Silver and Bold

by Amber Burns

  “You alright there?” L. asked.

  He didn’t really care much about her wellbeing, but if the chick broke a bone and needed an ambulance, that could cause some unwelcome attention to his unfinished artwork. Attention he didn’t need, especially when he still had some final touches to add. Annoyed at her silence, he had to repeat himself.

  “You alive?” he turned to look at the unwelcomed intruder for the first time.

  She was staring at him with her huge eyes. Her auburn hair that hardly reached her shoulders was a mess from the windy night. When she continued staring at him for another long moment, L. realized that she was trembling. He had not yet released her from his tight grip on her shoulders. He realized she was trembling from fear of him, with his black mask and the thick steampunk style goggles he wore to prevent the spray paint from getting in his eyes. Finally, a bandana wrapped across his face completed his criminal look.

  “Relax, I’m not a serial killer or some type of a criminal,” he tried to assure her. “Well… that’s mostly true”.

  L. was committing a crime, technically. According to the city authorities, his art was an act of vandalism. Still, he considered himself a very safe criminal for a young, drunk woman to be around.

  “You look like one,” she finally spoke. “But I can see you aren’t… it’s in your eyes,” she said with a soft chuckle.

  She has freckles on her nose and cheekbones, L. observed, barely paying attention to her words. Why do I even care? ... But they looked too sweet not to notice. They give her a cute charm, even as she is drunkenly laying on my chest...

  He tried to push her away as soon as he realized that she was too close, but the woman was not as heavy as the alcohol in her system was stubborn.

  “You see that in my eyes huh?” he mused.

  L. knew his eyes were beautiful. No woman could bear that burning emerald green of his eyes. “Too intimidating,” many would’ve said. He was glad that his gaze formed some kind of protective box around him that nobody dared to overstep. Not that it seemed to work on this particular woman, though. She was still holding his gaze; to L.’s shame it was not he who kept her in his captivity, but her keeping him. A scowl formed on L.’s lips at the realization.

  “Aww, don’t give me that angry look,” she suddenly bit her lower lip. “Can’t a single woman get drunk on her birthday and stumble through the city into the arms of a rather handsome criminal?”

  L. could not help but smile, and was glad his black mask was covering the ear-to-ear beaming smile that he would’ve not been able to hide otherwise.

  “A very single woman,” Enya repeated herself, making sure he understood and nodded at the word ‘very’.

  “Happy birthday, I guess,” L. said as he let go of her shoulder and reached for her hand to shake.

  Enya ignored L’s outstretched hand and wrapped her arms around his neck. She leaned against him with her whole body. She was very light, but her closeness and lack of inhibition intimidated L. all the same. Her scent filled his nostrils and flared his wild imagination.

  Oh, no! Breaking one rule after the other, L. thought as he let his guard down for one second and lost himself in the world of fantasies. He was not a man to get attracted to strangers. He never desired a woman whom he did not know. He at least needed to know her name, and maybe a few more thing,s before thinking about all those things he wanted to do to her in the darkness of this night. He shook his head. Have I lost my mind?

  “This is the best birthday hug I’ve had the whole day,” she murmured against his throat and L.’s treacherous body reacted to that innocent confession in an inappropriate manner. He groaned as he slightly shifted, trying to kill the excitement that was growing inside his body.

  “Couldn’t be that bad,” he patted her shoulder, thinking it might be her cue to put some distance between them.

  She did lean back, but stared right into his eyes with a determined look.

  “Well, my birthdays always suck. That’s an official statement. But you won’t understand what it means to be a prisoner of your own life,” she sighed looked away.

  With the gaze from the mysterious woman broken, L. felt ready to pay a fortune to get those stubborn brown eyes back staring at him. He suddenly felt lonely when she turned away from him.

  “I know exactly how that feels,” he spoke the words against his better judgment.

  “Says a street artist who can do anything he wants?” she laughed and looked at him from the corner of her eye. He was glad to have her attention back to him.

  L. shook his head, “Come morning, I lose the freedom of being concealed in the dark of the night.”

  For once, it felt good to share the darkness of the nights that normally belonged only to him. How could she be so funny and cute but at the same time feel fragile and brave? L. wasn’t sure what she really was, but he already found himself being pulled toward her. He was both attracted to her and annoyed at himself for being so.

  “I have to add some final details to my work. You are welcome to stay if you want,” he said.

  For the first time, her eyes landed on this huge piece of graffiti he had placed on the wall. Her mouth opened in surprise and for several moments her lips trembled. Her mouth opened and closed without letting out a single sound; she did not blink while taking in L.s work. He couldn’t tell if she liked or hated it, though he did find himself hoping for the former. As much as L. never cared about public opinion, he wanted his mysterious birthday girl to appreciate this special piece of himself that he suddenly felt like sharing.

  Her hand found his, and she squeezed it. Her fingers were cold, but the touch was pleasant.

  “There is so much rage in it, but it is the most beautiful expression of anger that I’ve seen,” she said still studying his work. “I never found a way to let it out of my system. I just bury all my hurts and fears inside me,” she admitted, sounding much more sober.

  It was probably the cool night air taking away the effect of the alcohol. And he was glad for that. Some part of him wanted her to remember this encounter, even if she did remember him as some random street artist criminal. L. felt his palms get sweaty as she watched him work. A strange feeling for someone who quite confidently knew he was one of the best artists in the city. Still, he had never drawn even a line in anyone’s presence.

  Luckily for him, Enya decided to spend more of her energy talking to him than watching him work. He painted as she spoke, understanding her need to just spill everything out to a complete stranger, knowing he would carry away her secrets. Enya’s brows drew together as she spoke about her ex, the story of their relationship never seeming to end. Still, he loved her sarcastic humor as she told the story.

  As an artist, L. should have been ashamed that he spent more time looking at his mystery girl than at the work he was trying to finish. He studied her face as she talked. Her freckles grew a shade darker when she talked about something that annoyed her and they caught the shiny street lights when she laughed or told some funny incident. He found that he adored those cute little dots on her face much more than he should. His eyes followed each one as she spoke, memorizing how it looked upon her face.

  “I don’t care, I’m happy,” she said and he realized he had missed a part of her story while being carried away by her bright freckles.

  “You should say it louder so that the world can hear you,” he joked.

  She struggled a moment to climb on her feet, then, throwing her arms to her sides she yelled: “I am happy!”

  “Can’t hear you,” L. teased.

  She repeated her confession even louder and it echoed in the emptiness of the night streets. The wind carried some pieces of her happiness away to spread throughout the city.

  “How happy?” he decided to challenge her a bit more.

  “This happy,” she looked into his eyes and though they were hidden behind his yellow glasses he thought she could see right through his soul. L. did not get the time to ask what she meant when
she threw herself into his arms, pulled his mask a little bit up, revealing his mouth and conquered his lips in an unexpected kiss. Her tongue invaded his mouth, crashing every protective wall he had erected around himself to isolate from the outer world, stealing his breath, steering his thoughts. Her lips wee brave and naughty. He groaned as she bit his tongue. Jolts of pleasure spread through his body.

  “You know what you’re doing to me, right?” he spoke right into her mouth.

  He was not ready to tear himself away. Her mouth was sweet. Her fresh flowery scent washed over him.

  “Maybe,” she chuckled.

  3

  Maybe... Maybe? Really, Enya? She could not believe herself. She bit her lip. Oh, my god? Will I really be bold enough… crazy enough to fuck some random stranger in the middle of the night?

  Enya shook her head. Is this me or the blueberry margaritas talking? No… it’s me – for sure. She admitted it; the margaritas were not to be blamed. A girl could get crazy… once.

  Enya had spent her first thirty years living her tame life, taking risks only when it came to her business; never personal life. Her sex life, as much as she had one, could be described as nothing but tame.

  This is the night I make a change!

  Enya knew that she had made up her mind the moment she looked into his eyes. She couldn’t see the color anymore as the thick yellow glasses he wore hid it from her. Still, nothing could conceal that piercing gaze of his; so raw and honest. And the golden rings that reflected the lights from street lamps through the prism of yellow glasses was so magically beautiful. Though Enya did not know the street artist’s name or age or any important information, she was almost ready to say she trusted him. It had felt good to be saved, to be held in those strong arms. She smiled to herself.

  “I... I’ve never done this before,” she dropped her gaze but was relieved when he put two of his long, strong fingers under her chin and tilted her head up so that she was looking into his eyes again.

  “I assume by ‘this’ you mean hooking up with a stranger in the middle of the empty street?” he spoke, his voice much huskier than before.

  She knew he was grinning at her beneath his black mask. A mask that made him look mysterious and was turning her on. Not that she feared she might’ve not liked him if she saw his face; he had to be beautiful. But with half of his face hidden from her, Enya could pay more attention to other details that would’ve otherwise scared her away. Tonight, she was not a girl to be scared away easily.

  She ran her finger along the curve of his thick brow. It was pierced with a small black stone that shined when it caught the light. His black bandana hid his hair and Enya wondered what color it was.

  “I guess this is a usual thing for you, though,” she commented casually, feeling a sting of jealousy at the words.

  “Not at all,” he said as he let out an uneasy bark of laughter. “Don’t believe the image that’s been painted of us. Street artists aren’t hooking up with girls left and right.”

  “Oh... Am I the only one you’ve been with… out here?” She suddenly felt embarrassed, having nearly given herself to him so easily, but was lessened when she read the clear desire in his body language… and felt the bulge rising from his trousers, pushing against her leg.

  “Maybe...” he narrowed her eyes at her. Even those already hateful yellow glasses could not hide the dangerous shine of his eyes. “Or maybe not... Let’s go. One more minute of you being this close and I’ll take you right here in the middle of the street.”

  Those rough words and the raw need that she heard in his voice made Enya’s insides quiver. Her mound was throbbing with desire and as much as she truly wanted to be all the way crazy and let him take her right there, somehow getting arrested for public sex was not on her birthday wish-list. He took her hand and led the way.

  Enya felt her legs tremble. It was not the alcohol the effects of which were already fading. Not even the unsettling thought that she was letting a stranger take her through a maze of narrow dark streets. She doubted she could be unlucky enough to trip over and fall down into the lap of a serial killer on her birthday. That left only one reason - the overwhelming desire that was flowing through her body already.

  “We are almost there. How about taking it a bit higher?” he asked cocking his brow at her in that very sexy way that she had already come to love about him.

  “Oh… no. I don’t get high,” Enya bit her lip, suddenly wondering if she made a wrong decision.

  “That’s not what I mean, baby” he chuckled.

  And there was something sweet and endearing in the way he called her ‘baby’. Enya was used to being the smart one among her friends, the stubborn one in her family, the successful one in her small business initiative, but never the loved and cherished ‘baby’ cradled in caring, strong arms.

  “I thought we could climb on the roof of this building. It opens a nice view... and is less conspicuous,” he explained.

  Enya nodded. She was losing her ability to talk way too quickly for her liking. And he had not even touched her yet. Well, except that strong grip on her hand and his thumb caressing her fingers in sensual, slow motion.

  “I’ve created my first piece of art there,” he looked away and his grip on her fingers tightened.

  Enya took his other hand, “I’m going to like it, I’m sure.”

  She knew her statement was vague and Enya didn’t even know herself if she was talking about the man’s art or what they were planning on doing together. Enya didn’t know much about her mysterious street artist, but she could see the very sensitive soul hidden behind masks, glasses, and the cocky facade.

  They found the emergency exit of the building and climbed up the six flights of stairs. At the top L. quickly picked the lock and lifted open the hatch impeding their progress. L. stepped up on the roof and offered his hand to Enya to help her out onto the building’s crown. Once she gathered her wits, Enya gasped at the view. All around were very tall buildings with thousands of street colorful lights shining through their windows. The sky above them was filled with thousands of stars. Enya looked around startled at seeing a side of the city she wasn’t use to embracing.

  Enya turned and found her mystery man leaning against a nearby wall. Next to him was his artwork, the first according to him. It was a black and white painting featuring one word – “unbreakable”. The design was beautiful. Less mature than the one he had created tonight, but the style, the raw anger, the strength to oppose whatever demons he was facing in his life was the same.

  “Don’t say anything,” he said as he turned her and pushed her backward, pressed her body against the wall with his graffiti. The cold stone against her back sent shivers through Enya’s body. He stepped closer and claimed her lips in a kiss. It was a passionate one and this time it was his tongue invading her mouth and him being in control. He took his time to explore her mouth, suck her tongue, deepening the kiss and devouring her. He let go of her only when she was completely out of breath. Her lips felt swollen when he freed them; swollen, and lonely. Enya needed more. She leaned for another kiss, but he pushed her back.

  “My lead,” he said in low, commanding voice and her body submitted to his will obediently even before the words registered in her mind.

  He cupped her face and looked into her eyes for a long moment and she held still - letting him decide what he wanted to do with her. He placed a kiss on the tip of her nose, then her cheek, then, sucked at her earlobe until she was moaning loudly and could feel her nipples harden with desire. He then let the tortured lobe out of his mouth and breathed cool air on it. He continued his kissed down the side of her neck, her throat, then up to bite her jaw and steal a loud moan from her. Soon, every inch of her face was covered with kisses - except for her needy lips.

  Oh, this man could be cruel, Enya realized.

  She had no time to voice her complaint, though, as he ran two fingers of each hand down her throat in parallel lines, sliding down her collarbones dir
ectly toward her breasts. He grabbed her both nipples through her shirt and pinched the buds between his fingers. Sharp pain burst inside the excited tips, then spread as a wave of pleasure through her body. Her pussy tightened in response, her clit ached with the need to be touched in that same way. Enya found herself surprised, having never enjoyed rough foreplay, yet now wanting nothing else more.

  She lost the thread of her thoughts when he squeezed her nipples once again, rubbing them between his thumb and index finger. He continued his slow, painfully delightful torture until Enya could take no more of it. His strong body was crashing hers between him and the wall and she tried to rub her needy sex against his thigh.

  “Impatient are we?” he teased as he bit her jaw again and gave her nipples one last tug before releasing them from his captivity.

  Enya regretted it immediately, though not for long, as those ruthless hands slid further down her body, with one finger he circles her navel as the other went further down, finding and lifting the hem of her dress.