Page 20 of Menotte avec toi

“There’s more than the art you showed me?”

“One more piece, for the entryway. I was inspired after seeing the array of beautiful kilts and schoolgirl skirts at the club the other night and how transformative the outfits were, especially once they passed from outside the club to the inner spaces. I loved the fierceness of your security team too, so protective. Watching them, I never saw a hint of judgment in their eyes as they looked at the people coming in. It was like they were saying, without words, that they’d stand between them and anyone who tried to ruin their evening or keep them from being their authentic selves. So, I painted this.”

I tugged the cloth draping off with a flourish, the rustle of it as it slipped free of the painting reminding me of a cape blowing in the wind. My breath caught in my throat while my gaze droppedto the ground, uncertainty making my shyness burst to the surface as I waited for her reaction.

It was hard to infer anything from the gasp that escaped her and the silence that followed. Had it been a mistake to paint the guards as lions posed looking boredly fierce beside the registration desk? Between them was a regal, leather-clad noble adorned with silken chains as golden as the lions beside them. Like the other people I’d painted for the club, I’d made certain they were androgynous, with their features blurred hues composed to give the illusion of stern efficiency. Behind them was a huge, open doorway with shadowy figures on the other side. I’d focused more on their attire than their features, so they appeared as a walking collection of clothing with hazy features. Onesies, harnesses, pup gear, crisscrossing strips of leather, and form-fitting lace bodysuits, each shadow figure resembled the attire I’d seen at the club. While I hadn’t written a title on the back, in my head I’d referred to it as the doorway to freedom, and it had been the very first thing I’d painted when I’d returned from my Mistress’ home. The paintings I’d previously shown her had been born of this one.

“You…this is…” she stammered.

Swallowing hard, I lifted my head to see her staring with her mouth half hanging open. While I watched, she cocked her head to the side, squinted, and let out another little gasp. When she finally moved, I stepped back so we wouldn’t collide, as she returned to the other art pieces and moved back and forth between them while my inner muse did a happy dance that ended in a handstand.

She’d noticed.

“Each of the shadows has its own painting,” she murmured as she moved between them a little slower this time.

“Yes,” I replied. “I thought this one could serve as a sort of teaser for what lay beyond the door.”

“It’s magnificent!”

Warmth flooded me and allowed me to finally take a full breath.

“I can’t wait to see it hanging in the club,” she explained. “The way you portrayed the guards should serve as a brilliant reminder to everyone who sees it. While it’s rare that they have to step in, when it happens, it’s swift and vicious.”

I giggled at that and eyed the lions I was so very proud of having brought to life on canvas. “With that description, maybe I should have drawn them as cheetahs instead.”

I loved listening to our laughter mingle. Something told me she hadn’t had much of it in her life, at least not recently.

“No,” she said. “The lions are perfect. I love that they are the only figures with clearly defined features, right down to the scowl on this one.”

“He did have a fierce scowl as he stood watching everyone come in,” I explained. “It was his hair that made me think of a lion, though. The other guards all wore theirs short or shaved almost completely, but his was long and flowed over his shoulders like, well, a lion’s mane.”

She chuckled at that. “Casey is a bit vain about his hair, until it’s time to wade in and deal with someone. Then he doesn’t give a damn about the condition it ends up in, as long as he gets his hands on the problem. I think he’ll appreciate you painting him this way.”

“I hope so. I wouldn’t want to get on his bad side.”

“Everyone should aspire to stay on his good side,” she said. “He’s hard to settle down when he gets pissed.”

“I bet he is. Is it the same way for you?”

“When someone truly does something utterly asinine, it can be,” she admitted, “though I’m more like a simmering pot steaming before it boils over.”

“I’ll remember that,” I said. “Wouldn’t want to get burned.”

“No, you wouldn’t. It can be hard to sit when that happens.”

“Eeep.”

The sound slipped out before I could press my fingers to my lips to hold it in. The thought of trying to sit on a stinging bottom was not one I wanted to think about. Her chuckle sounded almost wicked as she dragged her fingers through my hair, carding it away from my neck so she could lean in and kiss me. Sighing, I tilted my head to the side to give her more access, a gasp and soft moan escaping when she nipped. One arm snaked around me, her fingers splaying across my belly as she held me in place.

“I-I should cover the paintings back up until I can crate them for transport,” I whispered, shivering as she ran her thumb along the curve of my breast.

Her touch was sensual, teasing, and on the verge of turning me into a smoldering mess.

“Yes, you should,” she murmured, the pink tip of her tongue flicking up to lick her upper lip as she stepped away from me.

I needed a moment to remember which way was up and where I’d laid the cloths, so rattled that I was disoriented in my own creative space.

She winked, and I melted a little more, because damn it all, she was deliberately teasing me, making it impossible for me to get my shit together.

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