Carnal: Pierced and Inked

by Simone Sowood

  The gallery is in an old-fashioned street-front store. There’s no parking lot, and all the street parking is taken. Fuck. It closes in five minutes and I’ve gotta hurry.

  A car is leaving a couple hundred yards away. I push my foot on the gas to claim it before anyone else can steal it on me. Not even bothering to straighten it out, I climb out and hurry down the sidewalk, and instantly something catches my eye.

  Skye? Fuck me. I blink to make sure I’m not seeing things. Sure enough, my beautiful Skye is walking down the sidewalk, straight toward me. She’s wearing a cute little sundress that wakes up my dick. I thought she’d looked hot in the tight skirt and T-shirt at the restaurant but this is a whole new level.

  “Skye, fancy seeing you here.”

  She snaps out of her trance and her eyes widen when she looks at me.

  “Oh my God! Hi, how are you? What are you doing here?”

  She is in danger of rambling, so I cut her off. “Just picking something up. What are you doing here?”

  “I just got the most exciting news, and I was celebrating. You’ll never guess what happened!”

  I wait for her to carry on before realizing she wants me to say something. Do I tell her I have a pretty good idea what it is?”

  “What happened?” I ask, not wanting to spoil her moment.

  “Some rich lady came in and bought all my paintings at the gallery! She specifically asked for me! My name is getting out!” Tears of excitement prick the corners of her eyes. Her face is beaming with happiness. All because of me.

  “That’s wonderful. You’re so talented, it’s no surprise.”

  In her excitement, she flings her arms around me. With no need for further encouragement, I hold her tight. She’s practically bouncing on her toes.

  She looks up at me and says, “Thank God for rich people, huh?”

  “What do you mean?” I ask, laughing with her.

  “Who else would have the money to buy so many of my paintings? They probably didn’t even notice the anti-poverty messages in them.” Of course, her youthful ideas. Still, considering her artist profile, maybe I shouldn’t let her know about my wealth just yet.

  “It’s a good thing I’ve run into you. I went back to the restaurant and missed you when I found out you were fired.”

  “I was fired?” She says, her voice rising at the end of her sentence.

  “That’s what your idiot manager told me. I feel responsible, given what happened in the restaurant last time.”

  “You mean that kiss?” Having her in my arms and hearing her say that word gives me an instant hard-on. Not wanting to freak her out, I move my hips away from her.

  “Yes, I mean that kiss.” I brush my lips against her forehead and continue, “Are you going to give me your number this time? I wouldn’t mind taking you out for a burger, to celebrate.”

  She laughs and says, “I’d love to. Do I get to know your name first?”

  I kiss her cheek, put my lips to her ear and say, “I kind of liked it when you called me sir.”

  “Oh did you now, sir?” The sound sends a shudder to my core.

  “That’s exactly it.”

  “Sir, do I get to know your real name now?”

  “Only if you promise to call me sir once in a while.”

  She looks at me, biting her bottom lip in mock deliberation. “Deal.”

  “It’s Lawson.”

  “Lawson, huh? I like the sound of that.”

  “Great, I’m glad my name meets with your approval.”

  Skye breaks down into a fit of laughter, she’s certainly high on the news of selling her paintings. I swear being held in my arms is the only thing stopping her from crumpling to the ground.

  “Okay, Lawson, when do I get my burger?”

  I open my mouth to say now. To say that I’d take her back to my house for a full celebration. But I stop. For the first time in my life, I’m worried she’ll reject me. No woman has ever rejected me before. But knowing her crazy anti-rich schtick, there’s a possibility she’ll reject me when she finds out about my money.

  I have to make sure I’ve won her over before she learns the truth.

  “How about Friday?”

  “Sounds perfect, it’s a date.”

  Skye stretches up on her toes and pecks my lips. It’s all the encouragement I need. I squeeze her tight and plant my mouth on hers. She responds with vigor and I make no effort to keep my raging hard dick a secret from her. I want her to know what she does to me.

  The feel of her in my arms, the taste of her in my mouth, is almost too much. I want to throw her in my car and take her home and play with her for the rest of the week.

  “Skye, are you coming?” a woman shouts.

  “I’ve got to go. That’s Ava, my ride,” Skye says.

  Reluctantly, I release her. Not wanting her to see my expensive car, I walk in the opposite direction until she’s gone.

  Rich Bastard

  (Skye)

  “Who was that?” Ava asks as soon as I’m in her car.

  “Someone I met at the restaurant.”

  “Have you been seeing him long?” Ava’s making me feel like I’ve been transported back to my parents’ house during high school. Or at least how I imaging my parents would’ve been, had I dated.

  “We’re going on our first date on Friday,” I say, shifting in my seat.

  “Oh, you looked pretty comfortable with him for someone you haven’t even been on a date with yet.”

  There’s no way I’m entering into this type of parent-child discussion with Ava. We ride in silence for the remainder of the way home.

  The whole time, I’m buzzing. I’ve been commissioned for a huge job with Kelso, I’ve sold out of my paintings at Gordon’s gallery, and I’m going on a date with Lawson. I don’t know which of those three things excites me the most.

  “I have to get some ideas down on paper while they’re fresh in my head,” I say when we arrive, leaving Ava in the living room.

  On my way to my bedroom, I stop in my studio and grab my laptop. The lingering feel of Lawson’s arms around me has inspired me to come up with the plan for Kelso’s hideous bedroom erotica painting. While I’m in the right frame of mind, so to speak.

  Friday. That’s three sleeps. Three sleeps until the day I might finally give away my virginity. For him, for Lawson, I’ll do it. Assuming, of course, that he wants to. And judging by the bulge digging into my side tonight, he wants to.

  Stop it, I scold myself. I feel like such a child right now. Not the proper honest-to-goodness adult I’m finally about to be.

  I grab my sketchbook and pencil set and open my laptop. After a deep breath, I hop off my bed and barricade my door with a laundry hamper. It won’t stop Ava, but it will slow her enough for me to hide what I’m about to do.

  If Kelso wants a realistic spread eagle, I have to find out what one looks like. It’s not an image I think I can stomach under normal circumstances. But right now I feel like I’m drunk on Lawson and selling my art. Put those two things together, Lawson and art, and you get one frisky Skye who can handle a bit of full frontal.

  The search bring up pages and pages of results. Of course. There are all sorts, from amateur to professional to just plain nasty. I pick one that seems artistic-ish: a woman propped up on her elbows with her knees bent. At least I can get some height on the canvas.

  While I sketch, I wonder what Lawson will think of me. Or if I’m being too presumptuous. Just because he kissed me, with a big erection digging into me, doesn’t mean I should assume where the evening will head.

  Maybe he’ll be freaked out and turned off by the stupid artist who’s clearly desperate to finally have sex. I need to manage my expectations.

  The buzz of the evening doesn’t wear off for hours, and I keep on sketching until just before two. I’d had enough foresight to pick up an extra canvas, so I’ll do all the early work at home and only take it to his creepy bedroom when I have to. I just need to make sure Ava do
esn’t come across it while it’s still here; that would be awkward, in the extreme.

  In the morning, I hide the sketches in the bottom drawer of my dresser and delete my internet history, just in case.

  As I arrive at the colonnaded monument to the absurd, butterflies start in my stomach. Please don’t let me see Kelso. Or at very least don’t let me see him alone. I’m here to paint as fast as I can and collect my money.

  The workmen have left the front door ajar, and I tiptoe into the entrance lobby. My canvas is still propped on the easel off to the side. Good, no one has moved my stuff. I like everything to be organized in a certain way.

  I’ve decided on an ancient Greek temple scene for the lobby, to echo the columns on this oversized house. Except I’m depicting the temple as it stands today: in ruins. Will the irony be lost on Kelso? Probably.

  Using the image of the temple that Gordon printed out for me, I go over it one last time with my pencil. My goal is to crank out one of these paintings a week, and it’s already Wednesday so this one is late. Though, to be fair, I didn’t get much done Monday or Tuesday because of Kelso.

  It’s nearly ten and I still haven’t seen any sign of another person. Which suits me just fine.

  Enough with the sketching, I decide it’s time to slap some paint on this canvas. The dollar amount hits me once again: five-whole-thousand dollars for this one painting! The mere thought brightens my mood, and I hum as I go about getting my paints laid out.

  The doorbell rings, though the door is still ajar. I ignore it and carry on preparing my paints. Kelso will no doubt appear, and with any luck he’ll be too busy answering the door to hassle me.

  A few moments pass and no one comes. Should I answer it? I wouldn’t know what to say to the kind of person who would want to come here.

  A few seconds later, there’s a firm knocking, which pushes the ajar door all the way open. My mouth drops.

  Lawson stands in the doorframe, dressed in a dark blue suit tailored to his muscular frame. Wow. For a moment I forget about the oppression of the workers that the suit represents and enjoy the view. He looks seriously hot, made hotter by the fact that I know underneath the material is all that ink.

  His brow furrows and he looks at me sideways. He appears as confused as I am.

  “Hi,” I say, half greeting, half questioning.

  “What are you doing here?” he snaps.

  “Yeah, I’m wondering the same.”

  “Why are you here?”

  “Nice to see you too.”

  “Huh?”

  “It’s what you usually say when you run into someone?”

  Lawson peers around, but no one else has come.

  “You shouldn’t be here,” he says in a hushed tone, walking toward me.

  “I’ve been commissioned to create paintings for Kelso Wilson.” I take a step back, my hands on my hips.

  “Kelso Wilson is scum. You need to stay away from him.”

  “I’m here to do a job. An artist job for good money, plus a funded gallery show.”

  “So?”

  “So, this is what I want to do! It’s been my dream since I was five years old.”

  “Kelso is nothing but trouble.”

  “How do you know that? How do you know him? What are you even doing here?”

  He holds my gaze with his and says, “He used to be my business partner.”

  My arms drop to my sides while I struggle to understand what he said. I give up and say, “I don’t understand.”

  “We were business partners. I’m Lawson Heywood.” When he utters his name an explosion goes off in my head.

  Lawson Heywood. Of the worldwide hotel chain Heywoods. Even I know that.

  A rich bastard.

  Fuck.

  And I trash-talked the rich right to his face. Repeatedly. Mortified, my cheeks burn and my stomach twists. I step backwards, knocking over my paints. The crash echoes around the entrance hall.

  Spilled Paint

  (Lawson)

  I reach out to steady Skye. My hands grab her elbows, and I hold her firmly.

  This wasn’t the way I wanted to tell her I’m one of these horrible rich people she seems to hate so much.

  When I arrived here this morning, she was the absolute last person I expected to find in Kelso’s half-finished house. The asshole can’t even finish his own house on time. I’ll be sure to point that out to him.

  Right now, I need to figure out a way to convince Skye to leave. I know Kelso, he won’t keep his hands off her for long, whether he has her consent or not. Not that any of his antics would ever make it into the newspapers; he must’ve spent more money in buying women’s silence than he has on this house.

  There’s no way I’ll let him lay a finger on Skye.

  “Thanks,” she says, looking at the floor.

  I grab her chin and tilt it up to my face. Her cheeks are red and she keeps her eyes shifted down.

  “Look at me.”

  Skye remains frozen but I don’t let go of her chin. I rub my thumb over her bottom lip, in an attempt to soothe her. At last her eyes slide up my face, until they meet mine.

  “I have to clean up my stuff,” she says.

  “Let me help.”

  Supplies are scattered over the floor, and I crouch to pick whatever up I can. Skye crawls on her hands and knees, gathering things. It’s distracting to watch her, and it makes me want to move behind her and pull her ass up against me.

  We set back up the table she’s fastened out of a board and two folding chairs. Different paint colors now stain my right pant leg and the cuffs of both my arms. It doesn’t matter, I’d rather make her feel at ease. The faster I can do that, the sooner I can convince her to get out of here.

  Once we’re satisfied the board is steady, we start loading it. Skye seems to have some organization system. I pass the fallen pieces to her and she puts the item where she wants it.

  “What’s he paying you? I’ll triple it.” I say.

  Her lips snarl. “No way, I’m not having you pay me off. I’m going to earn my way in life.”

  “Oh?”

  “Yes. I’m not part of your entitled crowd. I prefer to earn my place in life.”

  “What? You think I haven’t worked for everything I have?”

  “No, but—”

  “But what? I’ve worked hundred-hour weeks for the past decade. Does that meet with your approval?”

  “Yes, but—”

  “But what? It doesn’t fit with your little narrative?

  “I don’t know what happens to you when you put on a suit, but it sure turns you into a prick.”

  “It’s not me who changes, it’s you. I’m exactly the exact same. You, on the other hand, see what you want to see.”

  Skye stops what she’s doing and stands, turning to face me with a small frown. “I do no such thing.”

  I set down her brushes and cup her cheeks. Her eyelids become heavy, half shielding her brown eyes.

  “You do, I’ll show you,” I say. I bring my lips to hers, and she readily submits to me. Our kiss deepens and I slide one hand behind her head, working my fingers through her hair to hold her in place.

  She tastes so good I could stay like this all day, but I can’t risk Kelso coming in and seeing us kiss. That would only spur on any plans he has for Skye.

  I pull my head back, trying to break the kiss, but she goes up on her toes, not letting me go. Enough. I hold her head in place with my hand and stand to my full height.

  Out of her reach, I look down at her and ask, “Still seeing the big, bad rich guy?”

  Her shoulders raise in a shrug, and she flashes a coy smile. “Maybe.”

  “Is that an attempt to get me to kiss you again?”

  Skye’s smile increases, revealing her perfect teeth. I release my hand from her hair and run my fingers down until I reach the small of her back. I snap her to me, the length of our bodies tight against each other.

  Leaning, I put my face to the
top of her hair. The flowery smell is divine and I inhale several breaths of it.

  Skye is quiet, and I notice she’s trembling in my arms.

  I kiss over her hair and bring my lips to her ears. I say, “I worry about you, is all. Trust me, Kelso is a first-rate scumbag.”

  “Lawson? What the fuck are you doing here?” As if on cue, Kelso’s voice booms through the cavernous entranceway.

  In a natural movement, I release Skye and leave her behind as I move to Kelso.

  “Just helping your artist pick up her dropped paints.”

  He glares at Skye and says, “That better not stain my floor, Ms. Simmons.”

  I position my body between Kelso and Skye, shielding her from his glare.

  “It won’t,” Skye snaps.

  My breath pauses at her reaction, prompting me to smile broadly at Kelso.

  “I’ve come to discuss the lawsuit. Shall we?” I offer, my left hand on Kelso’s arm and my right pointing down his hallway.

  Stunned, Kelso looks around before he turns and leads me deeper into his half-finished house.

  “You’re wasting your time,” he says.

  “And you’re wasting your money. Do us both a favor and drop this legal crap. It’s straightforward enough to carve off your part of the business. We’ve always treated it as a separate division. You have no claim over the hotel side.”

  “I built them.”

  “Anyone could’ve built them. Why do you keep deluding yourself otherwise? It’s only your money you’ll end up losing, not mine.”

  “If that’s the case, then why do you care? Why bother coming here at all?”

  “Because you’re being a pain in the ass. I’m tired of wasting my time with it.”

  Kelso leads me into his office, the first room in the house that’s finished. I’ll have to remember to point that out to him.

  I hit Kelso with all the legal points I’ve spent the past two days going over with Julie. It’s a no brainer and even he must see that. But he has such a big ego, I have to be careful to give him a way of saving face or else he’ll dig his heels in and fight to the end.

  Forty-five minutes later, I stroll out of his office, confident he’s seen the light. Kelso doesn’t bother getting off his ass to see me out, and that’s fine, I’ll let him lick his wounds.