AllFreeNovel
Share Us
There’s a small, rectangular table just under the window with pots of acrylics and oil paint, a palette, spatulas, and more brushes than I can count. It's a mess, but it doesn’t matter when I look at the art on the wall. The entirety of it is painted, and the window merely looks like a floating frame in the night sky.
“That’s not where I left you,” a voice whispers behind me. There’s no humor in the tone, but that’s just how Xi talks. I know he’s teasing me.
“Did you paint this?”
He remains behind me, gathering my damp hair in one hand and pushing it to one side. “It’s my midnight project.”
“Midnight project?” I repeat.
“I paint it when I can’t sleep.”
“Wow,” I sputter as I walk closer and let the tips of my fingers graze the paint. “The details are unbelievable.”
My eyes catch on the bottle of clear liquid on the table and I finally understand something. “Turpentine,” I chuckle to myself. “That’s what it is.”
His body is close to mine again. He wraps his arms around me from behind and drops a kiss in the crook of my neck. “What about it?”
“I can always smell something apart from your cologne. A little woodsy and earthy. It’s turpentine. What do you use it for?”
“Cleaning my brushes and thinning my oils mainly.”
It makes so much sense now. That comforting feeling I get from him.
“My mom is an artist. She comes from a long line of famous painters. When I was a kid, she tried to paint with me, but I was so terrible that she quickly gave up.”
“Alexandra Delacroix terrible at something? I don’t believe you.”
“Oh,believe me,” I giggle. “The smell of turpentine reminds me of those moments in her workshop.”
I take a step away from him, curious to see more. “Do you have other things you painted?” My mouth twists. I used the wordthings.My dad would have a fit. “Maybe I could talk to my mom about you.” I move some papers and drawing books around on his desk. “She loves talented, passionate people. She could help you put your paintings out there—”
My heart stops when I uncover a small canvas. It’s about the size of an A4 piece of paper. Next to it, there’s the Polaroid picture he had taken of me in my bedroom. The one where I’m lying on the bed, my head hanging upside down and my mouth wide open. His cum is all over my tongue, running down my lips.
My thighs press together, remembering the night of our first time. On the small canvas, he painted me with oils. It’s beautiful, erotic. It’s not exactly realistic, though it is incredibly artistic. He made my lips black and the cum a bright pink. My nipples are pink too, and he turned the rest of the room completely black. At the bottom right corner, he signed XI with two capital letters.
“Shit,” he hisses, grabbing everything and pushing it to the floor. His fingers end up with paints on them from the palette that wasn’t dry.
“That was me,” I say with numb lips, barely believing it.
He runs a hand against his face, staining his cheek with some paint.
“Xi,” I insist. “That was me.”
“I didn’t do it in a creepy way. I like painting…beautiful things.” His eyes lock with mine.
“You’re an extremely talented painter. It’s breathtaking.”
His brows rise in the slightest, showing me his surprise. He looks like a teenage boy who’s just been told by his dad that he’s proud of him. Maybe it’s just the messy hair and the paint smudge on his cheek that give him that boyish look. Maybe it truly means something to him that I say his art is beautiful.
“Will you paint me some more?” I ask eagerly, wrapping my arms around his waist. “Like that?” I grab one of his hands and bring it under my skirt, pressing it against my damp underwear. “It makes me wet.”
There’s a low growl at the bottom of his chest, and it makes me tremble.
“Alex,” he huffs. “You have no idea how much I want to fuck you right now.”
“Then why don’t you?” I smile up at him and kiss the hollow of his neck.
“Family dinner.”
