Canvas (The Program Book 1)

by N. M. Catalano

  Her eyes flick back and forth on mine, they’re full of questions, she may not know what the questions are exactly but they’re there. All of them.

  “What exactly do you mean?”

  “You,” I reply, “you’re the art. I want you to be the focal point.”

  Her nostrils flare as she takes in a deep breath. We stare at each other, her: full questions, me: wishing I could show her all that I see when I look at her.

  Some of it’s so fucking filthy, others are the pinnacle of worship.

  But each and every one of them is HER.

  Stroking her little feet on my lap, I ask her, “Do you trust me, Summer?”

  I can’t help smirking.

  I wouldn’t fucking trust me.

  She folds her arms over her chest, “Not when you look at me like that.”

  I laugh. She fights a grin.

  “Good. I’m not gonna deny I want to do some very dirty things to you,” and every one of them are in my eyes and on my tongue, “but sit for me. Be my art.”

  Our eyes lock.

  She’s fighting herself, yes then no, I can see her eyes bounce back and forth, she catches her bottom lip between her teeth, her gaze shifts to my work on the wall then to me. Me then the art.

  I don’t move, just watch her, and wait.

  Finally, the answer comes softly, but I hear it loud and fucking clear.

  “Alright.”

  Yeah, I fucking beam, I’m so damn relieved.

  I run my hands up her legs, slip them behind and squeeze her meaty flesh.

  “Thank you.”

  She blushes and smiles. “You’re welcome.”

  “Are you ready?”

  Her eyes shoot open as her jaw drops. “NOW?”

  “Yes, now.” I stand and lift her before she has a chance to argue.

  “B…b…but I’m not ready,” she stammers nervously.

  “Princess, you were born ready.”

  I don’t give Summer a chance to think as I walk quickly down the hallway past doors until I come to the last one. It’s open a crack so I push it all the way open and flip the light switch with my elbow. As I step inside, Summer swivels her head to examine her surroundings.

  The room is my home studio. It’s sectioned off into two different areas; one with a bed covered in white with a white background behind it, the other only has a white background, both areas have lights directed to where the subject would be. There’s an easel between the two sitting areas with shelves behind it holding all my art supplies and cameras, lenses, and a bunch of other shit.

  I walk to the bed, but I sit Summer down on it, not lay her.

  She’s already a little freaked, no need to make her think I’m going to jump her.

  She looks up at me. “You want to do this now?”

  “Now’s perfect, we’ve got cheesecake.” I grin at her.

  She narrows her eyes at me. “Why do I have the feeling you’re not thinking of that cheesecake the same way I am?”

  I take a step back and shove my hands in my front jeans pockets, restricting them from reaching out and stroking her. Like they’re dying to.

  “It’s not the cheesecake I’m thinking about, princess.” My mouth practically fucking waters thinking about it. “This is what we’re going to do,” I move directly into instructions to get her focused on the sitting and not what I’m going to do to her. “You’ve seen my work, so you know how I’m going to need you. Just leave your clothes on the floor, lay on the bed and you can cover yourself with the sheet,” I shrug my chin at the bed. “I’ll give you some privacy, just let me know when you’re ready.”

  We both hear the angry growl of a motorcycle outside.

  Shit, perfect timing.

  “That must be Snake.” Her gaze shoots to the door. “Don’t worry, I’m not letting him come in. I’ll meet him outside while you get ready.

  Her big round eyes are back on me. There’s a stray strand of hair hanging in her face. I reach a hand out to tuck it behind her ear. The difference between she and I is such a fucking turn on, her soft pale skin against my inked hand. I want to cover her in ink, my ink, mark her from her feminine fucking head, to her dainty little feet.

  She trembles and her eyelids dip as I drag a finger along her jaw.

  “Get ready for me, princess. I’ll be right back to worship this body of yours.”

  She gasps as I quickly turn. After hitting the switch on the stereo, I walk out of the room. Better to leave her with some classical music rather than her own thoughts.

  They would tell her to get the fuck out of here fast, even if she had to crawl the whole way.

  I had to get out of that room, I couldn’t trust myself not to tell her exactly what I wanted to do.

  My body is strung taut ready to do this, I can already smell the paint, the ink, the cheesecake.

  I grit my teeth and throw the front door open, march down the front steps, and meet Snake in the driveway before he’s even gotten my helmet off.

  “Who’s picking you up?” It’s short and curt, and I don’t give a fuck.

  “Whoa, dude, no need to get your panties in a fucking wad. Bull’s right behind me.” He glances over his shoulder at Summer’s car. “Sweet ride, belong to Tinkerbell?”

  This time I do growl and glance at the front door, grateful Summer is temporarily disabled.

  “Summer, and yes.”

  “Nice,” he fucking smirks at me. “I see you haven’t fucked her yet. Is she waiting for all of us?”

  I hear the crunch of gravel as lights shine down the driveway and on us. “It’s a good thing Bull’s here or I’d make you start fucking walking.”

  “Relax, Rock, I’m leaving,” he laughs. He shoves the helmet in my chest and heads over to Bull pulling up, “But there’s a lot more to that sweet little thing than you realize. Don’t be surprised if she does want to have all of us.” He walks around Bull’s pick-up to the passenger side and glances back at me. “I’ve got a feeling, that’s all.”

  “Get the fuck out of here,” I snap as Snake gets in the truck and closes the door.

  I don’t go back in the house until Bull’s got the truck turned around and is halfway up the driveway and I’m certain they’re not coming back.

  I need to get my shit together before I go back to Summer. So I go in the kitchen and get us each a bottle of water and grab a peach for her.

  I bet she’s hungry.

  I kick myself for not asking her sooner.

  Before heading back to the studio, I snatch the cheesecake.

  Standing at the studio door, I tap a knuckle lightly on the closed door.

  “I’m coming in.”

  If I give her a choice, she might say no.

  Probably say no.

  I open the door and step inside.

  Her naked with only a sheet draped over her. Waiting for me.

  I just fucking died and went to heaven.

  Summer

  CHAPTER 11

  My heart is jack hammering.

  I’m so nervous.

  I’m so turned-on.

  I’m so scared.

  I feel like a goddess.

  This man, this incredibly sexy, bad-ass, woman’s-wet-dream-in-the-flesh-specimen-of-male-perfection, wants me to be his work of art.

  Yes, maybe I don’t know anything about him. Yes, he looks like a man who has lots of secrets, and some of them probably aren’t good, but he’s always shown me respect, he stood up for me when the situation arose without hesitation.

  Call me crazy, but I trust him.

  I don’t think he’d do anything I wouldn’t want him to.

  And right now, if my leg didn’t hurt, I’d ride him like a bucking bronco until I couldn’t walk.

  As I lay here in this room void of anything but white and paint and canvases and brushes, lights and tools and cameras, I can’t believe this is what he wants from me.

  And I’m honored.

  As I took my clothes off, I’d wondered
if Snake was going to come in. Would he want to watch? Would I want him to watch? And if he did, would he sit silently, would his eyes follow every move Rock’s hands made? Would he touch himself? Would he ask if he could touch me too?

  The idea of Snake watching Rock touching my naked body made me tremble as a fresh shot of desire went straight to my core. My breasts ache harder, my loins pulse and clench stronger, and my flesh sighs from the faintest contact, begging for more.

  Tap, tap, tap, the light wrapping on the door makes me jump.

  “I’m coming in,” Rock’s deep voice comes from the other side of the wooden panel.

  OHMYGOD, it’s time!

  I flinch again when he opens the door and steps inside. I watch him as he stands and stares at me from across the room, his body is tight and controlled, but his eyes are fierce. His gaze slowly travels along the length of me and I can feel it stroking me as if it’s his finger. My skin tingles and my nipples harden. His eyes shoot to mine and bore into me, I feel it all the way down to my sex. My breathing gets faster as I pull my lip between my teeth and watch his jaw clench.

  “I brought you a peach,” his voice is raspy.

  And full of sex.

  “Thank you,” the words are practically a squeak.

  He steps toward me. He looks so tall towering over me in his black everything. I clutch the sheet tighter.

  I have no idea what I’m supposed to do.

  “Are you thirsty? Hungry?”

  My mouth is so dry, and I haven’t eaten since this morning, but there’s no way I can eat, my stomach is a nervous wreck. And I don’t want to drink anything, because I’d be back and forth to the bathroom for an hour.

  “No, thank you.”

  His gaze dips to my mouth. My lips suddenly feel alive.

  “Alright, then are you ready to get started?” the words rub against my skin like his scruff.

  “Yes,” I whisper.

  His eyes meet mine again. They’re so intense, so focused, so penetrating.

  “Don’t be nervous, princess. I’m not going to hurt you.” He lifts a hand and glides a finger over the curve of my shoulder. “I’m going to adore you.”

  Just holy shit! HOLY. SHIT.

  He turns and walks to where his supplies are. I realize he’s got the bag with the cheesecake along with two bottles of water and a peach as he places everything on a shelf. Opening a drawer, Rock rummages around and removes some things, but I can’t see what they are.

  My breathing is coming fast and my palms are sweaty. I resist the urge to wipe them on the sheet, I know he knows I’m nervous, still, I don’t want to show it.

  Jesus Christ, I hope I’m not trembling.

  He shuts the drawer, then turns around. Clutching a handful of something, he picks up something else with his free hand and returns to me and sets his things down on the table above my head.

  I follow him with my eyes, the sheet gripped tightly in my hands, and my bare feet rubbing against each other beneath it.

  He turns and retrieves the tripod from the corner and sets it up at the edge of the bed, then goes to the shelves and chooses a camera. After positioning it on the tripod and fine tuning the lens, he returns to me.

  “I’m going to get started, okay, princess?”

  My stomach does a flip, hits the trampoline, soars back up, then does a twist before nose diving back down.

  “Okay…”

  He lifts his hand and points it over his shoulder.

  He’s got a remote control.

  The music changes. Lana Del Rey’s sultry voice glides through the air as he places the handful of whatever else he’s got down, then moves around the room to adjust the lights. When he finishes, the entire room is dark except for the bed I’m on. There’s a soft spotlight shining down on it, casting a soft circle of light from the only one on in the room.

  Rock’s shrouded in the darkness near his supplies. I can hear him shuffling around and can only make out the skin of his arms, I can tell he’s bent over. Then he stands. And takes his shirt off.

  What?!

  He steps from the shadows and toward me.

  Oh. My. GOD.

  I’m eating him up with my eyes.

  He’s devouring me with his.

  Just look at him! Taut and chiseled, sin and indulgence, and nipple bars! He’s a masterpiece with his ink and his body, and his very own story printed on his ribs.

  I’ve been dying to see where the rest of the tattoo that weaves around the side of his neck leads to. It’s stirs something primitive within me, bewitches me and enchants me. My eyes follow the black tribal lines down his neck, over his shoulders, and I feel a little needy ache when it ends in a point curving around his pierced left nipple. I want to tell him to turn around so my ache can be satisfied seeing the back.

  “I hope you don’t mind. This is how I like to work.”

  Yes.

  No.

  “No,” it comes out choked. I cringe and clear my throat, “That’s fine.”

  He smirks at me. It’s devious, it’s wicked. It’s delicious as hell.

  I’m not going to survive this, there’s no way I’m going to get through this without embarrassing myself somehow. Christ, I’ll probably have an orgasm without any contact.

  Down there.

  “I’ll tell you a little about what we’re going to do,” he starts as he gently wraps his fingers around both of my wrists. I loosen my grip on the sheet. “I want you to relax. Enjoy it, Summer.” He lifts my hands above my head as Lana Del Rey croons sex with her sultry voice. He strokes a fingertip down the underside of my arm. Tremors rock my insides. “I’m going to start here,” my breath catches. “I won’t speak.” He lifts the sheet off one of my legs and leaves it exposed. His eyes find mine. “I’ll be right here,” that same finger glides up the length of my leg and it makes my toes curl.

  He’s barely touched me and I’m ready to self-combust!

  He picks up one of the things he brought with him.

  It’s a marker.

  He’s going to write all over my body.

  My nipples pucker tightly again.

  Why is that soooooooo damn sexy?

  He lowers himself onto the stool at the side of the bed. I watch his body move, every nuance, each shift, every ripple of skin and muscle and ink, all of it is like a perfect symphony for the eyes.

  “Summer,” my name is quiet on his lips, like a soft warm kiss. My eyes meet his riveting gaze. “I need to touch you.”

  Fuckfuckfuck!

  I don’t speak, I can’t anymore. I’ve lost all sense of control, and I’m on the verge of becoming completely incoherent. When his hand does finally make contact with me, I’ll be gone.

  Begin countdown, here it comes, three…two…one…

  He closes his hand around my arm.

  My eyelids slowly dip as I take a deep breath and the heat of his palm burns me in the most intimate way.

  The tip of the marker strokes my skin. From that moment, nothing exists except him, his touch, and what he’s doing to me.

  Every glide of felt, every time his skin touches mine, I get higher and higher. His touch sears me, his mark brands me.

  Seduction.

  Desire.

  Lust.

  Sensuality.

  Want.

  Hunger.

  He glides the tip of the marker along the underside of my upper arm, the strokes are fluid, looping and curving, curling and swooping, covering the flesh with flourishment.

  It’s seduction.

  Moving his hand from my arm, he captures my chin. My lips part instinctually, but my eyes stay closed. Heartbeats pass as both of us remain still, the sound of each thump of my heart echoes in my brain. I can feel the burn of his stare on my face and it makes me flush hotter. Finally, he moves his thumb to capture my lower lip. He glides it along the plumpness before he pulls it down, then slips his thumb into my mouth. My lips close around it, my tongue wraps around it, and sucks it deeper.

/>   God, he tastes good.

  Through the fog of my building hunger, I hear him moan.

  With his thumb still in my mouth and his palm cradling my jaw, he turns my face to the side and tilts my head down. Just below the hairline behind my ear, he leaves another branding with the marker.

  It feels like a small kiss.

  I sigh.

  Bringing my face back to center, his hand slides down.

  He stops on my throat.

  My head presses back, my chin lifts, my lips separate.

  He doesn’t move.

  I don’t move.

  I feel my pulse beat against his fingertips wrapped around my throat.

  His warm breath grazes my cheek.

  I hold my breath.

  And wait for his lips to touch me.

  They don’t.

  His palm slides down and stops on the flatness of my chest.

  He might not be using the marker, but the heat of his touch is enough to imprint on me.

  Shifting his hand, he slides it down and rests it between my breasts, my heart beating wildly beneath it.

  My breasts are hungry for his touch, my nipples hard and pebbled for his lips, my body taut and wanting more.

  Slowly, so incredibly slowly he moves his hand down, it dips where my ribcage ends, dragging the sheet with it. My stomach sucks in with the sensations coursing through it, my nipples cry out as the sheet whispers across them, needing so much more. He halts his downward travel. My breathing stops in anticipation. The marker kisses my skin again, this time above my heart.

  Seared.

  Down he moves, burning a trail, until his palm curves over my mound and cups it.

  I know I’m wet, and I know my slickness is coating his hand. I also know my clit is throbbing, and I’m sure I could come if he even slightly touches it.

  My back arches off the bed as the felt tip kisses the hollow of my hip bone.

  Another branding.

  His hand stays firm on my sex, he doesn’t move, his fingers don’t flinch,

  My thighs separate, my ass presses down, and my breasts reach for him.

  He moves to the other hipbone and pens his claim there as well.

  Then where he marks me next almost makes me shoot off the bed.

  Strong, hungry strokes flow over my mound right above my slit.