by Kenya Wright
Blocking in the basic shapes of her image, I got the general outline and proportions of what I longed to touch; the point of her nose, the fullness of those lips, the rise of her cheekbones, and those window eyes that opened to her soul.
“Yes, Yaz. There you go.” I licked my lips and squeezed the tip of my cock. I wanted to come so bad I almost screamed for her to come upstairs.
She fucking has me acting like a crazy man.
Yaz was the perfect muse. Already she inspired my body and creative mind. Already, my paintbrush danced across the blank canvas capturing each beautiful detail. Already, my cock was ready to explode as I shifted to a smaller brush to work on those eyes.
Fuck. That gaze. It’s what’s got me crazy. Everything is in her eyes. The pain. The hurt. But there’s something else too. Love. But it looks different and it makes me feel altered in some way every time I look at her.
I had to have her. There was no way around it. I’d have to convince her somehow. Persuade. Beg. Would she even talk to me again after catching me rubbing my dick in my pants?
I don’t care. I’ll pay her anything she wants. Any damn amount. I will take her anywhere she desires. Give her anything that comes to her mind.
And then the thirst to touch her took me over. I dropped the paintbrush right as I finished her face. It wasn’t in perfect detail. Still, on the canvas, Yaz peered back at me through shadows. I’d have to watch her more. Stalk her, if needed. I didn’t want to take any pictures. I needed to be around her, breathing in that lush scent, slipping my fingers along her soft flesh, licking and tasting if I could.
“Oh, Yaz.” I pumped my cock in pure delirium. That painting sang to me, twisting and turning her image in my head, burning me up like I had a fever. Rage and lust snatched me out of reality. I was off course, out in the wilderness like a deranged beast, some shape-shifter changing form under the full moon and stalking the forest for his mate.
“Yaz, you’re a fucking goddess.” Squeezing my ass, I rocked into my hands, wrapping them both around my cock and hoping to mimic Yaz’s tight sex. And it had to be tight and wet. She walked like no one had made love to her, innocent and unsure of her curves. She moved like she had no idea what lay underneath those clothes.
“I’m going to show you.” I imagined the way her eyes would open wide as I thrust inside of her. How shock would mingle with pleasure. How that perfect little mouth would part to whisper my name. How sweet her voice would sound as she came. How warm and wet her flesh would be as I slipped inside of her. How much I would never want to leave.
Passion ripped through my chest and broke every part of my body. I came undone. Exploded. Shattered. Torn into my desire and the very thought of her.
I came.
All over my hands.
All over the canvas.
White, hot semen shooting in the air in liquid strings.
Decorating her eyes on the canvas.
Dripping down her nose and lips.
I came hard, busting all over the raw umber and ivory black jars of paint, spilling onto the floor where the paint brushes lay discarded.
Dotting my jeans.
“Yaz.” Hallowed, I collapsed to the floor, semen still spurting out of the tip, desire still blazing inside of me. “Yaz.”
I shook on the ground, probably resembling a fish snatched out of water or a person going through a seizure. But instead, my cock was out of my jeans and cum lay all around me, and there would be nothing to say if Brett, Yaz, or Vera found me. There would be no excuse for how I looked.
“Yaz.”
And she did this to me. Had me on the ground with my dick out like I should’ve been kept in a mental hospital. No woman should have this sort of power. In only a few minutes, my hand was on my cock and I couldn’t stop the rubbing. With her inside of my studio, I couldn’t figure out if I wanted to fuck or paint or do both at the same time.
“Yaz.”
I’d had rules since Lisa. One was to never date a woman I could be obsessed with, to get too close to the ones who could drive me crazy. There was no doubt in my mind that Yaz would have me strung out and running after her like a fool. These were clear signs. She would fog my head like the past vile woman in my life would do. I’d be blinded to her and any dark part of her. Already, her name echoed in every corner of my brain. There would be no rest tonight or any other, not until I’d drawn her enough. Not until I tasted her.
God! What am I saying?
Still on the ground with my cock out, I licked my lips and whispered her name again.
Later, I showered and wiped up the cum all around Yaz’s painting. What would Brett or Vera think, if they saw it? I had to hide my lunacy. It would be the studio’s and my secret. I wasn’t really a fan of anyone cleaning in there anyway.
She had me busting all over my floor like a sex addict overdosing in an orgy.
Dried white spots dotted the ground. It dripped down the easel, giving the wood scattered stripes. Cum even decorated the painting in some spots. Little white spots glimmered on her lips and face. I couldn’t clean it off. In some way, the liquid gave the image even more life.
“Perfect.”
No one would really guess that it was semen. They’d just think I was doing something odd and artistic.
The best art were the ones that held secret jokes between the canvas and the painter. After I died, people would still wonder what those drops meant. Did they represent some metaphysical concept in my head? Or had they been an experiment in light or color? No one would ever guess that they’d gotten there from me jacking off and stroking the canvas at the same time.
I’m going to do that again.
I imagined Yaz in the room with me as I slid my hands along my length. Better yet, I would take my hand away and place her small, soft hand on my cock. Would she know how to stroke it just right? If she didn’t, my teaching her would be half of the fun.
She needs to give me an answer soon.
Raking my hands through my hair, I shook the image of her out of my head and returned to the mess. It must’ve taken twenty minutes to get the crazy out. Once I finished cleaning up, I studied the painting I’d done of her again. “Damn, you’re stunning.”
Hell yes. I don’t think I’ve ever painted this good before.
Her face incited a passion inside of me that bubbled up to the surface and exposed itself in my art. With her painting, I’d done something different from all the others. I’d angled her face in such a way that the ridge of her delicate nose formed the line between brightly illuminated and shadowy areas. Yaz sat partially eclipsed—a division of light dramatized by darkness. The brushwork in itself was exquisite, and I’d been doing it while jacking off. The result was rich layers of paint that rippled all over the canvas.
I should give it to her. Surprise her with it.
I checked my watch. It was midnight. Brett’s and Olivia’s voices sounded downstairs as they argued.
“Why don’t you love me?” Oliva cried.
“Shh,” Brett said. “Keep your voice down, please.”
“I did everything you asked me to. I even wrote those dumb letters.”
“And I gave you money for that.”
“I don’t want your money, I want your heart.”
“No, you want a ring to guarantee the money.”
“I don’t care that you’re rich.”
“Sure, you don’t. We met in the bar. You wouldn’t even say hi. Later, you see me walk to the Bugatti and suddenly you’re talking to me like I’m a movie star. An hour later, we fuck. A day later, you’re asking to borrow money.”
“I needed it.”
“We’re done.”
“Please,” she cried some more. “I love you.”
“I told you, babe. I’m recently divorced. I’m not interested in nothing more than sex.”
The front door slammed, echoing through the whole mansion. I glanced out the window to see Brett stomping off onto the beach and holding a bottle of whiskey in his hand. Olivia tro
tted behind him, naked and crying.
I had no judgment to give Brett or Olivia. I’d just been acting like a mad man in my studio.
I turned on some music just in case they came back and argued some more. River blasted from the speakers.
“Every part of you I want to penetrate. With you, I’m a beast. I’m a primate.”
The urge to see Yaz came over me. It should’ve been enough that I’d jacked off to her, but now I just wanted to hear her voice before I went to bed.
“I’m a thief in the night! I’m a creature fucking your insides!”
And talking on the phone wouldn’t be enough. We had to be face-to-face. I wanted to smell her scent, touch her skin, taste that pretty little mouth.
“The closer to you, the closer to death. The closer to God. Then, I lose my breath.”
Shutting off the music, I put on a fresh pair of jeans and a black t-shirt, deciding to go out and see her. It wasn’t my best idea, but I didn’t care.
It’s too late. This is a crazy idea. Maybe I can just leave it outside of her door.
My nerves frazzled. I didn’t think things through much with women. All I had to do was ask and usually, I received. If I didn’t, then it would be no big deal anyway.
In this case, a lot depended on these next moments with Yaz. For whatever reason, she’d triggered mania in me. I had to explore it.
Done with trying to ponder it further, I went downstairs and headed to her sister’s place. The whole time, I gripped the canvas in my hand.
Would she love it?
By the time I arrived at the bed and breakfast, my cock came alive again. I gazed at her portrait and knew I couldn’t talk to her right then.
Get control of yourself, man. This is not the first time you’ve seen sex!
She would never model for me or hang out if I continued to show her that I was this horny guy with no control of his dick.
Once I got to Dolphin View’s back door where I’d kissed her nights ago, anxiety bit at my flesh while lust raged in my veins. I couldn’t see Yaz and behave. My body wanted her so bad, and my hands hoped to lovingly study and dissect every inch of her—from that brain to the center of her thighs. My fingers needed to learn the texture of her skin. My head yearned to preview the thoughts that ran in her mind. My ears craved the subtle levels of her voice.
She lit a fire inside of me. Yaz had touched something in me that had lain dormant since Lisa. Yaz made me feel alive. She made me hope, when I thought there was none left in the world.
This is fucking crazy. Why am I out here? It’s too late to knock. Everyone should be asleep.
I lowered to the ground and considered trying to slide the painting under her door.
No, dumb ass. That won’t work.
A female voice sounded behind me. “Hawkins, is that you?”
Stiffening, I turned around.
Cindy stood in front of me. She didn’t appear pleased at all. Lips turned into a frown, dread swam in her eyes and her hands held a gun. Fuck! It made sense. I was at the back of her property, walking in the shadows and looking sketchy.
“Hey, Cindy.” I slowly raised my hands.
“Oh.” Cindy must’ve realized she had her gun because she looked at it and then lowered. “Sorry. Victor had to take a guest to the hospital.”
“What happened?”
“A lover’s quarrel turned bad. She threw her heels at his head. It hit his eye. It’s probably okay, but since it’s his eye, I wanted him to get it checked.” She gestured around. “Either way, the alarm back here went off.”
“I didn’t hear anything.”
“That’s the point. I don’t want anything to ever wake up the guests, if there’s no need. The alarm signal just goes to our living area. Usually it’s a cat, but the camera showed a man.”
I frowned. “You shouldn’t have come down here by yourself. With Victor gone, you should’ve called me.”
“Look at Hawkins.” She smiled. “You’re all a big man now, telling me what to do.”
I smiled. “Sorry.”
“No worries. And understand that I’m more than capable with this.” She gestured to her gun. “What are you doing around here?”
I showed her the painting. “I figured Yaz was asleep, so I was just going to leave it around here. Honestly, I don’t know why I even came over here. I could’ve waited.”
“It sounds like you wanted to surprise her.” She walked closer and studied the image. “You’re really talented.”
“It’s a hobby.”
“This should go in a gallery.”
“Thank you.”
She turned back to me. Her frown never left her face. “How long do you plan on staying in the Keys?”
“For a while.”
“So, this isn’t a short vacation?”
“I’m not sure.”
“Why not?” she asked.
It was no use making up something to Cindy. The woman always had a bullshit meter when it came to me.
“I’m enjoying Yaz’s company and will probably hang here until she leaves.”
Her frown deepened. “She’s been through a lot. You’ve been through more than a lot. What do you mean by hanging out?”
“We’re grown-ups, Cindy.”
“That’s not an answer, Hawkins.”
“I enjoy spending time with her.”
“I’m sure she enjoys you too.” She sighed. “However, are you okay?”
I held back my anger, knowing exactly what she was getting at. I was damaged. Cindy just wanted to make sure that I wouldn’t get my rot on her sister.
“I’m doing fine,” I said. “Painting relaxes me. The Keys are soothing.”
“You are really talented.” Cindy’s attention returned to the canvas. “You’ve always painted. I still have some of the drawings you gave me.”
“I’m surprised.”
“They were that good. You and Yaz always had these amazing imaginations. Sigmund Freud claimed that early childhood experiences produced creative genius. I often wondered if Mom and Dad dying so early sparked Yaz’s creative fire.” She turned back to me. “But then, Freud also believed creative genius was a sign of mental illness—a psychological disorder that was functional, but distorted the perception of reality for the ill. Basically, Freud thought all artists were crazy.”
“Not many have disagreed.”
“There’s definitely a link to creativity and mental disorders.”
“I’ve heard,” I said. “But what does this have to do with me?”
“Hawkins, I love you like your family, but make sure your crazy doesn’t touch my sister’s crazy.”
“I would never hurt her.”
She gestured at her gun. “You better not.”
Same old Cindy. Fiercely protective of Yaz and taking no bullshit.
We stared at each other for several seconds. She didn’t look like she would back down, and I didn’t think I had much of an argument against her. After all, I’d been jacking off to the image of her sister just a couple minutes ago.
What the hell am I doing out here? I must look crazy to her.
“I’ll give the painting to Yaz when she wakes up.” Cindy reached out to grab the canvas.
I pulled it back. “No. I think I should just give it to her tomorrow.”
“Oh, stop it. You know that you want this to be the first thing she sees when she wakes up. Isn’t that why you braved the chilly wind in the middle of the night and risked getting shot by me?”
“Maybe.” I handed it to her.
She studied it some more and then shook her head. “This is going to be a long fall.”
“Excuse me?”
“Nothing.” Cindy gave me a half hug that set me off edge, and then she walked away. “Have a goodnight, Hawkins. And don’t creep around my property like this again. You know we’re all crazy over here. You’ll end up getting a bullet in your behind.”
“I’ll remember that.”
Cindy had bee
n right to hold her gun and fear the world. I used to see the world as safe. After Lisa, all my beliefs and assumptions about life shattered. Before her, there’d been a sense of order and predictability about life. Now, I felt like my place of refuge had been invaded and forever destroyed.
And now with Yaz, each day was becoming even more unpredictable.
Chapter 11
Yasmine
Victor and Cindy meant well, but I’d bought another self-help book. It explained that the prerequisite to success was uncertainty. Being that I was usually unsure of everything, I found strength in those words.
Just because I don’t know what would happen to Hawk and me, doesn’t mean I should avoid him.
For the next two days, I modeled for Hawk.
Cindy told me she’d seen him one night, but he never made any mention of it. She’d also gave me the painting, but when I brought it up, Hawk seemed uneasy. I didn’t understand why he didn’t want to talk about it and, so I left the topic alone.
In those sessions, he seemed on edge and more intense. He began to get lost in the process, studying me and then coloring his canvas, mixing colors and then telling me cool facts about artists. He played jazz the whole time, usually with a saxophone riding a slow beat.
I hadn’t gone nude yet. Instead, I compromised with swimsuits—a candy apple red beaded one in the first session and a creamy white crocheted set for the second. Both times I could’ve sworn he moaned as I lay in front of him.
Surely, my body hummed with desire, partly wishing he’d touch me. But then on the other side, I wanted to keep us as friends. This wasn’t supposed to be about sex. He’d been through hell. I just wanted to show him heaven.
I hoped the painting really helped him heal. These moments were making me feel better. As he watched me, I felt more confident, more beautiful, ready to start a new life.
Both days, he gave me a gift. On the first day, he handed me a laptop with red ribbon wrapped around it. I refused to take it. Later that day, he professionally delivered it to my room.
The next session, he gave me a long necklace with an elaborate pendant. It was silver with a tree that stood inside of a circle. Rainbow colored stones sat on the pendant’s branches. Hawk explained that each stone was supposed to have spiritual and physical healing powers. I loved it. Although it appeared he didn’t believe in that stuff, he’d given me something that was important to me. I must’ve lain in bed and fingered that pendant the whole night.
