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Both Claire and Ari spun at Kane's voice.
“There are twenty-five paintings in the collection. They tell a story. So you should view them in order before the story gets broken up by buyers.”
“Like kittens at the pound,” a woman beside him said. The artist.
Saskia had long dark hair and eyes the color of rich melted chocolate. She wore a platinum collar with black diamonds, long black opera gloves, and a floor-length red evening gown with thin spaghetti straps and a high slit up one side. In fact, as Claire looked around, she noticed every woman wearing a collar seemed to also be wearing an evening gown with a high slit up the side. Had Kane explicitly requested extreme side-slits in the evening gowns or had the men in attendance just wanted to be able to touch their pets in any way they wanted at any time without clothing getting in the way? It seemed too planned to be coincidental.
Had Kane demanded Ari buy Claire a gown like this, or did he already know the dress-code from previous visits?
“I'm Saskia,” the artist said, “Kane's pet. You must be Claire.”
Claire smiled awkwardly at the woman, feeling suddenly guilty about the things she'd done with Kane. Did Saskia know he touched other women? Was he cheating on her? Did they even look at it that way? Claire had no idea. She'd had a hard time thinking through that sort of complex calculus while dealing with the potent effects of the cream.
But themy slut is your slutfrat-boy mantra between Ari and Kane had to be known by her. Which meant... Ari had been with her as well.
“My pet is gaining quite a following in certain circles of the art world,” Kane said, sounding proud. His hand rested possessively against her lower back. “We had a waiting list for the entire six months it took her to complete the collection. I drove her the whole time like a relentless bastard, but the results speak for themselves.”
Given her brief experiences with him, Claire could just imagine the depravity he'd introduced into Saskia's creative process.
Ari led Claire to the spot Kane had indicated and they started to work their way through the series, looking at each painting in turn. They were each titled simply and enigmatically: Chapter One, Chapter Two, and so on—as if Saskia had written a book with pigments rather than words.
As they moved around the gallery, Claire could see a story unfolding. Each painting had a woman with dark hair. Saskia. All the images were kinky, each a tableau of dominance and submission. A shadowy male figure was in each image with the woman.
In the beginning he seemed undefined, blurred. He felt distant and cold and cruel. Terrifying. Claire could feel the woman's fear and disgust toward him shining out from her eyes. In some of the paintings there were other people present. Sometimes someone else was fucking the woman while the cruel distant stranger looked on.
But at some point things started to shift. Instead of pulling away from him, she moved toward him. He became more defined in each painting, less blurred around the edges, less shadowy. Light started to come in and by the last painting,Epilogue, one could see it was definitely Kane. In that last painting, rather than overt dirty kinky images, rather than power and surrender, the two of them were cuddled together in a bed.
Claire gasped when they stopped in front of one of the paintings in the series to get a closer look. Chapter Seventeen. There was Kane, Saskia, and... Ari. There was no mistaking his tall broad frame, the hair, or those arctic blue eyes that could both freeze you and melt you in a single glance.
“I want this one,” Ari said to no one in particular.
Claire took a closer look at the price. Each painting was selling at a hundred thousand dollars. And theywereselling. It wasn't vanity pricing meant to stroke an ego but not fill a bank account. People were happily paying the price. Over half of the paintings already had red sold stickers on the title cards affixed to the wall beside them.
Kane appeared suddenly behind them. “I knew you'd pick that one,” he said. “Fond memories?”
“I can't believe you'd let her paint all this... as private as you are,” Ari said under his breath.
Kane shrugged. “I won't stand in the way of her art. She's brilliant. She can paint what she likes. Anyway, only the last painting in the series clearly shows it's me, and that one isn't for sale. I'm keeping it.” He pulled a roll of round red stickers out of his jacket pocket and marked Ari's painting as sold. “Marcus is handling the money, so you should go pay him. I'll keep Claire company.”
Ari looked back and forth between Claire and Kane. “Will you be okay, little one?”
“Yes, Master,” Claire said. Even though she wasn't sure how she felt about being left alone with an artist she'd once had sexual fantasies about.
Ari hesitated but finally nodded and went off in search of Marcus.
She'd thought all the women at this party were free agents who had some kink they'd woken up to and that they'd each gone in search of a man to scratch that itch, but these paintings spoke of something darker. And she wondered suddenly if Saskia was a slave in the way that Claire was a slave. A prisoner. Though she surely didn't seem like one. Then again, Claire knew nothing about her screamed,help me, a psycho is holding me hostage. Not with the way she'd clung so close to Ari since they'd arrived.
Ari had been consistently kind to her. Saskia obviously hadn't seen her own situation with Kane in the same way. Claire glanced across the room to find the artist mingling and speaking with the guests about her work.
“I need to speak with you. Now,” Kane hissed.
Claire turned suddenly back to the intimidating artist. “I... uh... okay.”
Kane arched a brow. “Are we forgetting our manners, Claire?”
“S-Sir,” she stammered.
“Good girl.” He led her out of the gallery and to a glassed-in room that looked like a conservatory but which obviously served as an art studio. The room was spacious. Was this where he and Saskia painted?
