Carnal: Pierced and Inked

by Simone Sowood

  When I get back to the entrance hall, Skye has a paintbrush in her hand and a serious look of concentration on her face. She’s so focused on her painting, she doesn’t notice me.

  I creep over, and stand beside her.

  “Looking good,” I say.

  “I’ve just done the roughing in. You can’t even see anything yet.”

  I shrug. “It’s still better than anything I could do.”

  Skye tilts her head, examining her work. “Come back in a few days and judge it.”

  “I don’t want you to be here in a few days. Kelso is dangerous. If you really must do these paintings, then paint them somewhere else and drop them off to him.”

  “I need the light of the room they’ll hang in. Besides, one of his conditions was that the paintings are painted on-site.”

  “Who cares about conditions, you need to paint them elsewhere.” My teeth are gritted.

  Skye turns and squares her shoulders, and immediately I regret the way I worded everything. “How dare you just come in here and tell me what to do? Just because you wear a fancy suit, you think you can tell people what to do?”

  I sigh. “Skye, I’m telling you this…”

  She interrupts, “I’m sorry, weren’t you just leaving?”

  “Not without convincing you.”

  “Then you’d better get a sleeping bag. I’m not going anywhere.”

  “Get the fuck out of my house,” Kelso snaps from behind us, making me jump. I hadn’t realized he’d left his home office. Guess he finally managed to move after the mental blow to the head I delivered him.

  I look at Skye, but she turns away and messes around with her paints. Kelso moves toward me. The last thing I want him to realize is there’s any connection between me and Skye, so all I can do is glare at him, and exit the house.

  Craving

  (Skye)

  “How do you know that asshole?” Kelso snaps at me, his eyes flaring.

  My heart pounding, I say, “I don’t, he just came in and started talking to me about my painting.”

  He stares at me, his breath huffing and his brow somehow sweaty once again. I hold his stare, daring him to call me a liar but praying to God he doesn’t.

  “Get back to work,” he says and goes back down the hall.

  My heart is pounding against my ribs. There’s no way I can paint right now, my hands are shaking too much. I sit on the floor and grab my water bottle.

  The water fills my mouth and I let it swirl around while I reflect on what just happened.

  Hot tattooed guy is Lawson Heywood. The Lawson Heywood. Never saw that coming.

  What do I do now? I can’t get involved with some billionaire. I don’t belong in his world any more than he belongs in mine.

  But when he looks at me, my insides melt. And when he touches me, my body sets alight with flames fiercer than I ever knew existed.

  Frustrated, I gather myself enough to get back to my work. The sooner I get it finished, the sooner I get the money and get away from creepy Kelso.

  I work on the base of the temple in the painting, blending it in with the grass and bushes around its stones. It’s not meshing the way I want and I decide to take a break from it.

  With my sketchbook and pencil in hand, I decide to get some ideas for the other rooms. I head down the hallway, intending to reach the family room at the back of the property. At least I think it’s the back; it’s difficult to tell in such a big, maze-like house.

  I take a wrong turn and up in a short hallway by an ajar door. Kelso and another man’s voices spill out of the room and I turn to flee before Kelso sees me. Before I take a step, Kelso’s voice becomes clear.

  “This lawsuit is killing me. I’m going to have to cut my costs everywhere I can.”

  “Florida is your best bet,” the other man says.

  “Agreed. I’m flying out there tonight.”

  My eyes widen. Shit, am I one of those costs? I hurry away, though my feet are heavy and it’s a struggle to be silent.

  There’s no point in trying to generate new ideas right now, my head is swimming. I find my way back to the entrance and carry on with my destroyed temple. This painting might turn out to be more prophetic than I thought.

  Now there’s an even greater sense of urgency to get these pieces finished. I have to collect my money from Kelso before he runs out of it.

  I bite the end of my brush, trying to decide where the line is between quality and speed. Is anyone other than Kelso ever going to see these paintings? What if I sign them with a different name?

  The minute the natural light drops too much to work, I grab my things and get out of there. Thankfully Kelso didn’t make another appearance that day. After what I heard, I don’t think I could look him in his beady eyes.

  Besides, he might fire me on the spot. If I can finish, he will at least owe me for the work completed.

  When I get home, I head straight for my studio. Since the Kelso job, my salvation, might fall through, I want to finish other pieces to try to sell them through Gordon.

  I finish the evening dress on the beach painting. It’s the first of the three in that series that I’ve finished.

  It’s after eleven. Exhausted, I brush my teeth and flop into bed. The events of the day churn in my head.

  Lawson Heywood. The man whose touch fuels the desire within me. The man who I’m supposed to be going to dinner with on Friday. The man who put on a suit and turned into a rich bastard.

  How dare he think he can tell me what to do like that?

  I try clearing my mind by thinking of the temple, and what stage I need to get it to tomorrow so I can be finished by early next week. My mind runs.

  From the ruined temple, to Kelso and his lawsuit. Hold on. He’s going to Florida tonight. He didn’t say when he’d be back. But with him gone, this is definitely the time to paint his bedroom erotica.

  My biggest nightmare would be him walking in while I’m in there painting it. If he made all those disgusting comments just talking about it, I can’t imagine what would he do if he found me actually painting it. My skin crawls just thinking about it.

  Lawson would never behave like Kelso.

  Not in that way, anyway. But he’s still a billionaire, and still against everything that I’ve ever stood for. The man would make me a sellout. I think. I should ask Ava what she thinks. She’ll know what I should do.

  In the morning, I lay my completed painting in the trunk of my car, wrapped and protected by dust sheets. I’ll drop it to Gordon after I leave Kelso’s this evening.

  My plan had been to save it for the gallery show Kelso is funding, but now that I know about his money problems, I need to secure any income I can get.

  It’ll just mean working late every night to create enough paintings for my show.

  I dig the sketchbook with the full frontal image out of my bottom drawer, chuck it face down on the passenger seat and leave for Kelso’s.

  The plan is to finish is as fast as I can. Even if it means the quality suffers. I can always claim any rushed brush strokes are artistic license. Really, I hope that the painting will be ruined in a fire. No one can ever see it, or know that I painted it.

  The sketch is transferred to the canvas in record time. If I hurry, I should be able to finish in a couple of days.

  My easel is alongside Kelso’s round bed. The canvas is only a few feet from where it will hang. In amongst all the animal print.

  What will women he brings back here think? Though, having met the creepy man with the glandular problem, I’ve got to think any woman getting to this point is only interested in his money anyhow.

  I bet even Lawson’s first date, Freya or whatever her name was, would come this far. So long as he gets her a quinoa salad beforehand.

  The alarm on my phone goes off at six. I set it to make sure I don’t get caught up in my painting and lose track of time. I’ve got to get to Gordon’s before he leaves for the night.

  Not that I needed to worry
about losing track of time. Each stroke of this painted woman’s folds is a painful reminder of what I’m doing.

  And how no one has ever stroked mine.

  I’ve got to go on the date with Lawson tomorrow. I need to feel his touch. My body craves it.

  Having made the decision, I feel much more settled. Much more at ease with everything. I’ll deal with anything else later.

  I get in my car and head for Gordon’s. Traffic is light, and I make it in no time. As usual, there’s no parking in front of his store. A spot opens up a reasonable distance away and I take it.

  The Examination

  (Lawson)

  I hang my car back, not wanting to be seen. Yet. Skye parks her car and gets something out of her trunk. It looks like a painting, which makes sense, I assume she’s dropping it off at the gallery.

  While I wait for her to go inside, I send a note to my assistant telling her to check with the gallery to see if they have any more pieces available to buy yet.

  When Skye vanishes inside the gallery, I pull my car past hers and find a spot a little ways down.

  From here I have a clear view of the gallery. I wait in the car, watching for Skye to come out. The plan is to intercept her on her way back to her car and convince her not to return to Kelso’s.

  She’s been inside for what seems like too long. For all I know, the gallery owner lives upstairs and she’s having dinner with him.

  Relaxing back in my seat, I occupy myself by sending work emails while at the same time keeping an eye out for her to return.

  I worked from my home office today, which I do as often as I can, so I’m just wearing jeans and a black T-shirt instead of the suit she thinks changes me.

  Twenty minutes later, she comes out of the gallery, balancing a pile of items and struggling even more than when she went in.

  I hop out of my car into the noise of the passing cars and rush her.

  “Skye, let me help you.” Her arms are overloaded with supplies and I start taking them off her.

  “Hey, fancy seeing you here,” she says.

  “I was just picking something up and saw you come out of the store.”

  “Sure you weren’t stalking me?” My eyes widen briefly but when I look at her, she’s smiling. I breathe a sigh of relief to see she’s only joking around.

  “Maybe I should, then I’d be here to help whenever you get into trouble.”

  “Oh? Do I get into trouble often?” The packages redistributed, we walk toward her car.

  “I don’t know, do you?”

  “Not until I met you.”

  “Oh, it’s all my fault, is it?”

  “Guess it is.”

  “Must be because of all my money.” Skye stops walking but I keep going.

  “I… about earlier… I didn’t…”

  “Didn’t know who I was and would’ve kept your beliefs secret from me if you’d known?”

  “No,” she says, hurrying to catch up to me.

  We reach her car and she opens her trunk. She loads her items into it, lining them up neatly.

  “Is this car roadworthy?”

  Skye stops what she’s doing and looks at me. “Excuse me. It’s the best car I can afford.”

  “I know, I know. Some people can’t afford a Maserati.”

  “You drive a Maserati?”

  “Primarily. Out of all my cars, I think it sounds the best.”

  “You pick your car based on how it sounds? You’re a real piece of work, you know?”

  “I can’t help it, my money makes me a prick. What am I to do?”

  She sighs as she takes the last package from me. “Your money doesn’t make you a prick. I’m sorry I said that before.”

  “Does that mean we’re still on for dinner tomorrow?” Skye stands aside and I close her trunk.

  “If you still want to have dinner with an anti-poverty artist like me.”

  “Skye, I like that about you. You’re a million times better than someone like Freya.”

  “You mean someone who’s only after your money?” She spins around and leans on her trunk, her arms folded across her chest.

  “It’s more than that. You tell me what you think instead of what you think I want to hear.”

  A smile spreads across her face and she tilts her head. “Really?”

  I shrug. “Sure, it’s refreshing.”

  “Let me see your arms. I’ve been dying to look at the art.”

  “It’s kind of dark out, you probably can’t see much,” I say, but I offer her my arms anyway.

  Skye reaches out and takes my left hand, touching me delicately, as if I’m hot from the oven. My fingertips rest in her left palm. Her eyes squint in the dim streetlight and her fingers trace the various designs on my arms. Her light touch tickles, but I don’t let on.

  By the time she reaches my bicep, her chest is rising and falling rapidly with her breath. She reaches the edge of my T-shirt, glances up at me, and runs the fingers of both hands over my pecs.

  I sense some trembling, but I remain motionless, watching her as she examines me.

  When she reaches my right arm, she edges her body closer. Even outside, I smell the mix of flowery shampoo and paint on her. I close my eyes and inhale.

  Skye holds my arm with one hand and resumes her exploration of my tattoos with the other.

  “Is this the Laughing Cavalier?” she asks, pointing to the top of my forearm, “I can’t tell in this dim light.”

  I laugh. “You’re good.”

  She looks up at me with a coy smile, “You don’t dedicate your life to art and miss that sort of thing.”

  There’s no way I can resist her any longer. I hook my arm around her and pull her tight against me. With my other hand, I smooth back her long hair from her face. She’s shivering.

  “Are you cold?” I ask.

  Her eyes wide, she sucks her lips between her teeth and shakes her head.

  “You’re shaking,” I say. I rub my free hand up and down her back, trying to warm her. Or relax her.

  Skye leans her weight into me and rests her cheek on my chest. I tilt my head down, nuzzling into her hair.

  It doesn’t matter that we’re standing at the side of the road. I kiss her hair and then trail kisses over her head. With my free hand, I mesh my fingers through her hair and tip her face up to me.

  Her lips are slightly parted, which is all the encouragement I need. I lean and crush my mouth against hers. Our tongues explore each other’s mouths the way her fingers had examined my arms: gently, slowly and thoroughly.

  I could stay here all night, at the side of the road with Skye in my arms.

  A car honks its horn as it passes us.

  She pushes back from me at the noise. Skye glances at her watch and says, “I have to get going.”

  “What’s the rush?”

  “I have to get in a few hours of painting tonight.”

  “Do it tomorrow.”

  “I can’t. I have to work at Kelso’s all day.”

  “You’re still going back there? You need to quit that job.”

  “Don’t tell me what to do.”

  “I thought I told you about him. Trust me, he’s bad news, just wait and you’ll see, but it’ll be too late for you.”

  She shifts her weight and says, “I know Kelso’s a creep, but it’s fine. Besides, he’s going to be in Florida tomorrow anyway.”

  “As long as you’re sure. I can hire you an assistant so you’re never alone with him.”

  “Now you’re just overreacting.”

  “Trust me, I’m not.”

  “Did you just put your suit back on?”

  “Are you calling me a prick again?” I can’t help but laugh.

  “Yes, but I’ll still let you take me out tomorrow night.”

  “I’m paying now, am I?”

  “Unless you want to eat frozen pizzas at home.”

  “And here I thought you weren’t interested in my money.” I have to admit I like the idea
of eating at home, since it would just be the two of us, with clothing optional.

  “See you tomorrow,” she says, getting in her car.

  I close her door and say, “Tomorrow.”

  Skye starts her car and pulls out into the road.

  Date With the Prick

  (Skye)

  In the morning, I beeline for Kelso’s creepy bedroom and continue on with his spread eagle. I’m concentrating on getting the subtle tones of her inner folds right when my phone chimes. It’s a text from Lawson.

  I’ll pick you up at seven.

  My eyes shift between the phone in my hand and the painting on my canvas. Seven can’t come fast enough.

  Awesome!

  The second I hit send, I worry my response sounds too childish. Is it obvious I’m not an experienced dater? Can Lawson tell? He might think I’m pathetic. Especially since he’s mister billionaire — he’s probably got tons of experience.

  I keep the phone in my hand, waiting for a response from him, but none comes. Sighing, I toss the phone onto the bed and pick up my brush.

  Why does he have this effect on me? Is this what I’ve been missing all these years? Maybe it was a mistake to concentrate on my art at the expense of all else. It’s not like it’s got me anywhere. Anywhere other than painting a pussy in some slimy rich guy’s creepy bedroom, anyway.

  Ava and I still haven’t had any discussion about Lawson. She hasn’t brought him up, and neither have I. I guess I’m too afraid she’ll tell me what I don’t want to hear.

  What will happen during the date? I went out on a couple of dates in college with other guys in my art program. But they were both artsy people with a similar world view to mine.

  Not freaking billionaires. My favorite college professor, Dr Lakeland, would not approve of this one little bit.

  Stop it. Dr Lakeland is my past — I have to consider my present. And right now, my body is sending a very strong message.

  It might be shameful, but I’ve got to admit, spending all day thinking about Lawson has definitely had a positive effect on my painting. Yesterday it seemed kind of flat. Now it’s glistening so much, it’s even turning me on.