted to listen to the answers. Distracted now that I have Daphne close again.
I pull her aside. She looks up at me, her eyes luminous.
“I want to paint tonight,” she murmurs.
“Aren’t your hands tired, little painter?”
“Not on canvas. On you. I can already see the colors in my mind. The shadows. The texture.”
My body hardens. The suggestion is enough to drive me insane.
I want her brush on me. More than that, I want her hands on me. Her mouth. Her pretty little cunt wrapped around my cock. Except we have hours left of the showing. It would be bad form for the artist to leave early, even if most of the paintings have already sold.
But maybe no one will notice if I take her into the back room.
I had the venue prepare a storage room that only I have access to. A place where I could steal away. In the event of a panic attack, I thought. Just in case.
Now there’s a different purpose. A better purpose. A place where I can make her writhe and moan. A place where I can bring her to the brink of orgasm–but no further.
I want her panting for me, begging, only so that I can refuse her.
So that she can walk around after, her pussy wet, her nipples hard, her cheeks flushed. Every man who sees her will want her. Some of the women, too. I’m the only one who will be able to take her home at the end of the night.
