“You shouldn’t give a man a key if you don’t want him to use it,” I counter. She wrinkles her brow. “I didn’t give you a key.”
Argh, yes. I took the liberty of having one made without her knowledge.
“What the hell is that in your arms?” She turns off the gas and rounds the counter.
“A prize.” I grin, handing over the cat.
“You know I don’t have time for animals, right?”
“It’s a cat. They look after themselves. This one holds sentimental value.” This piques her interest. “The previous owner preferred her pussy without hair.”
Her head darts up, eyes flashing with giddiness. “Really?”
“She suffered before the end,” I gift her, the drug of the kill still potent in my veins. “Enjoy your new pet, Bridget,” I call as I leave her with her trophy.
Lucien has become an obsession of mine, a dark craving I need to itch nightly. Tonight’s no different. He’s naked in my studio when I get home. There’s no formal greeting. I go straight to him, shedding myself of my clothes with each step. I grab the paint and coat every inch of him before shoving him against the giant canvas pinned to my wall and kick his feet apart. The paint I covered his body in decorates the backdrop to what will be the second piece of my new collection. I hold his head flat to the canvas with my forearm across his neck. “I’m going to fuck you until you can’t fucking breath,” I tease. I palm his mouth, and growl, “Spit.”
He covers my hand in his saliva, his body vibrating in anticipation.
I use the spit to stroke and lube up my cock. Lining up to his tight fucking hole, I ram forward, shuddering at the contact. His ass grips me like a vice, daring me not to spill my seed too soon. The harmonies of groans echo through the room, giving it a pulse. I wrap a hand around his waist, gripping his cock and stroking, hard and firm. “I want all you have to give me, Lucien. Give yourself to me.”
“I’m yours,” he moans. “I’m fucking yours.”
The pleasure swallows us both, tipping us over the edge, draining us of our release. My cock pulses, emptying inside him as his splays the canvas, ribbons of creamy cum dripping through the still-wet paint. It’s perfection.
May/June/July
He’s suspended upside down on the pole I had installed just for him. His arm is wrapped around the steel like a coiled snake around its kill. His legs are extended outward, pointed toe like a ballerina, curved lines of distinct muscle pulled rigid to prevent his strength from weakening. With a whoosh, his body relaxes, almost like melting ice. He swings around the pole before freezing in a new position. I could paint a thousand paintings dedicated to just him. He drops to his feet when his eyes glimpse my presence, a toothy grin lighting up his face as I move farther into the room to greet him.
“You look magnificent up there,” I tell him. He rewards my praise with a kiss, hard and delicious.
“Where have you been?” he queries.
That’s not his business. “I want you on your knees, sucking my cock like a good boy,” I tell him
“You want me to worship my king?” He drools, licking his lips and rubbing his hands down my arms. Eyelids weighed with lust, using slow, deliberate movements, he drops to his knees, never taking his eyes from mine. If I’m his king, what does that make him?
Bridget’s words from GLAM’s party all those months ago ring through my head. “Every king needs his queen.”
“I’m not your king,” I tell him, fisting his hair while unzipping my slacks with the other hand, freeing my erection.
“Then what are you?” He swipes his tongue out to lick the salty pre-cum beading on my bulging tip.
“I’m your master,” I growl, yanking his head back, forcing his mouth to open wide. I shove forward with my cock, burying it down his throat. Water pricks the corner of his eyes, making me ache to come. He slurps and gobbles me up like I’m his favorite flavor of ice cream. I fuck his beautiful face with rigor, roaring in pleasure when he gags, the tightening of his throat massaging my length. I groan my release into his mouth, spilling my seed over his lips as I pull out. Dropping to my knees, I relish in the art we’ve created. My cum drips from his lips, down his chin, to his chest.
“And what am I, Master?” he begs.
Gripping his face in my palms, I crash my lips to his, suckling the pleasure I left there. “You…” I say through kisses, “are…” bite, “my…” lick, “muse.”
August/September/October
Our masquerade ball at the studio is a thorn in my side, but I committed to it five years ago and saw it through every year…begrudgingly. It’s good for business and gets my name into the mouths and checkbooks of the rich and famous, so it’s a necessary evil.
“So, I’m not allowed to attend?” Lucien laughs.
He thinks I’m joking. “No, this is business, not pleasure.”
“Well, maybe if you let me come, it could be both?” He wraps his arms around me from behind, nibbling at my ear. I take his hand and turn in his hold. “This isn’t up for discussion. You’re something I don’t want to share with anyone else. I want you here waiting for me when I get this dreadful thing over with.”
“I’m your dirty little secret? You’re ashamed to be with me?” he snaps, offended. “I’m not ashamed. I’m possessive. You’re mine, and I’m not sharing you with a room full of posers and nosey bastards,” I growl, crowding in around him. The shadows creep across the room as if in warning of the monster he’s toying with.
“What is this, Hades? What am I to you?”
“You’re my muse,” I grunt, gripping his chin in a menacing hold.
“Is that all I am?” His tone softens, vulnerability seeping from him in waves. “What more do you want to be?” I implore. My muse is my all.
“Everything,” he begs. “I want to be your everything, like you are mine.” His hand shakes as he places it over my heart. “Do you have a heart inside here?”
Gripping the back of his head, I bring our foreheads together, breathing him in, trying to suck some of his humanity into me so I can love him back. “If I do, it would beat to be with you,” I tell him, stealing his lips in a soul-shattering kiss. His body softens against mine, needing contact, needing to be held, loved. I move us to the bed and take my time, giving him all I have.
Music vibrates the air as people shuffle around the room in their gowns and suits, admiring the art displayed for their bidding. My blue suit feels a little snug as I descend the stairs. Bridget is waiting for me at the bottom in a blue suit that matches mine, our matching masks beaded with black pearls. “You look ravishing, darling,” she says in a convincing British accent.
Holding out my arm, she curls her petite hand through it and walks with me into the room full of people I would prefer to kill than dine with.
Mingling and entertaining aren’t my forte. I leave that to Bridget and slink into the back of the room, walking the perimeter in hopes my mere presence is enough to have these people bidding high. Henry Willis catches me in his view, a perverted grin curling his lips. Snaking his way through the crowd, he singles me out, cornering me.
“Hades, such a delight to finally make the guest list,” he croons. He’s tall and thin, with teeth too big for his face he paid a fortune for. He’s had work done on his nose and chin, and his indulgent lip fillers make him look ridiculous.
“I hope you’re here to buy, Henry.” I despise that he made me out despite the mask and came over to talk to me. I glare down at his mask. He chose one you carry and hold to your face. Cheap—like him and his suit.
“Is that what it will take for you to have dinner with me finally? I’ll buy everything in here if you let me stay for an after-party, just us two?”
“Be careful what you wish for,” I deadpan, walking away from him to tame the demon he’s luring out of me. I’d never take that rodent to my bed. It’s an insult he thinks he could buy my attention. I’m over this goddamn party and just want to get back to my muse, let him erase this night from my memo
ry.
“Everything sold.” Bridget nudges me, the grin on her lips the only thing not covered by her mask.
“Does that mean we can end this shit?” I groan.
A light chuckle sings from her. “Almost, I can wrap things up. You go. I know this is the worst night of the year for you,” she says with a pat to my arm.
“Have I told you how invaluable you are to me?” I ask, relieved I’ve done my duty for the night.
“That works both ways. Now, go.” I watch her work the room for a few minutes more before exiting up the stairs to the private quarters.
I hear voices as I walk down the corridor toward Lucien’s room. This part of the studio is off-limits. Signs clearly state that at the base of the stairs at the back of the room. You’d have to search them out to even know they are there.
My hackles rise, my monsters shrouding me like a cloak of armor as I seek out the intruder. My feet slow outside Lucien’s bedroom. He’s sitting on his bed, sheets around his waist, hair mussed from sleep. “It’s none of your business who I am,” he tells a skinny, tall form. Fucking Henry!
Like a tidal wave hitting me, all I see is red. I couldn’t foresee this being the outcome tonight or Lucien ever meeting my darkness before his time, but I’m not in control. My beast has taken over, pulling the reigns. I move swiftly into the room. Just as Henry turns to see me, I leap onto him like a lion on a gazelle. My weight drops him and we crash to the floor, me straddling the invader. Lucien screams out, but what he’s saying is muffled by my rage. My thumbs dig into Henry’s eyes, burrowing like worms into the gooey mess, popping the balls like water balloons. I push deeper, forcing down into his brain until his thrashing body stills beneath me. I’m breathless when I come to, the haze shifting from my eyesight.
Standing, I take a couple shuddering breaths, wiping the blood from my hands down the lapels of my jacket.
“What the fuck did you do?” Lucien cries. The room creaks and moans like this place is coming alive with all the souls I take within it. “Hades?” Lucien says my name in question, a quake to his voice bringing the world crashing down around me.
“He shouldn’t have been in here,” I tell him.
“You killed him.” He moves across the bed, putting distance between us.
I risk a shrug. “He was trespassing.”
“You fucking killed him,” he bellows.
“Shhh,” I growl, checking the corridor, then closing the door with us inside. “He was a slimy snake. He came up here in hopes I’d take him to bed,” I grunt. “Didn’t take no for an answer,” I defend.
Lucien paces the room, his hands in hair. “He was asking who I was, kept looking at me. I had to pull the sheet over myself.” He says nodding like he’s convincing himself Henry deserved what he got. Could it be? “Not all killers are psychopaths,” he repeats my words back to me.
“Not all psychopaths are killers,” I say back. “But this one is,” I add.
The room closes in around us as he takes pause, staring at me across the room. I count the seconds of silence. One, two, three, four, five, six…
“We need to get rid of the body,” he says in a rush, grabbing the sheet and moving across the bed. I go to him, sighing in relief when I grab his wrist and he doesn’t flinch away from my touch. I take the sheet from him and cover Henry’s body. “You don’t need to do anything. I’ll deal with this. I want you to go down to my room, lock the door, and wait for me.”
“What about the party?”
“It’s over. Bridget is seeing everyone out. It will just be her there now.”
He nods in confirmation, stepping around the body, giving it one last look.
This is not how I wanted the night to end. But I learned something about my muse tonight. He saw my true face and loved me anyway.
November
“He’s not like us, Hades,” Bridget murmurs, coming to stand beside me. I dip my brush in the blue paint and feather it over the surface of the canvas.
“In a way, we’re all connected. He didn’t tell anyone about Henry.” I sigh. It’s too soon to be thinking about this.
“Yet. What if you tire of him?”
Would I?
“You’ve never had hesitations about your muses before him.”
“He’s not like any of them. He’s special.”
“Do you love him?” she asks, pure wonder in her voice.
I’m drunk on him. Is that love? “No, I don’t think I can,” I conclude. This isn’t love, is it?
“Time’s nearly up, Hades. You need to make your choice.”
“I know.” I look up at the image of him created with intricate brush strokes.
Can I finish it?
Cleaning up, I go find the man in question. I lean on the doorframe to his bathroom, enjoying the view as he showers. His ass looks ripe enough to eat. He startles when he catches the shadow through the fog of steam misting the shower glass. Wiping a hand across the glass to clear it, he grins out at me. “You scared me.”
“You have nothing to fear from me, Muse.” Lies.
“Don’t just stand there. Come in.”
Stripping from my clothes, I join him.
December
Addicted, it’s the only word to explain what I feel for Lucien. He consumes my waking thoughts, the stroke of my brush, and blood to my cock. I’m hooked on his elixir, and I like the high.
Laying out the painting, I watch him closely for his reaction. It’s taken months to get every detail perfect. The angle and movement caught in a still image. Each brush mark, defining and creating the likeness on canvas.
His mouth opens, eyelashes fanning above his eyes as they widen. A smile so bright, so fucking perfect, spreads across his lips.
“Hades, it’s amazing—wait, that’s not a big enough word. Extraordinary.” Walking over to the raw canvas spread across the floor, he bends a knee before it in worship. “I’m breathless,” he whispers.
“It’s not complete,” I tell him, sorrow filling every part of me. He’s unlike all my other muses. There’s something so captivating about him that overwhelms me and calms the monsters inside me at the same time.
“What are you talking about? It’s perfect.” He grins, and there’s an ache in my chest. It’s a new sensation for me.
“Hades?” He feels it now, the change in energy. The shift in the atmosphere. His body almost collapses in on itself. His other leg drops to kneel completely now, brow marred with disbelief, grief. “I fucking love you. Don’t do whatever this is,” he begs.
Closing my eyes, I let my beast free from its cage, allowing the evil inside to bath me in its depravity. I slip the knife from my sleeve and grip the handle, allowing him to see the blade. This was inevitable; it’s how it always is.
“No, you love me, I know you do,” Lucien pleads. He shakes his head, but makes no effort to flee, to fight. Here we are in the center of my darkness, and he’s begging me not to be the monster he knows I am.
“You love me,” he repeats, raising his hands as I approach. “Say something goddammit,” he bellows. He wants something from me I don’t have. “You goddamn coward,” he cries as I grab a handful of his hair, turning him to face my masterpiece.
“If I could love anyone, Muse, it would be you,” I promise.
Epilogue
Happy New Year
Pacing the floor of the studio, I check my watch for the third time. I hate to be kept waiting. I have plans I need to get back to.
Finally, the door chimes, and in walks the lady who commissioned my New Year piece. I assume it’s her husband with her and greet them both with a handshake.
“I can’t tell you how hard it’s been waiting to see what you’ve made for us.” She glows, rubbing her hand up and down the arm of the man holding her other hand. Without further delay, I pull the sheet from the painting and take a step back. Their eyes widen, and little gasps wisp through their lips. Loosening his hold on her, he takes a couple steps toward the painting and reaches
out to touch the image. Crimson splatters blend effortlessly into the image, giving it life, soul. “It’s riveting,” he whispers, a tear sliding from his eye.
“You’re truly worth every penny,” the woman tells me, taking my hand and squeezing.
“I’ll have my people package it and deliver it to your chosen address,” I tell them with a jerk of my head.
“The dancer?” the man asks.
“Is the painting,” I state.
A soft sigh of pleasure leaves his lungs. “Thank you.” He nods, and I leave them to their moment as they embrace each other. I’m already late.
Going to my room, I change into my tux, grabbing the invitation from my dresser. The pole still placed in the center of the room gives me a pang of sorrow. My eyes move to the painting I had hung above my bed, my muse’s perfect body captured with his own imprint, his cum bleeding into the grain to keep forever. A soft knock pulls me from reminiscing. Bridget opens the door a second later in a stunning red dress, holding out a small package.
“What color did you get me?”
“Black, to match your soul.” She smirks.
Perfect.
Time to hunt for my next muse.
THE END
Acknowledgments
Bloggers, reviewers, PR team.
Thank you so much for all the work you put in. For the time and effort. I appreciate you so much and feel so grateful to have such a wonderful community to work in.
* * *
A huge thanks to, Ashleigh Giannoccaro for asking me to be apart of this awesome project.
To all involved in the project. It’s been an easy, breezy joy to work with you ladies.
K, love you girl, thanks for always being there for me. <3
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