Page 131 of Thorns of Deceit
“Oh, I’m ready for my reward.”
“I promise it’s coming.” She stepped closer, dragging the backs of her fingers down my chest. “Now sit,” she said, pointing to the chair by the window, where the lights glimmered like fireflies in the distance.
I sat. One leg bent, one stretched out. It made me feel vulnerable, a position I rarely allowed myself to be in. But with her? Vulnerability didn’t feel like weakness.
She picked up her brush.
Her eyes locked on mine. “Don’t look away.”
“I won’t.”
She began to paint.
Each stroke was like a kiss from her lips. And I sat there, still as I could, letting her carve my soul into canvas. Letting her see the parts of me no one else ever had.
And in that studio, with the city but a distant noise, I wasn’t a mobster. I wasn’t a protector. I wasn’t a fighter, nor a father.
I was just… hers.
THE END
