by Jessie Cooke
He tried a few doors, but they were locked. Feeling the frustration, he finally hit pay dirt. Sliding into the abandoned office, the desk lamp the only light in the room, he whipped out a white handkerchief and immediately handed it over to his painted lady.
Bella let a tear drop, but she was already back in control of herself thanks to the chivalry of the masked man.
“Thank you for rescuing me,” she said. “I was afraid something like this would happen. That’s why I didn’t want to do this in the first place. I’m not cut out for this type of work.”
Reece took the handkerchief from her and began daubing beer from her cheek and her neck.
“You look like you were specifically cut out for this work,” he said, then he cleared his throat. “You were not the problem. That punk-ass frat boy has been the same for as long as I can remember, and when he’s drunk, he’s an even bigger punk.”
His voice was smooth and comforting to her, and his golden brown eyes consoled without his having to say a word. Her nipples hardened as his strong hands gently pressed onto her skin. There was something to be said for (A) being rescued by a handsome stranger, and (B) being cared for by said handsome stranger.
And he smelled amazing. His sandalwood scent was overcoming the beer, and Bella found herself hoping that he was leaving it all over her body with his handkerchief.
The cloth got to her breasts, and his hands hovered, unsure.
“I . . . .uh. . . should you?”
She took the cloth and soaked up what she could of the spill.
“Thank you,” she said as she concentrated on drying off what she could. She felt odd—she was sure he knew exactly how aroused she was. He could see it, for Pete’s sake, but he was being so kind and gentle; so chivalrous. She felt like she should be worried: here she was practically naked in a dark office in a strange building with a strange masked man. To top it all off, she could feel him watching her. One glance up and she confirmed it, only he wasn’t watching with creepy stalker eyes. The look on his face was one of admiration and surprise.
“It’s Latex; it won’t come off with just water . . . or beer for that matter,” Bella explained. She smiled sheepishly, and he returned an innocent smile.
“It most definitely is amazing,” Reece said vaguely. He cleared his throat. “So, um, how do you get it off, then?”
“It peels off,” she remarked.
“Oh,” he said, but in his voice there was a note of disappointment.
Bella’s eyebrows raised in question.
“I mean, that’s a shame,” Reece commented.
“What do you mean?”
“Pain. That’s a pain that, urm, you have to peel it off. Can’t just, you know, jump in the shower.” His golden eyes twinkled in the lamplight, and he knew that she knew what he had really meant.
“You have nice eyes,” Bella heard herself say.
“I’ve been thinking the same thing about you ever since you first looked at me tonight,” Reece returned. He moved closer, closing the gap between them. Bella watched as his eyes shifted from her eyes to her lips and then back to her eyes again. She’d read in books where the heroine’s eyes said “yes”, and she tried to make hers do that . . . whatever that meant.
It must have worked because the next thing she knew, the chivalrous masked man was kissing her, his lips tender but the force of his kiss hard. She kissed him back, a hungry need taking over. In her mind she could hear her mother’s voice scolding her, telling her to slow things down, but her body would not let her. It was obvious that she was on a mission; her nipples strained against the latex paint, and Bella had the fleeting wonder if her growing desire could crack the paint.
The masked man knelt before her, his head in the prime location, and she could feel herself swell between her legs.
Bella licked her lips which had suddenly gone dry. All the blood had rushed from her head to other regions of her body, and she allowed herself to lean more heavily against the desk. The masked man below her looked up, his eyes dancing in the dim desk light. She could see the teasing in his stare, yet he was obviously asking permission. She nodded just slightly and bit her bottom lip in anticipation.
Reece’s fingers were underneath the g-string within nanoseconds, and he slid off the one piece of clothing the beautifully camouflaged woman wore, revealing a perfect triangle of smooth skin, untainted by the artist’s brush.
“Beautiful!” Reece breathed.
Bella realized she had been holding her breath when she felt the warmth of his breath bounce off her upper thighs. She was frozen in excited anticipation, afraid that the slightest movement would break the spell that had been cast somehow in this moment. Then slowly the head of the masked man approached, and she felt his lips—as soft as butterfly wings—kiss the unpainted triangle of flesh.
The spell was broken as a jolt of electricity shot through Bella’s body, and she arched her back and spread her legs in invitation. That was all he needed. Her disguised protector allowed his tongue to caress her vagina, gently flicking his tongue back and forth, the exhilaration clear from the look of enjoyment on her Kabuki-clad face. Her eyes were closed, but he could imagine those green-blue orbs watching him, urging him on as he played.
“Up here,” she whispered, and she began to push herself up on the desk more as she pulled him towards her.
“As you wish,” he said with a smile, and quickly freed himself of his pants and underwear, his penis upright with the promise of pleasure.
In her head, Bella was battling. One part of her telling herself to stop; this was the stuff of heartbreak. The other voice was telling her to enjoy; after all, she would only live once, and it’s a masquerade: no one knows her, and there are no strings; no mess.
The sensation of his mouth on her nipples silenced both of the voices within her head, and Bella allowed herself to ride the waves of sensation that were rippling through her body. She knew she was ready; she could feel the dampness between her legs. It had been so long since she’d had proper sex that she knew she wouldn’t last very long . . . of course, her vibrator had been the spoiler of many an attempt of boyfriends in the past, but the way this man was going and the way that she was feeling, Bella had an idea that she wouldn’t be using the vibrator again for quite a while.
His kisses moved to her neck—one of her most erogenous regions. She knew—as had past lovers—that once she felt his lips on her neck, the tickle of his tongue, his hot breath, she’d be a goner sooner than later. The touch of his lips on her neck coupled with his easy stroking of her nipples was enough to bring her near orgasm alone.
“I’m not gonna last long,” she whispered.
“Me either,” he responded.
“Then don’t waste time waiting on me,” she replied.
And he didn’t. She felt him fill her completely, sliding into just the right spots as easily as a dream. His mouth hard on hers only heightened the intensity of all she felt, as she could fully experience his taste and breathe in more of his smell now.
They climaxed together, and Bella wondered if the masked man could see the stars and fireworks that surged through her body when she peaked. Her knees weakened, and she felt it would take her years to regain the strength she would need to walk . . . but who wanted to walk at this moment anyway?
They had rolled off the desk and onto the floor where they lay entangled, exchanging sweat, trying to calm their breathing together—a rhythm of afterglow. The two voices started back up in her head, only this time one sounded uncannily like . . .
“Christo!”
Bella shot up off the floor at the sound of her friend and, for this evening anyway, her boss calling her name down the hallway.
“Oh my god, I . . . uh . . . I’m so sorry,” she said frantically, looking around the room. “I . . . I have to go.”
Reece grabbed his jacket and handed it to her as she stood. “Just say you got cold,” he said, eyeing her still-erect nipples.
“Thanks . . . an
d, urm, thanks. Sorry,” she said quickly, then hurried out the door.
On the other side, Reece could make out the painted lady’s voice calling cheerily to Christo, explaining to him about the “drunk jerk who spilt his beer” and how embarrassed she’d been. As she prattled on, Reece cracked the door just a peek to notice Christo embracing the beauty in a protective hug, stroking her hair.
“Are you okay?” Christo asked in a concerned voice.
“Yeah, I just kinda lost it a bit. Needed to give myself a minute,” came her response.
“I’m sorry, babe,” Christo replied as he backed her away and looked into her eyes. “You sure you’re ok? He didn’t, like grope you or anything, right? Geez, if anyone mauled you, I’ll die. It’s all my fault. I knew you weren’t comfortable with this, but you did it for me.”
“I’m fine now. Can we just go home now?”
Christo pulled her close again, her head resting just underneath his chin. “Of course we can. Hey, where’d you get this jacket?”
Reece saw the girl look down as if she was just realizing she had on a random jacket. Thankfully, it fell well below the uncovered triangle in which he had just found such delight. He looked at the red g-string he held in his hand and wondered if she knew she had left it behind.
“Oh, just found it in one of the offices. I was freezing after that beer bath,” she lied. “I’ll get it cleaned and bring it back tomorrow.”
“Let’s go then,” Christo said, and he steered the mystery girl away from the door Reece hid behind.
Still peering at the g-string in his hand, Reece’s stomach dropped. Of all the girls for him to nail—she just had to be the artist’s girlfriend.
I just banged the talent’s girl . . . his live-in partner. Geez, I know how to pick ‘em, Reece chastised himself. He’d acquired that reputation in college, but it was one he’d worked to shake as an adult. He didn’t want to be known as a “home wrecker”. He was better than that now . . . or was he? He paused, wondering how he would feel if he found out Nicky had hot, incognito sex over the weekend, but he concluded that it wouldn’t bother him. Hell, it may even be a relief. He knew she was way more into him than he was her, but he still wanted to date her. Not because he enjoyed her company, but because he had high hopes of running into Bella Ryan, the friend Nicky had been sitting with at the bar that night. And though he’d just banged a beautiful woman whose complete identity remained a mystery, he had thought of Bella much of that time, imagining it was her underneath that paint, imagining those were her eyes watching his every move, pretending it was the night after he’d seen her at the bar.
He heaved a sigh and stuffed the red g-string into his pocket.
“Well, Cinderella left a glass slipper behind. Guess if I ever want to find this girl, I’ll have to hang on to this g-string,” he mumbled. “That or go to another one of Christo’s parties somehow.”
The thought of Christo made him stop.
Wait a minute, he thought. When Beau introduced us, I could have sworn he was eyeing me like I was a prize cattle and he was the rancher. Then Reece found himself shrugging it off. He’s an artist. He’s probably bisexual. There are many artists who live alternative lifestyles . . . maybe he’s one. But he definitely has something with My Painted Lady.
Reece took a second, straightened his clothing, and exited the room. The mystery girl’s g-string heated his leg through his pocket, and he couldn’t help but smile at the memory of his sexy painted lady.
4
“How about lunch, mister?”
Reece looked up from his desk and saw Nicky leaning in the doorway of his office. It was Monday afternoon, and he’d dodged two phone calls from Nicky since “the incident with the Painted Lady”. He just couldn’t get the images of her—not to mention her body and face in the throes of ecstasy— out of his head.
“I could do lunch,” Reece said, feeling a pinch guilty from his avoidance.
“Great. I’ll grab my purse. I’ve been dying for some sushi.”
Reece almost choked on the word. “How about something else?”
Nicky put on her pouty face, her lips full and turned out. “Come on. I’ve been craving it for days. They’ve got noodles too. You don’t want sushi? You can get Pad Thai.”
This was one of those times Reece was glad Nicky wasn’t a guy. The innuendos were definitely lost on her.
At lunch, Reece shoved his Pad Thai around on his plate.
“So, where were you all weekend? I called, like, three times or so.”
“Big party at the Trinity Building. Took me most of the weekend to recover,” he answered guiltily.
“And you didn’t take me?”
“It was a lot of shop talk,” he lied. “I figured you would have hated it. No one there you really knew; a lot of my golfing buddies and fraternity brothers. You know, a girlfriend’s worst nightmare.” He felt horrible for all that he was lying about. Nicky was a great gal, she just didn’t have . . . that certain something he wanted in a woman; that spark and dazzle he needed in a woman.
“What did you do?” he asked, shifting the conversation away from himself.
“Visited my folks on Sunday. My niece’s christening. The rest of the weekend was low-key. Small birthday party for a friend.”
“Bella?”
“Huh?”
“Was it your friend Bella, from the bar?”
Nicky shook her head. “No. Another one.”
“Oh. We should meet up with her sometime, and . . . what was the guy’s name?”
“Christo.”
A noodle went down Reece’s throat the wrong way, and he began choking at the response.
“Are you okay?”
He grabbed his water and nodded his head, trying to regain his composure amidst the coughing fit. Meanwhile, Nicky was scrolling through her phone to find a picture of the happy couple. She found one of them, at one of Christo’s shows, the two of them smiling widely into the camera with flushed faces.
“Here they are. That’s Christo.”
Sure enough; there they were. The artist/body painter from the party, and Reece was ninety-eight percent sure that the woman smiling at him from Nicky’s iPhone was His Painted Lady. A thought fluttered through his mind and arrested his heartbeat for three seconds: had she recognized him from the bar? Had that been part of what had transpired? Had she intentionally led him on, seduced him to the office?
Reece shook his head. There was no way. She just didn’t seem the type. And it wasn’t like she could have set up that scene with Coe.
“Hello?”
Nicky’s voice interrupted his small panic attack. Reece pulled himself back to the present and looked at her with a questioning blink.
“I was asking you if someone walked over your grave or something.” Nicky said.
“If what?”
Nicky shook her head. “Just an expression my mom says a lot. You look like you saw a ghost, though.”
“No. I just, um, think I’ve seen that guy Christo around. He looks so familiar. What does he do?”
“Artist,” Nicky said as she stuffed a spicy eel roll into her mouth via chopsticks. “Maybe you’ve been to one of his shows. You do some of the gallery crawls downtown, don’t you?”
Reece nodded absentmindedly. “So, he’s an artist, and Bella? What does she do?”
“She’s a graphic artist and part-time interior designer—well, at least she’s learning. Taking classes, interning, that sort of thing. Why do you ask?”
“Just curious,” Reece answered quickly. “You know, I hear about your friends all the time. Kinda feel like I know them, but not really. We should, I don’t know, get together or something with them. Double date or something.”
Nicky laughed lightly. “Good luck. Christo is always busy.”
“And Bella?”
“Well, Bella’s what her mama calls a ‘house cat’.”
“Meaning?”
“She’s kinda quiet. Not really one for the party sc
ene. Definitely wouldn’t want to be a third wheel on a date with you and me if Christo was too busy.”
“I’m surprised,” Reece came back.
“Really? Why?”
“Well, you know, the artist stereotype and all that. Crazy, alternative lifestyles, yada yada. Guess they get along really well, though, having all that art in common. All that passion.”
“Yeah. They get on well—like a house fire . . . unless there’s a money crisis, which you can imagine would happen in a household where starving artists live. Oh, he’s had some great shows in Dallas and other big cities. Sold some major pieces, but he’s not the best at managing his money, which is why he has to take side jobs just to pay the bills.”
“Side jobs?”
“Yeah. He’s a body painter. Does exclusive parties and stuff. Makes great money body painting models for fashion events, too.”
Reece pushed his Pad Thai away with his next thought. “Guess he and Bella have some crazy-good sex, body painting and everything.”
Nicky burst into hysterical laughter. A few people in the restaurant glanced her way as the laugh echoed off the stainless steel of the tables and bar. She covered her mouth with her linen napkin to try and muffle the sound, but she was having a hard time containing the giggles. Her eyes watered with the spill-over.
“No way,” Nicky finally said. “She’s a bit of a prude. There might be a snowball’s chance in hell that she’d let him paint her at home, but never for one of his events. No way, man. Nu-uh.” She decided not to address the sex comment. Whatever his interest in Bella, Nicky wanted him thinking she was off limits. She’d had her fair share of guys who only had eyes for her . . . until they met Bella or another one of her hot friends. She seriously felt like the ugly duckling of her crowd much of the time, and she couldn’t understand it. She was the outgoing one; she was the flirt; the one that most guys approached at the bar, but somehow, the mystique and quiet of Bella—or maybe it was the fact that she seemed so untouchable—had intrigued more than one guy, leading him to want Bella over Nicky.
