Page 63 of Choosing the right Man

“I’ve kept a lot from you. Tonight, I want to show you who I am,” I say.

“Are you someone else I don’t know?” she asks.

I move to the passenger side of my vehicle and hold the door open for her. I don’t kiss her. If I do, I’ll lose myself. I can’t do that yet. I have plans tonight.

“There’s a lot about me you don’t know. This is important to me, though,” I say. She climbs in, and I shut the door. I take a breath before heading to the driver’s side. I climb in and reach over, taking her hand before I start the vehicle.

Music plays as we pull out of the garage and I begin the drive home. We both feel a shift in the air as we move through the busy streets of Portland. It takes a while to get home, but we don’t do much talking.

I park the vehicle in the garage, climb out, and go to her door. I help her out, taking her hand. Nerves are flowing through me, which is highly unusual. I’m always eager to step inside my art studio. I change the moment I step through the doors, becoming freer. The binds of the world fall away when a paintbrush is in my hands. To share this with Chloe is a big deal.

I move to the door and don’t hesitate before I turn the knob and open it. We walk in together, and Chloe stops as her eyes widen. She looks around the room that has a surgical style table with a sheet over it in the middle with an art easel with paint sitting beside it.

“What’s going on?” she whispers.

“I’ve never shared this side of me with any woman I’ve been with. I’ve never had a relationship before, though,” I say.

“Mason?” There’s so much question in my name. I’m silent as I let her figure it out. She looks up at me as realization dawns. “You’re the artist.” The words come out with awe. She moves forward and lays her hand on the table, her fingers whispering across the fabric. Finally, she looks up and smiles, joy filling her eyes.

“I should’ve figured this out,” she says. “Maybe that’s why I had the connection, why I was so drawn to your art.”

“I think so,” I say, smiling back at her. This feels so right. She takes off her jacket and lets it drop to the floor, and my fingers twitch. She looks nervous but excited, too.

“I want to become a part of your art,” she says.

“That’s exactly what I want,” I tell her. I look at her pale skin, her dark hair, and I already see the masterpiece in my mind. She’s the one I’ve been seeking, the one I’ve needed to do the painting of that will finally be enough. I know it beyond a shadow of a doubt.

“Take off your clothes and lie down,” I tell her, my body already hardening.

She’s trembling as she begins stripping, her clothes falling to the floor. I gaze at her perfect body as she climbs onto the table, lying down so her luscious breasts rise, her stomach sinks, and her hips flare.

I circle the table as I stare at her. She shakes, her eyes open, her breaths coming out in short pants as she follows me with her gaze. Heat flares in her eyes as my body stirs even more. I move to my canvas, pick out my brush, then open the paints I want. She’s my last.

I spend nearly two hours with my brush, turning her pale body into a canvas of colors. She shakes and moans and never takes her gaze from me. Our eyes meet more than once. My breathing deepens, and where I normally get lost in my art, this time, I’m lost in her.

When we’re finished, I know this is my masterpiece. This is for us, and us alone. This piece will never be seen by any other. Today, I’ve mastered my craft. I set the brush down and circle the table again. She’s absolutely stunning, the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen.

I place the cloth on her, then cover her eyes with a mask and set a tent above her to cast her face in shadows. I want this to hang on the wall, and I want no chance of anyone knowing it’s her. This is for us, and us alone. I grab my camera and snap away, loving the rise of her chest as she breathes in and out, loving how her body trembles beneath my gaze. It takes all I have not to join her on the table. It’s been too long since we’ve made love. I finally set the camera down and smile at her.

“Stand up,” I say, my voice husky.

She sits up, then slides her feet over the edge of the table. She gazes down, seeing my hard body. She smiles as she licks her lips.

“You’re so damn beautiful,” I tell her.

She moves toward me. “I’m very turned on,” she whispers.

My already pulsing body throbs at her words. I’m barely holding on to control as I grit my teeth and say nothing. She moves closer, reaching out a hand and running it across the outside of my pants. I shake before her. The smile grows on her luscious lips.

“Is the paint safe on my skin?” she asks while rubbing the top of my pants, playing with the button without undoing it, torturing me.

“Of course,” I tell her.

“So I can have it on me and do... things,” she says with a seductive purr.

“You can do whatever you want,” I say. My eyes move down her body. She’s so damn stunning that it takes my breath away. My arousal throbs as she rubs it. She smiles again and licks herlips before gracefully dropping to her knees. I don’t even think about stopping her.

She slowly unzips my pants and sighs as she pulls my erection free. I’m so damn hard I fear I won’t last long. My tip is wet with anticipation. She licks her lips and looks at me, her eyes hungry.

---