Omega Artist: A Hero Club Novel

by Hope Irving

  “I saw how Greer stared at me, you know.” Tig’s eyes are downcast as he paces the living room of Graham’s friends’ beach house where we’re staying for this extended weekend. “Same way Graham looked down at me when we met.”

  Motown is playing through the living room speakers, lending a JFK era vibe to the place… except that, at the time, tattoos were probably reserved for cons and sailors!

  We just came back from dinner with Soraya, Lorenzo, and Graham, who refused to allow us to chip in. He claimed that, since we’re here to celebrate his daughter’s birthday on Sunday, it’s the least he could do.

  Tig’s been preoccupied throughout dinner, barely touching his gourmet food. Thank God, Soraya managed to make it appear as if the four of us were having an actual conversation, and I played along.

  I sigh as I quietly approach him from behind and wrap my arms around his waist, resting my face on his back. “Knowing Greer like I do, she wasn’t judgmental. She’s cool, really.” I’m annoyed that Greer’s behavior affects this truly handsome man so much. Granted, I’d been the first to disparage what I considered to be his fabricated bad boy aura and everything he represented when I Googled him months ago. Looking at him now, with my mission on hold, all I see is a gorgeous broken guy who’s trying to make it through dark times. Precisely like me. His wordless answer comes in the form of a shrug. “I guess that she simply pictured you differently.” Once again, he doesn’t answer and grumbles instead. “You know what? Why don’t I open the outrageously expensive bottle of wine we bought earlier and sit down for this conversation?” In an instant, I feel his shoulders relax. I kiss his covered back and go to the wine cellar that’s hidden under the staircase.

  I walk towards him with my drink in one hand and a tall glass of seltzer in the other. His current posture worries me. He’s studying the floor with his elbows on his knees and raking his fingers through his longer wavy hair. It doesn’t take a rocket scientist to figure out that something’s bothering him. And he’s keeping it from me; my stupid heart lurches at the thought. I can’t believe that it’s all due to Greer.

  We clink glasses. “Thanks for being so thoughtful, Aliénor.” I turn to mush when he utters my name with his sexy accent. Puzzled, I glance at him and take a seat beside him and rubbing his back. “The seltzer.”

  I nod, my fingers reaching for his. “Are you okay?”

  He nods, stroking his thumb against my palm. “Just overthinking things when I should be focused on the moment.”

  I kiss his forehead. “Thank you for asking me to tag along.”

  “You’re welcome. You know how excited Chloe is to meet you, right?” I grin. We’ve talked about his unique friendship with Graham’s daughter many times since it first came up on New Year’s Eve. A friendship that’s further complicated by her mother, who’s not Tig’s strongest supporter. “To be honest, I never thought you’d agree to come.”

  “Thanks for the vote of confidence! Are you disappointed that I accepted?” I tease, elbowing him.

  With that, he growls, puts his glass down, and steals a sloppy kiss from my ever-willing mouth while I grasp my wine tighter. His upper body suddenly brushes against mine, sending naughty signals as our tongues dance, fighting for dominance as usual. There’s always been an urgency in his kisses that I revel in. I didn’t comprehend why until he confessed about his wife’s passing. A tragic accident that sent him straight to Hell, then back to the living, courtesy of his best friend. That makes us both survivors in a way and must be why having him to remedy my cancer-marred skin felt so natural.

  And he succeeded. Patiently. Skillfully. Beautifully. I haven’t shown my upper body to anyone but him. Since my hospital stay. Since my random encounters. Since my ink healed. It was about time he reaped his reward. Unfortunately, his TLC wasn’t able to restore full sensation. I’m not a faker and won’t pretend to feel anything that I don’t. At least Albert is happy to be squished between my girls; this is one of the instances where Tig removes his jewel. I had no idea it was a possibility.

  In a swift move, my lover plucks my glass from my hand and sets it on the coffee table, pulling my lax body onto his lap and I straddle him. He tears his mouth from mine and pins my gaze with his. The fire in his eyes is palpable. “What are you doing to me?” His voice is a mix of wonder, despair, and bliss.

  Afraid to say something that I might regret, my hand palms the growing erection that’s taken residence in his khakis. “Upstairs?” Sex has always been my go-to answer. Uncomplicated. Unabashed. Unemotional.

  Men being men, their dicks tend to take the lead as their brains short-circuit. And this arrangement would make everyone happy if it weren’t for the judgmental assholes that call me names. But that’s another story. Right now, the heavily tattooed man obliges.

  Thoroughly.

  “You were right, you know.” With one hand on the impressive staircase’s post cap, I bend to unbuckle the thin straps of my platform shoes.

  “I’m right about a lot of things, Alie,” I hear Tig boast from behind me as the front door thumps closed.

  “Ha, ha. You were right to warn me about Graham’s ex.” Contempt was evident every time that she addressed Tig. With a smile plastered on my face, I silently thanked my parents for my deep-rooted manners that kept me from being arrested for assault and battery.

  “I know! Being around her and some of those people is nerve-wrecking.”

  “Those people?”

  “Yeah, the entitled ones who think that they’re better than us because they own this or that.” Us… Thankfully, he continues before I need to redirect the conversation to skirt the topics of money, disrespect, and us. “But the look she gave you was priceless.” His mouth moves across on my shoulders, leaving tingles in its wake. “You, and your impeccable preppy outfit.” Genevieve’s jaw dropped when I took off my jacket and tiny feathers of Tig’s art peeked out of my sundress. My breathtaking phoenix. “You, and your obvious conservative upbringing.” A while back, I clued Tig in about my blue blood and revealed my last name when he inquired about the origin of my first name. “You, and your tat that contradicts everything Genevieve believes appropriate for a woman of your status.” We may be over a decade apart, but Genevieve and her new Wall Street money can’t intimidate me. For the first time in months, I proudly exposed my skin.

  Soon enough, I’m rendered helpless as my traitorous body turns into a puddle of goo under Tig’s hands that are fondling my derrière. “You’re hot as fuck… especially today.” He groans. “I’m no fashionista, but your dress fits you to perfection. Nah… it’s not just the dress.” Oh, he’s perceptive. I’m still me, but I feel like I’ve been enhanced. In an instant, Greer’s assessment comes to mind, “You’re somehow more confident.” Damn, she saw right through me! “Everyone admired your tats and don’t think I missed how you wiggled your perky ass to tempt me all afternoon.”

  My heart swells when he compliments my clothing. I giggle, unstrapping my other shoe and glance at him over my left shoulder, appreciating his ministrations. “We were the hottest couple, weren’t we?”

  “We sure were.” In the blink of an eye, he’s facing me with the back of my navy dress bunched in his hand.

  All of a sudden, he tucks his taut body against mine and, in the same movement, grinds his massive hard-on against my core, driving me crazy. I mourn the loss when he stops and adds, in between pants and feathered kisses on my collarbone, “I considered bribing you to join me in one of their zillion bathrooms… It would’ve been easy to not draw attention.” The more his mouth and tongue touch my skin, the more they fan my irrepressible desire for him. “Were you making conversation with everyone to avoid the public embarrassment that I might cause?”

  “What’s gotten into you? You’re awfully talkative today…” I catch my breath and my head lolls to the side. “No complaints here. The new you is fun!”

  His fevered kisses begin their descent between my girls. His skillful fingers make quick work of th
e first few buttons to reach my nipples. His teasing tongue traces the delicate patterns of my ink. That’s when I shiver from head to toe and lean against the adjacent wall for support. I feel the tip of his tongue circling my nipples. I feel the tiny bites that his hungry teeth inflict on me. I feel everything. OMG! From the way he pauses, then goes at it again, I know that he understood, but neither of us bothers to mention it.

  Instead, I remark, “For now, I’m done following any conversation, Tig de Luca!” My voice pleads for mercy. “This is too much.”

  “That’s okay, baby.” One more button is undone. “Let’s finish it tomorrow.” Another is gone. “Let me finish what I started now… and thank you.” And yet another.

  “What for?”

  “Chloe’s perfect birthday present.” A first edition of Twilight by Stephenie Meyer, signed by the author. “I knew she’d adore you!” A satisfied sigh escapes while he claims every exposed inch of the skin while he ventures south, one kiss, one lick, one bite at a time, to notice. My body is on fire. “Also, thank you for being the badass woman who stood by me today.”

  “My pleasure.” My breathing is ragged. My body is fidgeting. My mind is gone.

  “It meant a lot.”

  I’m satisfied with what Tig and I have. I’m happy with this friends with benefits situation. I’m relieved that he’s uncomplicated and doesn’t ask for more. On top of that, the sex is amazing.

  From my renewed confidence to our chemistry, I owe a myriad of novel thrilling sensations to the man whose fingers are currently plunging into me. My thong is history, discarded somewhere in the entryway. His patience with the numerous buttons on my dress is history; his head disappeared under it. Our restraint is history, as my moans accompany his every touch. From his tongue. From his mouth. From his fingers. I lose myself in the unbearable pleasure until I scream his full name as my orgasm hits like a tidal wave.

  My stupid heart batters my ribcage. Trying to get my bearings, I thread my hands through my short hair. With a shit-eating grin on my dazed face, I watch Tig reappear, his lips glistening from eating me out. “You’re hot, you know, wearing my pleasure on your lips.”

  He licks his lips suggestively, and scoops me into his arms, and carries me to bed.

  There, he takes his sweet time and gives me two more phenomenal orgasms. I pat myself on the back for being a thoughtful and responsible person who brought what every girl needs for a long weekend with her lover: condoms and lube. Both came in handy. I think that every part of my body is hooked on Albert, and Tig for awakening it.

  Sexed-up, I’m half-asleep but totally responsive to the tips of his fingers tracing patterns on my upper body while we spoon. I’ve never done this with anyone before. It’s nice, although I’m trying to ignore his dick that’s lodged between my butt cheeks. I want more and I think that he does, too. I think he’s addicted to every inch of me.

  His hot breath drifts across my earlobe, and I anticipate what I assume will be a dirty suggestion when he dazzles me by stammering in a drowsy voice, “Alie… I… I…” There’s a pause, and I feel his heart slow down against my back. Within seconds, the weight of his body increases and I think that he’s fallen asleep until he mumbles…

  “Love you.”

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Woman

  Aliénor… As Alie G

  —It’s a Man’s Man’s Man’s World—

  “But it wouldn’t be nothing, nothing without a woman or a girl…” James Brown sang, but I wonder what the song’s female co-writer had in mind.

  This blog post won’t be filled with the usual pieces of advice on maintaining a healthy lifestyle or inspirational thoughts on female empowerment.

  Today, I’d like to share my pointless mission. My raw experience. My near-failure. So, I’d love to hear your feedback in the comment section. Thanks!

  Here goes.

  Once upon a time, there was a hopeful princess with a vivid imagination who dreamt of finding her own prince. Not a fairytale prince in tights who would rescue her from a supposedly gloomy future with magic tricks. Not a Prince Charming in white who would give purpose to her supposedly dull life with his mere presence. Not a billionaire prince in a suit who would woo her and make her supposedly half-life complete. To make sure that she wouldn’t overlook her own prince, she made a list of all the criteria that he should meet.

  Once the princess embarked on her quest, she realized that the world wasn’t magical. It wasn’t a fairytale. It was biased. Despite her supportive family who taught her to be her own person, the princess reluctantly molded her behavior to society’s expectations, to no avail. Critics persisted. Words changed. People judged. Again and again. And here she thought it was the twenty-first century!

  As a defense mechanism, she managed to lower the volume of society’s demands. Disparaging messages. Mixed messages. Discouraging messages. They became white noise so that she could carry on without doubting herself each step of the way. Single-minded, she was compelled to find her place in the world as a person first and foremost.

  Ignore the difference in opportunities. Ignore the difference in paychecks. Ignore the difference in treatment. It doesn’t take a scientist to notice that women and men are different. Should that mean that the former is “le sexe faible” as the French say, and therefore the weaker sex who is bound to be ruled by the supposedly stronger one?

  I think not. But you see, that princess is me. All my life, I’ve been told that I was an independent person. All my life, I’ve been taught that I was free to determine my destiny. All my life, I’ve encountered the exact opposite, and especially when it comes to sex.

  Here’s an area where the gender bias and stereotypes are so ingrained that both men and women think it’s acceptable to condemn a woman’s behavior. Meanwhile, the same is praised when a man is concerned.

  Let’s see… If I find a guy clingy and dump him, I’m a heartless bitch who rejected his feminine side. If it’s the other way around, it’s the girl’s own fault for being a needy bitch who got in the way. If I collect men because I love sex, I’m a slut; he does the same, he’s a god. If I can’t get attached, I have daddy issues; when it’s a guy, it’s because the girl doesn’t satisfy him in bed. And if I get called names on the street, it’s because I asked for it by wearing a skirt that’s too short… You get the picture.

  Setting genders on uneven ground is ultimately a lose-lose situation. Don’t get me wrong, I’m not playing the victim or counter-stereotypes here, but I wish for our patriarchal society to reflect on how to move forward, rather than in a vicious circle.

  So far, society puts the blame on me, undermines me, and tells me what being a lady entails (while at the same time manipulating the definition to blur the lines, to add double-standards, and increase guilt). All because I love sex, although I have never been unfaithful, deceptive, or conniving.

  To me, sex is fulfilling when two consenting adults play by their established rules. To me, sex is filthy only if you don’t clean up, not due to outdated moral standards. To me, sex is beautiful because it can ultimately create life. I refuse to refer to consensual sex as dirty. I refuse to apologize for loving a good fuck. I refuse to acknowledge what some judgmental assholes call “The walk of shame.” I will never be ashamed of owning my sex life because it is part of who we are, as human beings. Men and women are in this together.

  My crusade against gender bias was set into motion by a mundane, but real, situation. Girl meets Boy on a hookup app. Boy is looking for one-night stands and says so upfront. Girl agrees to his terms. (The story doesn’t say if Girl was secretly hoping that Boy would eventually change his mind.) Boy fucks girl. Girl is happy. Boy is happy. One night turns into more. Girl is confused by the discrepancy between his words and his actions. Boy dumps girl for no apparent reason. (The story doesn’t say if Girl was seen as too clingy.) Girl stalks Boy. Boy brags about his conquests with other male friends. Boy is worshipped by his friends. Boy is asked how many girls he’s
fucked recently. Girl cries over her misfortune. Boy is already back on the hookup app. Girl eventually gets over boy. (The story doesn’t say how long it took her.) End of story? Not quite. Girl gave me the opportunity to set the record straight on a silver platter.

  It has nothing to do with how tough Girl took it at first. It has nothing to do with how Boy treated Girl because I wasn’t there to witness it. It has everything to do with how people—friends of both genders—condemn my actions as a female while admiring a man for the notches in his belt.

  Granted, I could have hunted down an ex who treated me poorly. I didn’t. Instead, I chose a random guy. A random guy who embodied everything that I despised. A random guy who lured Girl with actions that contradicted his words. A random guy who loved the awe his friends showed for his sexual prowess. He deserved a taste of his own medicine.

  In turn, his less than honorable behavior made him the perfect vehicle for setting an example and proving my point. Be held accountable for your words. Be true to yourself. Be treated equitably, no matter your gender (or race or sexual preferences, which should go without saying, but that’s not my mission for the moment). Because why not? Not better. Not worse.

  So, Boy and I began interacting online after I admired his paintings. (I really do, and secretly bought a few of his canvases!) Their darkness appealed to me on an intrinsic level. Our unlikely connection felt easy. Our numerous conversations were genuine (at least on my part). Our online relationship blossomed… until it ignited. I teased. I enticed. I played… and soon, he was hooked. He admitted rubbing one out to the sound of my voice. I confessed the same. One day, he disclosed that he didn’t do the dating game. He didn’t do commitment. He didn’t do marriage. (Don’t ask!) We were on the same page, and I told him as much. To which he dared to call me the perfect woman!