“They’re going to love it, sweetheart,” Vince says from behind me, and I smile. I keep my eyes closed as his arm wraps around my waist and he kisses my neck, just like I knew he would. He holds me to him and I open my eyes. We both stare at the painting.
“You think they’ll really like it?” It’s my first exhibit. The gallery next to Becca’s restaurant is featuring me in their exhibit. I’m scared shitless. Painting is a lot of fun, and relaxing as well, but I never thought it’d be a viable career. There’s so much risk and no stability. But Vince is right. It’s the next step for me. It’s been a few weeks since the shooting, and everything has finally calmed down. I’ve even gone out a few times with Becca. Vince didn’t like the idea at first, since there’s still something going on with the MCs, but he relented. I’m fairly certain him and Dom just sat outside of the restaurant every single time. I know they did at least once. Becca and I kinda of love it. How protective they are. The only place Vince has taken me is to family dinners and the gun range. I need to get out and do something. Thank God for Becca. I call her almost every day. She’s going to pop sometime soon. Having her as a friend really helped me to take painting seriously. She calls me an artist, but I haven’t earned that title yet.
My vow to be more social could be going better. I was going to take my mother to her AA meeting. But when I showed up and found her drunk and heard her excuses… I stormed off and haven’t been back since. It wasn’t worth cussing her out. I’m tired of putting the energy into helping her. I really do want to try; I want to help her. But I can’t take her bullshit anymore.
I tilt my head and get a wave of inspiration as I look at the canvas. I need to make more of it black and white, and have the red lips saturated in comparison. That and more contrast on his hand. That would really make it pop.
“I’ve got it!” I yell out, and move to pick up the paints on the table.
“I gotta get going, Elle. Are you sure you wanna open those now? They’ll dry up by the time I get back.”
Arousal shoots from my chest down to my heated core. The thought of him leaving turns me on so damn much. He still ties me up when he leaves, and fucks me so fucking good when he gets back. I love it. I live for his touch. I clench my thighs and close my eyes trying to hide my desire. Not that it matters. He knows how depraved I am. And he loves it, too.
But playing during the daytime has waned a bit. I’ve been busy with shopping dates and luncheons. The women in his family are so friendly and open, I can’t possibly say no to their invitations. He always ties me up at night though. And I fucking love it.
My eyes shoot open and I stare at the canvas. This is supposed to be done tonight, and it needs at least two days to dry completely. I bite the inside of my cheek contemplating what I should do.
“You need to get this done, don’t you?” he asks, picking up his mug off the table. He grabs mine as well and walks to the sink.
“I really should,” I say, as I take in more details of the painting. I should take advantage of this inspiration while I can.
“When I get back...” Vince walks over to me, and reaches under my nightgown to cup my pussy. He breathes on my neck and puts his lips up to my ear, “...you'd better be ready for me.”
His words send a shiver down my back. My lips part and a small moan of lust escapes me. He turns me to face him and gives me a sweet kiss on the lips. I deepen it. I want him now. I always want him.
“Did you hear me, sweetheart?” he asks with a slight threat in his tone.
I look up at him through my thick lashes and place my hands on his chest. “Yes.” I plant a chaste kiss on his lips. “I’ll be waiting for you.”
He smiles down at me. “That’s my girl. I’ll be gone for a few hours.” He gives me another kiss, then gives my ass a squeeze before leaving me in the dining room.
I watch him as he leaves. I’m not sure what he’s doing tonight. But I don’t ask. He told me if anyone asks, that he plays the stock market. I sigh, feeling a little empty inside. I don’t like lying, but luckily for me, no one has asked in the half a dozen times I’ve left this house.
I shake off the ill feelings and get to work. I add a little white paint, and then some black onto the easel. I need a really faint shade of grey though. As I dig though a mason jar of brushes for my favorite thin one, my phone goes off.
Becca. I grin from ear to ear. Baby time!
I answer the phone and have to refrain from asking if her water broke. She told me she’d stab me if I asked one more time.