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It doesn’t help though. No matter how many times I try to push Dante out of my mind, I can’t.
Perhaps spending time at the studio will help me to regain my composure. I never thought that seeing Dante again after all these years would stir up feelings inside me that I thought were buried with the rest of my teenage fantasies.
I rarely paint people. My specialty is abstraction, using bold colors and patterns to express underlying emotions. However, the image in my mind is too powerful to ignore. I need to paint it. To clear myself of the confusion I feel. The fact that Knox is busy helping his dad means I have the perfect opportunity to do so.
The moment I step into my makeshift studio in the clubhouse garage, I relax. There is something about being here, or simply in any art environment, that takes all the tension out of me. Helping me to find a balance that the normal world squanders.
Sitting on the edge of my seat, I try to relax further. Though the idea of what I’m about to paint makes me momentarily anxious, I grab my first brush and start mixing my colors. The scene comes alive before me, every detail growing sharper in my mind as I put it on canvas. There are a few times when I have to remind myself to slow down because otherwise, I’ll end up ruining it.
Painting is a delicate process. It involves being aware of what your final product will be before you even start. It’s as much about precision and knowing when to hold back as it is about passion.
I should put on my music. I have a few painting playlists, so I know when to take proper breaks; when the music stops, the sudden silence draws me out of my focus.
My core tightens as I work, the colors and shades bringing the image in my head to life before my eyes. My paintbrush sweeps across the canvas, my hands moving with a steadiness of every stroke. The V sculpted in his body forms, as well as a peek of his cock before it disappears behind my thigh. I’m straddling him, and his legs are slightly splayed as he thrusts upward into me.
Am I doing him justice, or is the real thing even more stunning than what I’m able to put onto the canvas?
Something smacks into the garage doors, jolting me. I turn, searching the windows. To my shock, the shadows from the trees outside are starting to cast patterns on the glass.
“No,” I breathe, checking the time. It’s almost one in the afternoon.
My stomach grumbles, angry that I neglected it for so long. I sigh, moving through a few easy stretches to release some of the kinks in my stiff back.
As I grab a few snacks from my stash here in the garage, my thoughts turn to the body on my canvas, and the one beneath the suit. How similar are they? My fingers itch to call him, to get him over here to model for me. All for the sake of accuracy, of course. I’d painted plenty of nudes in art college. One naked body was exactly the same as the next. It was all about discovering the planes, curves, and lines of the body.
At least, if any telepaths happened to be kicking around reading my thoughts, that’s what I want them to believe.
Popping a chip into my mouth, I stand back and stare at the painting. I tilt my head to the side as I let out a slow exhausted sigh. Another song from my playlist begins.
Dante’s face is hidden in the crook of my shoulder. It’s clear from the tender embrace he has around her waist and the way her hips are lifted toward him that he’s kissing his way down her neck. Her skin is smooth and clear…
I swallow hard.
I’d gotten the shade of my hair just right. When I started this painting, I had hoped to be able to keep the people in the painting anonymous. But even though my face is hidden by Dante, it’s obvious that it’s me. Not only is it the same shade as my hair, but it falls in the same way, with a few whorls that curl out the wrong way no matter how much I try to tame them.
Painting-Kylie is a sexy beast. She’s straddling Dante, in the motion of thrusting herself up and down on him. Anyone from the outside will think that she’s the one who’s dominant here, but I know the truth. The reason you can’t see her hands from this angle is that Dante tied them together. She’s not setting her own rhythm, but rather Dante’s fingers pressed into the sensitive skin on her hips tell her what pace to use.
Maybe I read too much BDSM stuff, but I like that sort of thing. Anyone who knows me would be utterly shocked at what kinks hide behind this face of mine. I shared some of my tamer fantasies with Sam and Madi back when we were still in high school; I’d always had my kinks.
Something that they didn’t believe. They couldn’t believe that I’d be so shy and quiet while having a full BDSM dungeon in my head. They assured me that I didn’t have to “pretend” to be into bondage to be interesting.
“I talk big but honestly, vanilla stuff is perfectly healthy,” Madi told me. “There’s nothing wrong with liking a plain cheese pizza. Fuck, I could go for pizza.”
That was the last time I talked to them about my sexual preferences. So what if I’m shy? Does that mean I can’t have fantasies about bondage and dominance?
Knox knows in general terms because he knows I’m always on the lookout for BDSM erotica, but the only person who knows more of the intimate details of my fantasies is Stella. She’s sworn to secrecy, though I’ll never forget the stunned look on her face when I told her.
She, at least, didn’t act as though I was making things up. She believed me and helped me do research so that, if I ever gather the courage to actually try out a scene, I know what safety precautions I need to take.
I take a seat again and pick up my paintbrush. Pirate metal sea-shanties blare in my ears as I go about adding a touch more chest hair on Dante. It doesn’t matter. Nobody is ever going to see this painting, other than me.
Nobody. This painting, this version of Dante, ismine.
Chapter Nine
DANTE
I’m almost done packing up my shit to return to NYC when I get a call from my secretary.
