“Now, with you… it’s a different story.” His eyes took on a devious glint.
He lightly held Saturday’s shoulders and turned her the opposite way, letting her back touch his front. He then reached around her midsection, finding the sash of her robe and untying it slowly.
Saturday’s breath caught in her throat as his fingers worked. The robe fell open as the sash’s knot came completely loose. Mark then removed the sash completely from her waist.
He placed his lips at the top of Saturday’s ear, speaking softly.
“Close your eyes,” he said, from behind her. “…And keep them closed.”
At his command, Saturday’s eyes fluttered to a close.
“It’s easier this way,” Mark remarked. “Robbing the subject of their vision helps to lessen any self-consciousness. Instead of focusing on the art taking form or their bodies or…whatever, the subject can just focus on breathing easy and playing the role of the canvas that they were meant to be.”
“And so, you especially, Saturday, don’t have anything to worry about. Your naked body in and of itself is art,” Mark whispered appreciatively in her ear.
“I just want to add a little color to it,” he stated languorously.
He then began placing the sash from the robe gently over Saturday’s eyes, creating a makeshift blindfold. When the sash was tied neatly behind her head, Saturday’s breathing began to quicken.
She could feel Mark slide the robe off of her body, letting it drop softly on the floor.
She was now in front of him, on complete display and completely nude.
Saturday shuddered… not just from the desire she was starting to feel, but the chill in the air that she hadn’t noticed before. Her senses seemed to be on overdrive now, heightened by the temporary loss of her sight. She could now easily smell the fresh paint, could feel the coolness of the hardwood under her feet. On top of that, Saturday knew she was standing quite awkwardly; she never realized how difficult it was to simply stand still when you couldn’t see.
She felt unbalanced, like any minute she would fall. She reached out, clumsily, for the nearest wall, but then Mark spoke. He was in front of her now, kneeling. He was so quiet that she hadn’t even sensed him.
He grabbed her hand, telling her to place it on his shoulder. When she obliged, he moved to her foot, gently guiding it to a small stool close to him.
“Good. Just like that,” he said.
Below her, Mark continued speaking.
“Ya know, Saturday, body painting for a piece, gallery or show is often tough, painstaking work, but on an occasion like this… it is a real pleasure,” he remarked, mirth laced in his comments.
Saturday bit gently on her bottom lip to keep from laughing. She could see now how Mark could be wonderful at these types of projects; he had put her completely at ease within a matter of minutes.
All of that changed, however, as his voice took on a different tone and his naked brush moved to touch her skin.
“Now, before the artist starts any body painting piece, he or she must make sure their brushes are completely clean. The ones I’m using now are brand new, but all the same, I’ve washed them, and they are completely untainted.”
“Would you like to feel how clean they are?” he asked, his voice the epitome of innocence.
Saturday shifted awkwardly, puzzled by his meaning until she felt the soft bristles of the bare paintbrush on the opening of the folds between her legs.
She gasped, tightening her grip on his shoulder.
He didn’t stop there, though. He continued tickling the brush between her legs until she thought she might pass out, and then guided the brush along the expanse of her skin. He made feathery, circling touches over her nipples, midsection and legs while Saturday tried to stand unmoving in complete aroused agony.
She was coming apart under the touch of his brush, as it followed a torturous route over all of her sensitive spots.
Suddenly, Mark’s brush stopped moving, was removed from her body and then came back… with paint on it.
Now, Mark was diligently painting her, as he said he would. Saturday could tell that he was concentrating on the piece by his complete silence. She, on the other hand, was struggling to remain silent.
Her skin felt like it was on fire. She was feverish with wanting him now. He had turned her on, teased her to the brink and then just stopped as if nothing had happened. Saturday bit her lip to keep from whining.
He’s painting you, like you wanted him to. Let him work.
Saturday grit her teeth so that she could bear down and deal with her frustration. She tried to focus in on his brush strokes, trying to piece together in her mind what he could be painting, but it was useless. She had no idea what kind of shapes he was creating.
One restless (and horny) hour later, Mark’s brush stopped moving again and soon Saturday heard running water coming from the sink at the far side of the room. She could hear Mark’s footsteps approaching and then she saw light. He was removing the sash from her eyes and the dim light from the window momentarily blinded her.
Saturday looked out of the nearest window over the city. It was still raining, but soothingly so. A glint in the side corner of the windows caught her eye and Saturday peered over to find a full-length mirror propped against the nearest wall. She could see what he had painted. It was an abstract, a mix of vibrant greens, warm yellows, blues and a winding streak of red. She loved it immediately.
While Saturday was still staring at her paint-covered body, Mark spoke, now wiping his hands on a small hand towel.
“It’s a warm Saturday afternoon,” he commented, answering her unspoken question. “No pun intended.” He grinned.
“It makes me think of you. I know we always seem to come together when it rains, but...these afternoons are the favorite part of my week.”
Saturday could see what he meant: the green grass, yellow sun, blue skies…
“What’s the red here for?” she asked.
Mark reached a finger out to touch the streak.
“This, my Daisy, is my desire…for you.” He continued tracing the streak. “It runs like a heated river in all of the things that I do now. It’s hot… and constant… and runs deep…” Mark said, his voice trailing off in a whisper, as he reached over to stroke her jawline.
Saturday closed her eyes, relishing the feel of his hands. Her hazel eyes snapped back open. That’s IT.
Saturday stepped away from the mirror, getting on her knees to peel back the zipper on Mark’s jeans. She unhooked the button above it, reaching her hand in to release him from his clothes. When he was free, she licked the tip of him, pausing for a beat to look up at him. He had been surprised (Good), but pleasantly so, it seemed, a half-confused, half-expectant look on his face. Saturday winked up at him, and then placed him almost entirely in her mouth.
He was aroused before she put her mouth on him but now he was fully at attention. He was bigger than she remembered, and she realized that she would have to take her time. Saturday sucked around the tip at first, swirling her tongue, as she pumped him with her hand and drew him deeper into her mouth.
He groaned, his hand unconsciously moving to cup the back of her head. The sound excited Saturday, encouraging her further, making her movements quicker to bring him to the crest. She could feel it. He was just about to…
Saturday heard the front door below slam shut. She and Mark both froze.
“Mark, are you here?” a woman’s voice cried out. “Marie gave me the key to see if you were here. I hope it’s ok.”
Saturday released Mark then, standing up to look at him. She was bewildered. Mark seemed just as shocked.
“Listen,” the woman called out. “I’ve got a dancing class in like an hour and a half so can we get this body painting done now?”
Geraldine. The blonde from outside of the restaurant. It had to be her.
Saturday forgot that she and Mark had basically abandoned the woman on the street. Geraldine m
ust have gone to Marie, who ultimately led her here.
All of Saturday’s former insecurities from earlier in the afternoon came rushing back.
Even more so, when Mark gave her a remorseful look, kissed her lips, and climbed hurriedly down the steps.
No apology. No explanation. He just…went rushing back to the beautiful bombshell from the street. Saturday felt like a starry-eyed actress who had just been hastily dismissed from an audition. Maybe she was just a stand-in…until Mark could paint (or get with) the girl he really wanted.
Naked and now ashamed, Saturday grabbed her clothes from the other room and hopped in the adjacent bathroom. She subsequently took one of the quickest, most thorough showers of her life. Shortly after, she started slipping on her clothes, as she summoned the nearest Uber driver she could find.
The car’s only about two minutes away. And then, I’m out of here.
She was buttoning up her skirt when she heard a car pull in from where she stood in the all-white bedroom. Saturday fastened it quickly, gathering the rest of her things as she made her way down the stairs. She heard their voices before she ever hit the bottom floor.
He’s still down here? With her?!
Mark and Geraldine were standing in the hallway in front of the door, talking intensely. Geraldine looked her way when Saturday landed on the floor, her gorgeous face curious and unfriendly. Mark looked up, too, finally noticing Saturday, his mouth open to speak to her. Saturday veered her focus back to the front door behind them, making a straight line to and out of it.
She got in the Uber car, one shoe in her hand, some paint still on her neck… with the sound of Mark calling her name echoing in the background.
Chapter Five
Under false pretenses
The next evening, Saturday went gallivanting with Kara for a much needed dose of Kara’s favorite type of medicine: retail therapy.
Saturday pushed the hanging clothes much harder across the rack than she intended.
“He confuses me, Kara. Sometimes, he seems so withdrawn, so oblivious to my feelings…but the way he looks at me and the way he touches me…it’s as if he were two completely different people.”
She flung fabric every which way as she talked.
“And the secrecy…these “projects”? His “work”? What is he doing?”
Kara piped up this time, breaking into Saturday’s tirade. She leaned against the clothes rack.
“Give yourself space,” Kara demanded. “Evaluate what you want. Remember you?”
“And in the meantime,” Kara continued, “BLOCK him on your phone…so you don’t get tempted.” She gave Saturday a devilish smile and moved to the next clothing shelf.
Later that night, Saturday’s fingers got the itch. Usually, the itchy fingers prefaced a strong desire to paint, but not this time. This time, her fingers itched with the urge to call Mark.
She had blocked him on her phone as Kara suggested, but it seemed like each minute was a mini battle with the decision to press the little “Unblock” button in her phone. She finally had to call her cell service provider just to make the block a bit more effective.
Even then, the prickling did not stop.
Is this normal? Normal to be allergic to someone’s absence?
She tried to remember what life was like before he came into her life, but surprisingly, it was a struggle. Two months… and already she was suffering from withdrawal like an addict.
Despite her body’s betrayal, Saturday decided that she would stick to her guns. She began channeling her urges into a more meaningful purpose: painting.
Now, unlike Mark’s recent creations, she painted night skies, ominous clouds and severe storms. In her case, the pieces mirrored her confusion over the Mark situation, the chaos of her thoughts. Surprisingly, creating depictions of turmoil brought an odd peace to Saturday. To an artist like her, it was better than putting thoughts in a diary…because her thoughts could take form, be transfigured into beauty. She reached a level of calm when sitting in front of canvas that she couldn’t achieve anywhere else.
She almost didn’t miss Mark anymore.
Almost.
***
That Friday night, Kara coaxed Saturday into leaving her little painting cocoon to come out to the new bar/nightclub that had opened nearby. Kara also coaxed her into wearing the new “hot number” that she bought during their shopping excursion. Saturday was pretty sure that Kara had never met a dance floor that she didn’t like, and the “Thrill” nightclub was supposed to have a very large one with great drinks: another addition to the list of “Pros.”
Oh, and the “hot number”? It was a sexy red dress with a V-neckline and slender straps… and a split that almost came clear up to Saturday’s hip. She ironed her hair bone-straight, and polished the outfit with a blood-red lip. In this same mirror, for her date with Mark, she had made herself into the image of the angelic pixie; now… she created a vision of a sexy siren.
She was ok with that. A few hours of dancing and drinking to get away from the man who was currently juggling her heart?
Sounded good to her!
The bass in the “Thrill” was pounding harder than Saturday’s heart. She was calm and confident on her way out of the house.
But now? Now, she was now nervous about the sexiness of the dress. She usually kept it more low-key than this, but tonight she wanted to lift her spirits. She was only 24, after all, wasn’t she? She should be out enjoying herself, partying and living freely, not sitting home, pining over some guy. Except Mark wasn’t just some guy. He was talented and smart and sexy and…
You just shut up, heart, why don’t you? Let the adrenaline do the heavy lifting this time.
She told herself to stop fidgeting and start dancing instead. She let Kara bring her drinks from guys at the bar. Saturday sniffed the drinks jokingly when Kara handed them over, but she trusted her to have kept a watchful eye. Was Kara a “party girl”? Yes, but a dumb one, she was not. Kara had worked her butt off to become Assistant Creative Director in the fashion line for which she was employed, and she was only 26.
Never mind the fact that Kara was quite possibly the missing twin of Scarlett Johansson, blonde hair, curves, and all. She could have easily turned down the path of the other haughty beyotches before her, but she would never. Despite all of her ostensible awesomeness, she was humble, bubbly and loyal. When it came down to it, Saturday admired her in so many ways.
Suddenly, she felt an arm close around her shoulders. She turned, drink in hand, and grinned widely when she saw to whom the arm belonged.
Francois was the friend through whom she met Kara. For a while, he worked with Saturday at the Clairoyage gallery until he moved back to France to be closer to family. He knew Kara because they had gone to NYU together. With his chestnut brown hair now longer and his deep brown eyes smiling, he looked so handsome and happy.
And yeaaaah…they had gone on a date before – ONCE – but Francois shortly moved away afterward, and she decided it was best to remain as they started: friends.
That was a year ago. She hugged him warmly. It was just then, as she smelled Francois’s subtle cologne that she remembered at one point in the past how she had taken note of how dangerous Francois had the potential to be to her good sense. She didn’t say this often about men, but he was quite beautiful AND he was a good friend and person. He was a deadly combo to any unsuspecting woman. Nonetheless, she was so happy to see his face.
“What are you doing here?” she squealed excitedly.
He flashed his beautiful teeth at her, his accent mellifluous as he spoke. “I’m moving back!”
At his admission, he hugged her once more, holding on a second longer than is customary.
When he released her, she remembered that she was there with Kara and hadn’t seen her in a while.
Where was she?
When she glanced over at the bar, she saw Kara, standing next to some guy, who was practically in her ear, overtly trying to get her a
ttention. But Kara didn’t seem to notice. The strange part was that all of her focus seemed to be on Saturday…and Francois. Actually…she was staring at the two of them.
Saturday wasn’t a very worldly person or very wise in the ways of people, but she did recognize the look within Kara’s eyes.
Jealousy.
She almost couldn’t believe it. Kara wanted Francois? Why didn’t I know that? Kara never mentioned anything…
Saturday didn’t remember ever picking up those signs from Kara, but they had to have been there. That look!
Kara might as well have had her feelings emblazoned on her forehead. It was so obvious.
Saturday realized that she had been staring off into space, trying to sort through the revelations unfolding before her eyes. When she looked up to find Kara again against the bar, she was gone, along with her little attentive drinking buddy.
Saturday had to be jerked back to reality again by Francois, who was now asking her to dance. She hesitated for what seemed like an inordinate amount of time before she made up her mind.
Francois is a FRIEND. Our friend. One whom I haven’t seen in a while. This is ridiculous. I am going to enjoy his company AND find Kara so we can all enjoy each other’s company. We are all buddies here. Maybe I misunderstood Kara’s face. She would have told ME already, right? I’m her BEST friend!
Still a little unnerved, Saturday shrugged it off and headed to the dance floor with Francois, all the while scoping for Kara’s face in the crowd.
When they reached an empty spot on the floor, Francois stopped and grabbed Saturday’s waist to dance. She didn’t mind the initial touch (it was brief), but she did notice that Francois was dancing just a fraction too close, and just a smidge too slow for the music that was playing.
When she pulled back to create more space between them, he inched closer, his body lightly brushing here and there. A hand against her hip, a leg against her leg. It was getting to be too much, the touches too frequent.
She decided to escape from…whatever this was - by excusing herself from Francois because of “dizziness.” Saturday made a beeline towards the farthest corner of the club, on the wall closest to the front door. She leaned against the wall and tried to get her bearings.
Behind the Blindfold: A Sexy Mystery Duet Page 6
