Drawn to You — Volume Two

by Vanessa Booke

  “I hope to see you again,” she says.

  I smile, grateful to have made a friend in such an unfamiliar place.

  My phone vibrates as I exit the Pleasure Chest. Ironically, the text is from Ceci.

  Ceci: I didn’t end up meeting the guy. I went to the club and dropped my cell in the toilet. :(

  I laugh, despite everything I just went through to find my best friend. Somehow, I should’ve known she would lead me on a strange adventure although I never expected to see Tristan here. On the cab ride home, I find myself trying to recollect the paintings that gathered along the walls of the Pleasure Chest. I hadn’t noticed at first the strangely familiar art style, but now I’m almost certain they were painted by Tristan.

  TEN

  TRISTAN

  “DID THE YOUNG, blonde woman leave already?”

  A knowing smile spreads across Felicity’s face as she watches me from the check-in. I should’ve gone after Emily instead of just letting her leave. I’m surprised she even got in. Non-members usually never make it past check-in. Not without a hefty fee.

  “She left,” she says, looking disappointed.

  “It’s probably better that she did.”

  “Oh, Tristan. Now I’m really curious.”

  Felicity’s eyes light up with intrigue. Over the many years that I’ve come to the Pleasure Chest, I’ve learned to like Felicity more and more. I first met her through Vivian when they started dating. I didn’t think my old friend would ever settle down, but the two have been inseparable since.

  “I’m not in the mood to tell old stories,” I say, turning back down the hall.

  “Is she your muse?”

  “What?”

  “Your muse,” she asks.

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  Felicity walks over to one of the portraits hanging on the wall inside the club. She pulls it down with ease and walks it over to me. My heart palpitates as she slides her finger across the portrait to the woman’s eyes staring back at me.

  “Whenever you draw eyes, they’re always hers. It doesn’t matter if she’s blonde, brunette, or a redhead, you always draw them aquamarine.”

  “Maybe I just like the color,” I lie.

  She laughs as she walks back over to the wall and rehangs the painting.

  “Maybe.”

  I watch as Felicity grabs my wallet and keys from the black cupboard behind her. She slides them over to me with an amused look on her face, as if she’s just discovered the reason behind Mona Lisa’s smile.

  “Or maybe she’s your muse.”

  ELEVEN

  EMILY

  A PAIR OF painted aquamarine eyes greets me as I enter my apartment after a long afternoon of classes. I stumble back in shock at the life-like portrait sitting partially gift wrapped on top of my living room couch. The blue and green hues that bleed across the canvas immediately draw me, pulling me toward it. What the hell? Where did this come from? I know the answer even as I ask myself the question. It’s been a week since I left Tristan’s apartment feeling like an idiot.

  “It’s beautiful, right?” Ceci asks, appearing from the kitchen with a bag of popcorn. “I was getting ready to watch a movie when the door rang. The guy who delivered it said it was for you.”

  A mischievous smile plays on her lips as she walks over to the painting and tears off the rest of the wrapping paper covering it. I stand back in shock at the majestic colors of a galaxy of stars that crown the outside of the eyes. Ceci pulls a card from the back of the canvas and hands it to me. She winks and heads back to the kitchen.

  “Maybe it’s an early birthday gift?” she asks. “Do you want me to read it to you?”

  “Uh, no,” I say, snatching the card from Ceci’s hands.

  “Ohhh, or is it from a lover?”

  I roll my eyes as she wiggles her eyebrows at me.

  “Fine, I’ll leave you to read your naughty card.”

  Cecil disappears from the living room as she makes her way toward my bedroom. My chest squeezes as I open the card and spot the beginning of Byron’s poem.

  Emily,

  “She walks in beauty, like the night, of cloudless climes and starry skies, and all that’s best of dark and bright, meet in her aspect and her eyes.”

  I hope you enjoy the painting. I made it to remind you what I see every time I look at you.

  - T.K.

  There’s only one person that I know with those initials. Tristan Knight. Why is he doing this now? Why did he wait four years to come back into my life? I wish I could tell him how much it hurt when he left. It was one of the most vulnerable moments I’ve ever experienced, and then he was gone. Why did it have to be him? It would’ve hurt less if it had been anyone else, but it was him.

  The color of the painting draws my attention back to it. I can’t keep this. I definitely can’t keep this. Can I? No, I need to give it back. To my surprise, Tristan’s address sits on the back of the card. It’s almost as if he’s daring me to come find him. Whether I want to admit it aloud or not, the idea of seeing him again is temptation enough.

  I’ll go and give him the painting back and then come home.

  TWELVE

  EMILY

  ANXIETY TAKES OVER as we get closer and closer to Tristan’s apartment. The confidence I once had drains quickly from me as we enter the Meatpacking District. I’m tempted to have the driver turn back, but it took a hell of a long time getting down here through rush hour traffic. Why am I so nervous? Memories of Tristan’s whip hitting my skin jolts me. The marks on my skin have faded, but the sensation hasn’t. What’s wrong with me? I can’t help but want to relive the moment over and over again.

  The painting Tristan sent me sits taunting me from the opposite side of the car. Something about seeing it left my emotions in a whirlwind. Most people don’t think about how much time it takes to paint something. I’ve heard Tristan talk about starting and finishing pieces. They never happened over night. In fact, he often said some took months to finish. My heart squeezes at the notion that for several months, I was all he thought about. It’s been years for me.

  It’s stupid to want to keep the painting, but a small part of me does. It would just be a painful reminder of the adoration I once stupidly felt for him, but it’s not just that. It’s a reminder of the happiness I once felt being around him.

  “We’re here,” Tom’s voice says over the car stereo.

  The Towne Car slows to a stop as we hug the corner of Washington and West 14th Street. Tom’s face pops into view as the partition that divides us slowly rolls down. Despite his lack of questions, I can see a look of worry on his face. I’m sure at least half of that worry is because he’s wondering if he’s going to be fired for dropping me off without an address to know where to pick me up.

  “Are you sure you wouldn’t like me to drop you off closer, Ms. Emily?”

  I roll my window down and take in the layout of the streets that surround us. The streets are buzzing with tourists and local bar hoppers.

  “No, thank you, Tom. Here is fine.”

  “Should I wait for you?”

  I exhale the shaky breath I’ve been holding in. I should have Tom wait for me, but something tells me this isn’t going to be a five-minute conversation.

  “Tom, I’ll call you if I need a ride back.”

  “Very good.”

  Before Tom has a chance to open my door, I slip outside and head down the street carrying Tristan’s painting with me. After Nicholas’s fiasco at the Somerset Hotel, it’s better if I don’t draw attention to myself. I turn to wave Tom goodbye, but he’s already slipped back into the swarm of traffic heading down the street.

  According to my phone, Tristan’s apartment is a five-minute walk from where I am. It’s getting later and the sun is already starting to set. I walk past a group of guys who stop to stare after me as they chat with their friends. I cross my fingers silently hoping they don’t recognize me. After all these years, I’m still n
ot used to the attention people give me. It’s never the attention I want. Between those who look at me sympathetically, and others who want to use me, I can’t stand it. Being the daughter of one of the city’s richest men isn’t something you ever get used to. You never really know who’s your real friend or foe.

  The Meatpacking District is probably the last place I ever imagined Tristan living. It’s a neighborhood that’s constantly busy with tourists. Despite how boring the name sounds, it’s actually quite noisy. I’m almost to the other corner of the street when I spot the building where Tristan’s apartment is. To my surprise, it isn’t a lavish loft style apartment. In fact, it takes on the old look of the packing warehouses that used to line these streets. Complete with its gritty exterior is a solid steel door that’s rolled down. My eyes are immediately drawn to the tagged up industrial door that sits adjacent to it.

  This can’t be right. I look down at my phone, but the blue circle on my navigation map points to the building directly in front of me. I set Tristan’s painting down and after a few moments of fixing myself, I reluctantly knock on the gray door and listen for the sound of footsteps. The door reverberates on the other side, but no one comes. Maybe this is an abandoned building. My heart sinks at the thought that somehow the address is wrong. I set my mind on coming here. I told myself this was my chance to tell Tristan how I felt watching him leave us.

  I should just go. Maybe I can still catch Tom. With this traffic, he’s probably not even halfway down the street yet. I turn, but as soon as I do, I hear the click of a lock unlatching. A small slab on the door slides open and Tristan’s gaze peers at me through the opening. His hazel eyes widen in surprise as I step closer.

  “Emily?”

  Despite my hurt and my anger, something in his voice pulls at me as he says my name. From the look on Tristan’s face, he definitely wasn’t expecting me to show up at his doorstep.

  “Hold on,” he says as he closes the latch and then opens the door.

  He steps forward wearing tight jeans covered in paint. The top of them ride low on his hips accentuating the dip of his obliques. Fuck. His chest heaves as if he’s been running and sweat trickles down his bare chest. A light brush of black hair paints his chest. My eyes rake up his body, taking in each cut and curve of his muscles. I hate him for looking so good. Not a lot has changed since the last time I saw him this way. There’s just more. More muscle, more definition, and more to lose yourself in. I squeeze my knees together, blushing at the thought of seeing him fully nude again. Damn you, body. I shouldn’t be reacting to him like this, but how can I not? All the things I wanted to say to him fly straight out of my brain the moment he opens his mouth.

  “What are you doing here?”

  Speak. But my body refuses to comply. My heart races as his eyebrows quirk up at my silence. His gaze scorches me. There’s an intensity behind it that I wasn’t expecting.

  “Are you hurt?” he asks, stepping forward and pulling me into his apartment.

  I feel his hands roaming over me and the feeling is far better than I remember. Why am I not stopping him from touching me? Tell him to stop. Even as I try to form the words, my brain feels fuzzy from his touch.

  “I came to talk to you,” I finally blurt.

  “Oh, okay.”

  His hands stop touching me, and I immediately feel the disconnect between us as he steps back. I shouldn’t want him to touch me. Not because he’s my brother’s best friend, but because he hurt me. He used me and then he left. My chest swells as I try to divide the emotions I’m feeling and the words I need to say. I’m stopped by the sound of a loud clank that echoes from behind him. What the hell was that? The thought of him being here with someone slowly creeps its way into my mind. Why wouldn’t he be here with someone? Oh, God. Is that why he answered the door sweaty and out of breath?

  “I should just go,” I say, turning for the door.

  “Wait. You wanted to talk.”

  “Not when there’s someone else here with you.”

  I cringe inside as my words make me sound like a jealous little schoolgirl and not the confident woman I wanted Tristan to finally see.

  THIRTEEN

  EMILY

  A SEXY SMILE lights up Tristan’s face as he grabs my hand and pulls me down the hallway.

  “Come with me.”

  He says the words like I have a choice, but I know I have little choice from the grip of his hand on mine. The shift in Tristan’s tone makes me nervous. I can only take so many surprises from him. Seeing him at the Pleasure Chest was shocking enough. I’m still not sure how I feel about him being part of a BDSM club.

  Before Tristan can usher me further into his apartment, I manage to grab his painting as the industrial door closes behind us. Leery of what I’m about to see in front of me, I opt to study my surroundings. The inside of Tristan’s apartment is bare, except for his paintings that hang along the walls. As we travel further towards the back of the building, the themes of his paintings change from innocent views of the cityscape to portraits of nude women in sexual positions.

  As we get closer to the back of the studio, I spot several bursts of light coming from several steel lamps that hang from the ceiling. In the center of their display lays a brunette chained to a red velvet antique couch. My eyes do a double take at the sight of one of Tristan’s muses, who is very much real. A thick collar encrusted with diamonds surrounds her neck and between her legs lays a silver-like chain.

  I nearly choke in embarrassment at the sight of her. This is definitely not what I was expecting.

  The collar around her neck seems as if would be painful, but the surprising twinkle in her eyes tells me differently. She smiles but says absolutely nothing. I’ve seen her before. It takes me a moment to realize she’s the beauty from the Pleasure Chest. I saw her briefly before as I walked down the red painted hallway. The man with her was equally as mesmerizing, but this time, he’s not here with her.

  “This is Selena,” Tristan says, watching me.

  I turn to him in confusion. Is he sleeping with her, too? Why would he invite me inside to show me the woman he’s having sex with? Is he purposely trying to hurt me—or perhaps, he doesn’t think I care. I don’t. Do I?

  “She’s here with her Master,” Tristan says, catching my chin with his hand. “I’m painting her for him. It will be part of their personal collection.”

  Oh. Wait. Master? As in, she’s a slave? A part of me almost wishes I were her.

  “I should go.”

  “Wait.”

  I turn into a wall of steel muscle. Or at least that’s the way it feels when I run into a handsome stranger on my way out of Tristan’s apartment. I’m surprised to see the familiar brown-haired man standing in a gray suit blocking the front door. He looks down at me with a polite, but amused smile. I’m taken back by the scent of his cologne. No, not cologne. He smells like what sex would be like if it came in a bottle.

  “Sebastian, this is a family friend. Emily, this is Sebastian, Selena’s Master.”

  “It’s a pleasure to meet you,” he says.

  I extend my hand, but he doesn’t touch me. He simply smiles and looks to Tristan. A silent conversation passes between them before his gaze returns to me, and he extends his hand. I shake it, fully aware of the strong grip of his fingers.

  “I see you’ve met my Selena.”

  “Your Selena?” I ask.

  “Mine,” he says with hungry eyes. “Let me officially introduce you.”

  I follow him, acutely aware of Tristan’s gaze on my back. The stranger named Sebastian walks over to the beautiful brunette and pulls her chain. She moans as the chain slips between the lips of her center. She bows her head as he slowly helps her off the couch. My jaw nearly drops to the floor as she crawls on her hands and knees towards me. Sebastian never lets go of her chain.

  I throw a look of confusion at Tristan, but he stands in the background silently watching me. His gaze never falters.

  Selena cra
wls toward me, and I feel her breath inches from my skin. I look down at the naked angel forced on her hands and knees. A part of me almost feels sorry for her, but I can’t help but think she would get up if she didn’t like this position. It seems like an oxymoron, but I can’t help but think it must feel somewhat freeing to be chained. I had a similar sensation when Tristan whipped me.

  “She doesn’t bite,” Sebastian chuckles. “Not unless I tell her to.”

  I blush at the implied sexual innuendo. Unsure of what to do, I lean forward and place my hand on Selena’s shoulder. Her skin is soft and before I can pull away, I feel her lips on the inside of my wrist. Perhaps her kisses are her way of saying hello.

  “I like the way you taste,” Selena whispers against my wrist.

  I sense Tristan close in behind me as I pull back in surprise at Selena’s words. It doesn’t take me long to recognize the couple once they’re beside one another. I remember seeing them for a brief moment as I ventured into the Pleasure Chest.

  “I think we’re done for today, Sebastian. We can continue next week if that’s all right with you,” Tristan says breaking the silence.

  Sebastian pulls Selena back by her chain. She pouts at the distance put between us. I’m grateful for the space to breathe as my head spins. Does Selena like women, too? My cheeks flush.

  “Let me check my calendar, and I’ll get back to you,” Sebastian says with a smile.

  “Perfect,” Tristan says.

  “Come.”

  I watch Sebastian lead the chained brunette down the hall. It isn’t until they’re almost to the door that I see him unchain her and hand her a yellow dress to wear. He leans in and kisses her with a possessive hold. I’m so entranced by the sight before me that I hardly hear Tristan calling my name. Although Sebastian and Selena’s relationship is far different from any that I’ve ever seen, there’s a tantalizing expression of love and adoration between them. I can’t explain why, but my heart aches to have something similar.