He raised my arms up and slid his hands down them in a hot Dirty Dancing move. Mesmerized by how his muscles flexed when he moved, I watched his biceps bunch under his shirt. Then he rested his hand just under my shirt at the small of my back. His warmth pulsed through me along with the music.
Chills raced up and down where he touched my arms. It was always like that with Dillon. The heat and the chill. The warmth followed with the shivering.
It was scandalous, naughty and I absolutely loved every second of it.
The song ended and a slower song followed. It was the same voice singing but this time it was a ballad. I started to pull away, thinking that signaled the end of our dancing, but Dillon pulled me close. This time the slow dancing was even more different than at the charity dinner. This time there was no space between us. Dillon pressed his pelvis to mine and wrapped both arms around me, resting his head on my shoulder.
His body heat enveloped me and it was like a hug that went on for the length of a song. It was soft and intimate and I didn’t want the song to end.
“What do you listen to when you paint?” he asked into my hair.
“Nothing.” I practically snorted at the absurd question, but didn’t because my body was too languid from his touch. “I need absolute silence. I even wear earplugs to keep from having distractions.”
“Try painting to music sometime,” he said. “You might surprise yourself.”
Chapter Eleven
After Dillon left, I logged onto my computer and downloaded the band’s album we had danced to. Frederic Chopin would have rolled over in his grave at some of the lyrics, but I got a kick out of them. The music was such a far cry from what I’d been listening to that it felt like I had discovered a whole new world.
Not only did I buy My Darkest Days, I also downloaded all of the other recommended albums in the genre. Cavo, Hinder, Rev Theory… Once I started sampling more bands, I kept clicking to download them and I couldn’t stop.
Later as I scrolled through my new music collection, I thought about what Dillon had said about painting to music.
I was eager to try it. Up until then, painting had been a controlled act. Everything had to be precise and calculated. Prim and proper. Frigid. It hadn’t always been like that for me though. Just in the last six years.
Dillon’s taste in music was sure to mix things up a little. And I knew that was exactly what I needed to do in my life.
I put on my headphones and turned up the volume until I flinched. It made me uncomfortable at first, but I pressed on. I turned it up until I couldn’t hear myself think. Couldn’t hear the ugly words and the abhorrent laughing. Until I could feel the bass pounding in my chest, the guitars screaming through my veins.
I closed my eyes and soon my knees started bending and my hips swayed. After pushing away thoughts about how silly I must look, it was easier to just do what came natural. And I danced. I danced like there was a demon inside of me, struggling to push free. I danced like I could do anything, be anybody. I danced like I was the last person on earth and there was no one to look at me and criticize. No one to judge. No one to laugh.
When I was breathless and thoroughly exhausted, I pulled out my paints, prepared a new canvas and started to work. I let my hands mix the colors they wanted to and left my brain out of it. I squirted colors on my pallet. Bright, vivid, beautiful colors that jumped off the canvas as soon as I brushed them there. Colors that had a commanding voice of their own and didn’t need symbolism or metaphors to make them interesting.
I used an opulent turquoise for the sky, set off by brilliant white puffy clouds. There was sunshine, lots of it, in a bright icterine yellow shooting blinding rays down to the warm earth. The earth was covered with lush Shamrock green foliage and dotted with tiny flowers all colors of the rainbow.
I became so engrossed by the plethora of colors, the veritable party on my easel, that I barely even noticed the music anymore. The sounds didn’t frighten me anymore or make me cringe, but guided my hands across the canvas.
I painted like I had danced. Wild, bold and audacious. Without giving a hot damn about what anyone thought about it.
After I gave my brush a final wiggle and painted the last stroke, I stood back and looked, truly looked, at what I had created.
I was mesmerized by what I saw.
It was glorious.
It had been a long time since I’d worked with such bold colors, the image staring back at me made me blink hard. After so many years of being unhappy with my work, it was incredible to look at it and feel like my heart would burst with pride.
I had painted two people, a man and a woman, frolicking in a springtime meadow. They were dancing, colors bursting out of them like laughter. Violet colored pansies and golden poppies lay crushed under their prancing feet. Glowing sunshine kissed their happy faces.
But it was their smiles that first caught my eye. The man grinned lovingly at the woman. And the woman, whose face was turned up to the warm sun, was laughing.
I turned down the music and collapsed onto my bed. I had run a marathon and I had a personal masterpiece to show for it. All thanks to Dillon.
Chapter Twelve
The next morning, I called down to Frank to instruct him to send Dillon up when he arrived. Then I propped open the door so Dillon could let himself in.
Since I had some time to kill before our “appointment”, I took out my sketchpad and turned to a fresh page. I had an idea for a painting for my father. Weeks ago, he had commissioned me to paint something for his new office, but I’d been putting it off for lack of inspiration. Now, with my newfound discovery and appreciation of color, I knew just what I was going to paint for him.
I envisioned Pebble Beach, my father’s favorite golf course. He had played hundreds of courses all around the world, but he said there were none more beautiful. I had never been there myself, but I pulled the image from photos he’d shown me and slideshows I’d seen on the internet.
I would paint the seventh hole with its stunning view of the Pacific Ocean. The sky would be a swirl of cerise and salmon as the sun chased the horizon at sunset. For the lush, manicured grass of the green, I chose a Kelly green and a deeper hunter green for the rough. The tan sand of the bunker would contrast nicely against the green grass.
Shrubs, the color of burnt orange, dotted the edges of the orangey, ochre rocks of the rugged coastline. Below the granite rock outcroppings, the dark blue ocean rolled in as white mist from crashing waves sprayed into the air.
I put my earbuds in my ears and set my iPod to shuffle all of my new music. A half dozen songs later, it played an up-tempo song that sounded like something a stripper would dance to. I set aside my pad and began moving to the music.
Although it was certainly more fun and more stimulating to have a partner, I found I didn’t need Dillon in order to dance. I danced by myself and let my body move on its own to the music. Sure, it felt amazing having his hands roam over me while we moved together, but this was fun too. In a liberating sort of way.
I caught my reflection in the living room windows and I didn’t look half-bad shimmying to the beat. My face wasn’t crystal clear in the glass and I could have been virtually any woman, anywhere, dancing by herself.
I closed my eyes, ran my hands up and down my body and gyrated my hips. Sticking my ass out and thrusting my breasts forward, my fingers skimmed over my curves.
I was out of breath and nearly on the verge of breaking a sweat. My heart was pounding and my blood pumping gloriously through my body. I touched the hem of my shirt and started to slide my hand underneath. Slowly, I turned around and when I opened my eyes, my heart stopped and my jaw dropped to the floor.
Dillon was propped in the doorway, his shoulder leaning against the doorframe, his legs casually crossed at the ankle. He shot me a smile that I could feel the warmth of from across the room, but all my body did was shiver with icy cold fear.
I yanked the earbuds out and screamed. “Dillon!”
<
br /> “You’re glowing,” he said, his voice thick. His tone was laced with something I didn’t recognize. Something I wasn’t ready for.
I put a hand to my cheek to find it hot. “What the…? How long…?”
He uncrossed his arms and motioned for me to continue. “Don’t stop. Dance for me, Livi.”
For a split second, I imagined myself in an alternate universe doing just that. Dancing for Dillon Milano. I could see myself swiveling my hips, bending down to touch my ankles, trailing my fingers up my shins, thighs, hips and up to cup my breasts. I imagined running my fingers through my hair, scooping it up and letting it fall back down around my face.
I imagined stripping off my clothes, piece by piece, and tossing my bra where it would land ironically on a lampshade in the corner. My panties would be next, carelessly flung onto a nearby chair.
But that wasn’t something I could do in this time continuum. This lifetime. This body.
No.
It was a trap.
Dillon was tricking me into humiliating myself in front of him. So he could laugh at me.
All I heard was the laughing.
I should’ve been locked up somewhere years ago. The world had no place in it for someone like me. Someone so bruised and fragile and…broken. Yes, I was broken with no hope of fixing myself.
No matter how much colorful paint I slathered over the surface, camouflaging myself, I was still broken and mangled inside.
My pulse sped up and I clamped my hands over my ears to stop the nauseating sound of laughter. My knees buckled and I collapsed in a pathetic heap on the floor.
Dillon rushed over, scooped me up and carried me into the bedroom where he gently sat me down on the bed. He left, which was just as well, but then he came back a second later with a glass of water from the kitchen.
I gulped the water down and as soon as I caught my breath, I apologized.
He brought me in for a hug and I sighed at the feel of his big warm arms around me. “Are you all right?” he asked softly.
“Yes. I am now.”
I’m sorry I’m a coward, I wanted to say. That bastard Derrick had turned me into an agoraphobic, panicky, coward.
Dillon hadn’t been trying to humiliate me. He was just being a guy. I knew that now. I had seen my reflection in the window. I had seen how my body looked writhing to the music.
I sat up straight and smoothed my hair back. “I’m sorry,” I said again.
He tucked a strand of hair behind my ear and let his finger linger on my earlobe. “You’re very sexy.”
I shook my head. “Why are you so nice to me, Dillon? Are you nice because I’m paying you to be?” There it was. The question I’d been asking myself since he’d first walked through my door. I bit down on my lip, silently cursing myself for sounding like a bitch.
Dillon made a wounded sound and heaved in a deep breath. “I wouldn’t say something I don’t mean, Livi. I just wouldn’t say anything at all.”
“Promise?” I said softly and squeezed his hand.
“Promise. You have an incredible body. There’s no reason you should be ashamed of it. There really isn’t.”
“Don’t be so sure. You haven’t even seen it naked yet.” Did I just say naked? Yet?
“Okay then.” His voice rose at the challenge. “Let’s see it.”
I blushed and ignored his dare. “Were you always so confident with your body?”
He shook his head with mock disgust. “You think you’re going to get out of it by changing the subject?”
“Just answer the question.”
“What was it again? I was distracted by the thought of your naked body.”
I attempted to elbow him, but he dodged out of the way. “I asked you if you’ve always been this cocky.”
Dillon’s lips curved into a smirk. “If you keep saying words like naked and cocky we’re never going to get anywhere.”
I blushed and swung at him, but he intercepted the blow by flattening me on the bed and holding my arms down so I was helpless under his weight. I didn’t move. I didn’t struggle or attempt to free myself. I just lay there under Dillon’s warmth and stared into his eyes. His body was hard where mine was soft. I should have danced for him. It was too late now, so I smiled as his chest rose and fell against me.
He smiled back and released me by rolling to his side. “I’ve always been pretty much secure in my body.” He leaned back on his elbow and played with my hair. “Guys are different like that. I was kind of small when I was a kid, though, and my older brother picked on me a lot. Then I started following him to the gym and bulked up a little. That helped me in the self-esteem department. What’s your reason, Livi?”
I wanted to tell Dillon everything. I wanted him to hold me like this while I told him about the hurtful words and the laughing. I wanted to tell him about Derrick.
But I couldn’t.
I had to hold it all inside for just a little longer.
I leaned up beside him and propped myself up on an elbow. “I…I’m just not comfortable.” It was a weak answer and it wasn’t nearly all of the truth, but Dillon didn’t push. I knew he wouldn’t because he never did.
“It amazes me that a woman could be so ashamed of such a beautiful body.” He took my hand and slid his thumb over my knuckles. “Your hands are small and pretty.” He ran his warm fingers down my arm and over my elbow. “Your arms are nice.” Bending down, he kissed my wrist, his tongue cruising over the veins there. “Your neck…” With the back of his hand, he caressed my neck and I thought I’d faint. “Your neck is graceful and would make a vampire cum in his pants.”
I made a strangled sound as my body tightened above and below the waist.
“Your breasts,” he reached to cup them, but I playfully slapped his hand away. “Are just the right size. Not too big, not too small.”
I could feel my face flushing ten shades of red as Dillon continued in that throaty, sexy voice.
“Your stomach is nice and flat.”
“I wish!”
He ignored me and continued. “And your thighs…Mmmm,” he murmured with a lick of his lips. “Any man would give his right arm to bury his head between them for an hour or so.”
“Dillon!” I gasped. I couldn’t believe he was saying these things to me. I had no idea this was what he thought about when he looked at me.
“Every inch of your legs is beautiful. I get hard every time I think about them wrapped around my waist. And your toes, well I don’t have a foot fetish or anything, but--”
“Okay, okay. That’s enough.” I pulled him up from inspecting my pinkie toe.
His smoldering gaze met my astonished one.
“Satisfied?” he asked.
“Yes. You proved your point. Loud and clear.”
We lay there for a while in each other’s arms and I listened to his heartbeat through his shirt. I matched my breathing to his, slow and calm.
“Dillon?”
“Hmm?”
“Did you always picture yourself being an escort?” I had never asked him about his line of work before, but now there was so much more I wanted to know about him. So much I needed to know.
“No, not at first.” He was quiet for a minute. “I grew up in New York. After high school, I struggled and I even stripped for a while to make ends meet. My buddy Mike, who’s now my roommate, called and bragged about how much money he was making in Vegas so I decided to fly out and see for myself. I’ve been here ever since.”
“You were a stripper?” I tried to picture my sweet, polite Dillon bending down so hysterical women could shove dollar bills into his G-string. I shivered at the image.
He shrugged. “I did a few bachelorette parties. Nothing too crazy.”
“Why do you think women hire you?” I knew hardly any of them hired him for the reasons I did.
“Oh, for all kinds of different reasons. Some want sex with no strings attached. Some just want a massage because they crave human touch. Some want intimac
y without the involvement of a relationship. Some are married and want what their husbands can’t or won’t give them. Some women want to be in charge. They want that power of being in control without being judged.”
I knew the feeling. I didn’t necessarily want the power, but I could completely relate to the not wanting to be judged part.
“Do you ever get any couples?” I asked.
“Sure, I’ve had a few. Some guys like seeing another man with their wife or girlfriend and some women like to be with another man while their man watches.” Dillon shrugged again. “I don’t really see the appeal in that, but hey, whatever gets you off.”
Huh. He sounded so nonchalant about it. Then again, it was his job, so what did I expect?
“Have you…have you ever been with another man?” I didn’t know where all these questions were coming from, but they kept spewing out of my mouth before I could stop them.
“No. That’s definitely not my thing. I have been in a threesome, though. My roommate--”
“Mike?” I asked to show I’d been paying attention.
“Yeah.” Dillon flashed me a smile. “Mike had this client who wanted to be with two guys and I ended up doing it. I agreed as long as we kept our junk from touching.”
I stifled a snicker and he stroked my hair. “Wasn’t it still weird?”
“Not really. It wasn’t about us, it was about making her happy.”
“Would you do it again?”
“I would if you wanted one.”
I jerked my head up. “A threesome?!”
“Yeah.”
“Ha! I don’t even know what to do with you most of the time.” I covered my face with my hand. “Oh, wait that didn’t come out right.”
He pulled my hand away from my face and kissed my palm. “I know what you meant, Livi. So, you mean to tell me you’ve never fantasized about having two men ravish you at the same time?”
I thought about it for a minute.
Ha! My fantasy was to be able to leave the hotel without feeling nauseous. My fantasy was to step outside my room without the whole world laughing at me. My fantasy was to actually work up the nerve to kiss Dillon.
Submersed Page 8
