“I didn’t realize you were a gentleman,” she teases.
“You’re right. I’m not. If it were my choice, I would’ve kept you pinned down to that bench no matter who came rolling up this highway. I would’ve let your moans and screams of pleasure fill the air for anyone who dared come near so they knew your pussy belongs to me.”
“Oh.”
I just smirk in response. For all the sass she throws my way and as much as she likes to be a flirtatious tease, she gets flustered whenever I throw it back. I live for it.
“Come on, babe. I want to get you back before it gets dark. You holding on tight?”
Her arms readjust slightly and tighten under my ribs.
“Yup, I’m ready.”
I turn the engine on and kick my bike to life. Revving the engine, I take one last look at the view before speeding back down the highway. Stevie screams a little at the quick intake of speed, and all I can think about is that I was so close to having her screams of pleasure in the palm of my hand.
***
I drive up to the fourth story of the parking structure, slowing down so she can direct me to her car. Her left hand gives my ribs a death grip as her other hand comes up to point in a vague direction on our left, so I slow to a stop. When the engine turns off, she slings herself off the bike with grace. Damn, she got a handle on that quickly.
She unhooks the helmet and slips it off, handing it to me before rubbing her thighs.
“Ugh, my legs still hurt like a bitch.”
I laugh, relieved to hear her joke. She didn’t say much on the ride back, and I was worried the whole thing might have spooked her. Even though she was more than happy to get down with Blade, the mask tends to give people the confidence to do things they normally wouldn’t—including myself. When push comes to shove, most people get thrown off. The thrill of public play turns to pure fear or embarrassment. I’m glad that’s not the case for her.
“It’ll be like that for another day or so. You don’t realize the strain until it’s too late.”
“Worth it, though.” She gives me a lop-sided grin.
“I can think of some other ways it would’ve been worth it.” I wink at her.
She lets out a light laugh, her eyes shining. I’m tempted to pull her back to me again.
“Well, this is my rental.” She gestures to the black Mercedes behind her. “Thank you, for inviting me out today. It was amazing.”
“This date was definitely the highlight of my week.”
“Date?” Her brows raise as mine furrow.
“Well, yeah. A date.”
She cocks her head for a second like she is contemplating something.
Fuck. If she didn’t think this was a date, then what did she think it was?
I haven’t been on an actual date in a few years. Have things changed? Great. If she thought this was just us hanging out then…wait, but who hangs out and gets half naked? Well, I’ve fucked girls and didn’t call that a date…
Dammit. I’m getting in my head.
“Thank god,” she presses a hand to her chest and chuckles, “I thought it was a date as well.” My chest lightens with relief as I stare into her smile. “Thank you for a fun first date.”
“No kiss before you leave?” I raise my brows suggestively up and down.
She smirks back at me before blowing me a kiss. “Bye, Aleks.”
She wiggles her manicured fingers at me and turns to her car.
Little tease.
“Bye, Stevie.”
She goes to slip into the car but pauses, grabbing something off the windshield before descending inside and shutting the door. Her car rumbles to life, and she turns to give me a little wave through the back window. I wave back before sliding down my visor, releasing my break, and taking off.
I’m leaving her behind, but the memory of today is stained in my mind forever, just like the taste of her on my lips.
SIXTEEN
* * *
STEVIE
I have to be dreaming right now.
The paint brush in my hand drops to the ground, splattering flecks of blue onto the sheet below me.
“Ms. Andwell, are you still there?”
“Yes, I’m here. Sorry.” I turn up the volume on my headphones so I can hear the person on the other side of the line. I must have misheard them.
“We would like to formally include you in our exhibition next weekend. Would you be able to bring your piece over this afternoon? Mr. Hayes would like to inspect it again before we figure out where it would fit in the layout.”
Okay, so I didn’t mishear her. Holy crap.
“Yes, I can bring it over this afternoon.”
“Wonderful, we shall see you then.”
“Okay. Thank you so much.”
The woman hangs up the phone without further delay, and the music I had been blaring starts back up. I stand in complete shock, staring at the canvas piece I was just working on. The bright colors of the sea blur in my vision.
Caleb Hayes is going to feature my art.
It was a total shot in the dark when I submitted my newest piece for the Hayes Art Gallery’s upcoming artist exhibition. They were specifically looking for artists whose pieces fit their theme of “Devil’s Night.” The piece I had crafted during my all-nighter a week ago was practically singing to be featured. Eleven hours straight I had worked on it. And now, it would be an exhibition piece.
My phone pings, and I quickly wipe my hands on my apron before picking it up.
It’s a good morning text from Aleksander. It’s one in the afternoon, and yet this is morning for him. We started texting each other good morning and good night a few days ago. It quickly became clear that while I may have a few long nights here and there when I get particularly sucked into an art piece, Aleksander always has late nights. It’s a miracle if he responds to my morning texts before twelve.
I smile and shoot him a text back, letting him know I just got some great news. My phone instantly lights up with a call. I tap on my headphones to answer it so I can clean up my room while chatting to him. I need to head off to the gallery as soon as I can, but I can’t leave open paint about.
“Hey, babe. What’s the news?” His morning voice is gravelly, and my body shivers at the deep tone.
“Hey, sleepyhead,” I tease. “I just heard back from an art gallery.”
“Oh? And what did they say?”
“They’re featuring one of my pieces next week.” I pick up my brushes and bring them into the bathroom. I soap them up and work my fingers through the bristles to rub out the paint. I run them under some warm water and dry them off. Then, I swirl them in a fresh jar of mineral spirits to get any of the remaining paint off before running them under the warm water again. Oil-based paints are a pain to clean, but I’ve lost too many brushes from half-assing the process.
“Seriously? That’s amazing, Stevie. Congratulations.”
“Thanks, I bring them my piece later today.”
“Damn, I would say we should go out to celebrate, but I have to work tonight.”
“Don’t worry about it.” I shove the phone between my ear and shoulder as I wash my hands to remove residual paint.