Boy Toy

by R. R. Banks

  Lucille

  I sat in the upstairs window of the house across the street from Snow’s, my anger tightening in my jaw until it hurt. I had been watching Snow’s house for the three weeks since I discovered that it was for rent and in that time, I had watched her come and go in that limo twice. Not knowing where she was going or what she was doing made me angrier with each passing day. The time away from the company was supposed to be giving me the opportunity to figure out a way to get rid of her. Instead, it seemed to be giving her even more of the adoring worship that she constantly received. It was sickening and more than ever I wanted to destroy her. The end of her leave was coming up quickly. I was running out of time before I was going to be forced to let her back to work and have to deal with her every day. Something had to be done.

  I watched as the firefighters took a final sweep of the perimeter of her house and started packing up their truck. All of the fuss surrounding the tiny fire seemed ridiculous, just more of the pomp and circumstance that seemed to define Snow’s life. More people falling all over themselves to ensure that her life was nothing but rainbows and butterflies. It’s not as though I had meant for the fire to get out of control. I didn’t want to kill her. Ruin her day, yes. Piss her off, sure. Scare her and hope that it would make her want to cut her losses, go somewhere else, and start again where she could ruin someone else’s life, absolutely. It was a controlled burn, just like the shift in temperature in her water. Harmless.

  My phone rang and I glanced down at it, rolling my eyes before answering it.

  “Hi, Honey,” I said, trying to inject as much pleasantness in my voice as I possibly could.

  “I just got a call from the fire department. They responded to a fire at Snow’s house. Do you know what’s going on? Is she OK?”

  You have got to be fucking kidding me.

  He sounded nothing short of frantic and it took everything in me not to throw my phone across the room.

  “What do you want, Walter?” I snapped.

  “I’m worried about Snow. You said that she’s on vacation.”

  “Yes, she’s on vacation. She has been for weeks.”

  “But there was a fire at her house.”

  “And I’m sure that the fire department handled it. They are the professionals. Speaking of which, do you want to explain to me why they would be calling you to tell you about a fire?”

  I was hoping to deflect the situation, make him feel guilty so that he would leave me alone.

  “Any time that there is an emergency at the home of one of my employees, I’m notified,” he said. “It’s part of our insurance policy. They all agreed to my notification when they started working for me.”

  “Well, I don’t like it,” I said, giving a sniff for extra emphasis. “You shouldn’t be thinking about her when you are away. You should be thinking about your wife.”

  “I am, Darling. I’m always thinking of you. I miss you so much. In fact, I’m thinking about cutting my trip short and coming home to you.”

  “No,” I snapped, a bit too quickly. “I mean, no, don’t do that,” I said more softly, trying to recover. “You’ve been so looking forward to this trip. Don’t give it up. We’ll have plenty of time when you get home.”

  “Our whole lives,” he said.

  I felt my stomach turn but I forced myself to make an affirming sound. I ended the call and tucked my phone into my pocket. Across the street a white van had pulled up in front of Snow’s house. A team of men in white jumpsuits climbed out and started carrying equipment into the house. More heroes already swooping in to rescue her.

  This had to end. I couldn’t stand the thought of her coming back to work and having to look at her every day. I already heard her name enough just with people missing her and clients asking when she would be back. I couldn’t tolerate having to hear even more about her. Grabbing my keys, I left the house through the garage door and drove out of the neighborhood, heading for the Royal and Company offices. I wanted to do some more digging into Snow’s files. There had to be something there, something that I could use.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Snow

  I was still unnerved by the fire at my house the next day when I arrived for my date. I was trying to get it out of my mind so I could concentrate on the experience that was waiting for me, but it was still frightening. When the limo stopped, I looked out and saw that we were in front of a converted industrial building. Intrigued, I let Philip help me out of the backseat and started for the door. I stepped through it into a large open space that I could only assume used to be a factory floor. Any manufacturing equipment that used to be there was gone now, replaced by paint-splattered tables, drop cloths, and stacks of crates filled with art supplies.

  A man sat astride a stool in the center of the room, slashing at a canvas with a narrow paintbrush. He seemed unaware that I was in the room with him and I didn’t know if I should approach him. I took a cautious step in his direction, watching as he continued to create seemingly abstract lines across the white surface with black paint. It was the type of art that I could never decide if I liked it or not. On one hand it was fascinating, the often contrasting colors and harsh shapes juxtaposed with soft curves seeming to embody something that only the person who created it could understand. On the other hand, this caused the pieces to be confusing, sometimes unnerving, making me feel like I was somehow out of the loop and missing out on something that others could see.

  I was nearly to his side when the man looked back and noticed me.

  “Hi,” he said. “I’m sorry, I should have met you outside.”

  “That’s alright,” I said. “I’m Snow.”

  “Michael,” he said, coming toward me and embracing me.

  I returned the hug, immediately feeling at ease with him.

  “This place is amazing,” I said when we stepped out of the hug.

  “Thank you,” Michael answered, looking around. “It’s my own little world.”

  “What are you painting?” I asked.

  He looked at the canvas and laughed.

  “Nothing,” he said. “I’m just got new brushes and I’m trying to get used to them.”

  “Oh,” I said, feeling embarrassed.

  I looked away so that he wouldn’t see the redness that came to my cheeks, but he cupped his hand under my chin to turn my face back to him.

  “Don’t,” he said. “You should never feel that way about your thoughts. Art is different for everyone. I was trying out my brushes, but this might be art to someone else. It might be to you.”

  “How could it be art if you didn’t make it to be art?”

  “That’s a common misconception about art. Art does not exist because it’s created, art exists because it’s perceived. I can make something that I think is the most beautiful and meaningful piece that I have ever created, but if you look at it and see nothing but colors on a piece of paper, it’s not art to you. Likewise, I might not think that this canvas is art, but if it speaks to you when you look at it, then it is.”

  His words struck me and I felt the worry and discomfort disappear from my mind. Michael started guiding me around the studio, giving me a tour of the pieces that he had been working on. I was fascinated by the pile of discarded partial sculptures that occupied one corner and several torn canvases that lay nearby.

  “What’s that?” I asked.

  “Graveyard,” he said with a hint of a laugh. “The corpses of pieces that will never be.”

  “Maybe you can resurrect them some day,” I suggested.

  “Ooo, zombie art,” he said. “I like it. A new genre.”

  I laughed and continued on toward a row of easels that were facing the opposite direction. I walked around them and was confronted with a row of nude sketches. The extremely detailed pictures featured both men and women in various positions, most alone but some together, their bodies meshed in different ways. I gasped slightly, more startled than embarrassed.

  “Do they make you un
comfortable?” Michael asked.

  “No,” I said, shaking my head. “It’s just….” I looked back at the sketches and then at him, “do you use live models?”

  “Of course, I do. There’s no better way to learn the human form than to recreate it. It’s the most spectacular of all subjects. No artist can ever create anything as beautiful and meaningful as a human being. Each one is different, completely unique in its details, and yet so similar. It’s like my paintings. At their core, they are all just canvases. All the same. It’s what I do with them, the ways that I enhance and differentiate them, that make them what they are.” He reached forward and took my hands in his. “Come here. Let me show you.”

  He guided me to the other side of the room where a section of the floor was covered with a rug and held a wooden chair, an old side table, and several empty crates that created a makeshift sitting area. Michael started to undress me, stopping when I wore only my bra and panties. He stepped back and looked at me, his eyes traveling along my body appreciatively. Taking my hips in his hands, he took me with him as he walked back a few steps to sit in the chair. He touched a kiss to my stomach and then reached behind me to unhook my bra.

  The lace fell away and I felt the air against my bare breasts. Michael opened his mouth and covered one of my breasts. His tongue encircled the taut pink nipple and drew it into his mouth so he could suckle me, bringing his hands to my waist to hold me still. My breath caught in my throat and I let my head fall back as I closed my eyes to enjoy more of the sensation. Michael mirrored his attention on that nipple on my other breast, and then let his mouth wander further until it touched the front of my panties. I could feel the warmth of his breath through the lace and a strangled gasp built up in my throat. His teeth grasped the elastic of the waistband. I parted my thighs to allow him to remove the scrap of damp lace and drop it to the floor. Suddenly I was completely naked in front of him and he hadn't even taken off his shoes.

  I started to protest, but Michael lifted his eyes to me and shook his head as if he knew exactly what I was thinking.

  “This isn’t about me,” he said. “You should appreciate yourself. Every part of you.”

  Tightening his grip on my waist, he dipped his head forward to slip his tongue between my thighs. I cried out and grabbed at his shoulders as the tip of his tongue flicked the tip across my swollen, sensitive pearl of flesh.

  “You are like a piece of my art. Beautiful. Completely unique. So many details to discover if you simply take the time to find them.”

  He drew his tongue along me a few more times in long, tantalizing licks, and then I felt him turn me. He lowered me down to sit on his lap as he eased back to sit on his heels. The denim of his jeans felt soft and worn against my exposed flesh and I wiggled against the ever-hardening swell beneath me.

  Michael lifted my arms so that he could drape them back around his neck. For a few seconds, he explored the underside of my arms and the ridges of my ribs with his fingertips. It reminded me of the first night that I was at the retreat and I stood in the cottage, touching my body in much the same way.

  “Each of the curves and dips of your body was created for a specific purpose,” he whispered. “There is nothing about you that is accidental. Each hair, each vein is like a brush stroke.”

  He slid his hands down my body and onto my legs so that he could gently part my thighs. I allowed him to position my legs so that I straddled him backwards, my legs tucked tightly on either side of him. His mouth came to the curve between my neck and shoulder and he tasted my skin. I felt a shiver ripple across my skin as he brought his hand down the front of my body to my hot core. I moaned at the first intimate touch and lifted my hips to intensify the sensation he was creating.

  He slid his other hand up my arms to behind his head so that he gripped my wrists, pinning them together so I was completely at his mercy. He continued to explore my body, letting his fingers follow the dips and curves of my slick folds, showing incredible appreciation for every bit that he discovered. I moaned and rocked against his hand, dropping my head back against his shoulder. Michael turned his head to catch my mouth in a deep kiss, meeting each of my high, nearly frantic sounds with his tongue. He plunged his fingers into me and began to massage deeply.

  "Are you ready to explore with me?" he whispered into my ear.

  His teeth nipped at my earlobe and I nodded breathlessly. Michael released my wrists and eased me off of my lap. I lowered myself to recline on the floor and watched as he stood, starting to undress. Finally, the last piece of his clothing fell to the ground and I spent a few indulgent moments drinking in every inch of his beautiful, sun-kissed skin. Vibrant tattoos covered nearly his entire back and over both shoulders, spreading down his arms and over his chest. Almost unconsciously, my hand drifted down my stomach toward the wet heat he had created between my thighs.

  “Do you like them?” he asked.

  I nodded.

  “They are one of the ways that I express myself. I’m going to teach you to express yourself.”

  I was expecting him to come down onto the floor with me, but instead, he reached his hand down toward me. I put my hand in his and allowed him to pull me up off of the floor. We walked across the open space and around a partially completed mural into the smaller section of the room that it had created with its presence. What looked like a tremendous piece of canvas was spread across the floor and I noticed small pots of paint positioned around the edge, brushes resting across the open mouths of each.

  “What’s this?” I asked.

  Michael guided me into the middle of the canvas on the floor. He gestured at the paint.

  “I told you that your body is like a piece of art. I’m going to prove that to you.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “When I create art, I put myself into it. I’m expressing everything that I’m feeling and thinking. You’re going to do the same thing. We are going to create a piece of art together as an expression of what we’re going to experience.”

  He walked over to one of the pots of paint and picked up the brush, dipping it into a bright shade of blue. Stepping back up to me, he ran the brush from my shoulder along my arm. The paint was cold and slick, the contrast in temperature creating a shiver through me. When he was finished, he offered the brush to me. I took it and created a blue streak along the center of Michael’s chest. He nodded and picked up another brush, gathering deep purple paint and using it to coat my breasts. Each color that he added to my body broke through the veil of inhibitions that I realized were still in place and made me more and more aware of how my arousal truly existed throughout my entire body.

  I picked up a brush and dipped it into red paint. I walked around Michael and used the brush to create swirls over his ass that I mirrored with green paint and then with yellow. He reciprocated with swathes of other shades until my entire body from my neck down was coated with a rainbow of colors. The final bit complete, Michael stepped up to me.

  “Lay down and let’s play.”

  I let out a whimper as I eased myself down onto the canvas and laid down. Michael had walked over to a small table to the side of the canvas and picked up a condom. He tore the package open with his mouth and gestured with one finger for me to come closer as he stepped back onto the canvas. I rose up onto my knees and crawled toward him. He offered me the package and I took it with my paint-coated fingertips. For a moment, I wasn’t sure what I was supposed to do. I didn’t want to get paint on the condom by touching it with my hand. I thought of how Michael had opened the package and dipped my mouth to the open corner. Grasping the condom in between my lips I eased it out and brought it onto my tongue. I was rewarded for my creativity with a wash of bright, sweet fruit flavor. I hadn’t even realized that flavored condoms existed, and was enthralled by the novelty of it.

  I brought my mouth toward Michael’s cock and positioned it so that I could settle the condom onto the tip. He grasped his erection at the base to hold it still as I used my mo
uth to unroll the sweetened condom into place. I played as I did it, sucking along his length as I pushed the edge down with my lips, taking my time until it was secured against his hand and I held his erection fully in my mouth. I spent a few minutes sucking his cock, reaching up to cup his balls and leave my fingertips along them in several hues.

  When I withdrew his erection and lay back, Michael immediately came down over me. He settled his mouth over mine again, kissing me languidly as he brought his hips forward to nestle the tip of his cock against my opening. Michael paused where he was and opened his intoxicating eyes to gaze at me. This was a moment that had been building over the entire time that we had been painting each other and I was more than ready for him. I ran my hands back through his hair and settled them on his back. Michael let out a breath and sank into me, drawing a gasp from my throat.

  Michael groaned in pleasure, his eyes drifting closed as he seemed to give himself over completely to the sensation of my body enveloping him. I felt a smile come to my lips at that sound, and I drew my legs up to encourage him to settle deeper inside me. Michael opened his eyes and returned my smile as he started moving his hips, pushing deeper inside me with long, intense strokes. He dropped his mouth to kiss me again, tangling our tongues as he rolled over to position me on top for a few moments. We moved in a steady, continuous pattern, rolling and changing positions every few moments as we savored the luscious feeling of his length massaging my walls.

  We had been moving over the surface of the canvas for several minutes when suddenly he thrust into me harder and faster, bringing me out of my peaceful state and eliciting a sharp cry with each intense stroke. He flipped onto his back again, bringing me up so that I knelt over him. I rolled my hips, riding him as hard as I could. Beads of sweat formed on his forehead and dampened the edges of his hair, making him look wild and even sexier. The colors of paint that I had spread across his body had blended and swirled as he fucked me, creating new shades and streaking across his face like war paint. I gripped the strands at the nape of his neck and leaned forward to grab his bottom lip between my teeth. Michael growled and slammed me down onto his cock a few more intense times before I felt him shudder as his body tightened and a roar poured from his throat. I could feel his hot streams pouring into me as he throbbed and pulsed. He reached up and pressed the pad of his thumb to my clit, swirling it relentlessly into me until I screamed out in pleasure and grasped at his chest in response to the powerful orgasm that hit me.