Page 11

Chapter Eight

Sonnet

“Will the camera on my phone be sufficient?” she asked.

“Absolutely,” I replied, elated that she was pleased with the paintings I’d worked so hard to create for her.

I’d left her apartment with bright images in my head that burned hotter than the sun.

They’d drowned out the need for caffeine, leading to several mugs getting cold before I drank them.

Not that it bothered me, I loved iced coffee, especially when it was all creamy and sweetened up like liquid candy.

Meals were another thing I’d eaten cold, when I’d bothered to remember them at all.

My refrigerator and freezer were packed with premade ones because I was shitty about pulling things out to thaw.

When I did cook, I forgot that I was just one person who didn’t eat a lot, which always resulted in leftovers.

Freezing them made it so I didn’t have to eat the same thing every day.

Shopping for specific dishes and making them all at once meant I didn’t have to cook again until I got bored with the rotation I had or ran out of things completely.

There was rarely any middle ground with me.

I was such a slave to my muse that I’d picked up silicone trays so I could fill them with fruit and juice for premade smoothie blends.

It was great for mixing and matching too.

Two fit beautifully in my bullet blender with enough room for a splash of added juice or yogurt.

Most days that was breakfast and a boost at lunch if I remembered to pause for a sandwich.

Those I made two at a time, eating one and wrapping the other for mid-afternoon, when my tummy finally decided to go to war with my muse and devise something more substantial.

“Let me put the wine in the fridge to chill,” I said, carefully taking it from the counter. “Ohh, I love a beautifully sweet Riesling, and this one says it has notes of mandarin and lime that will go perfect with dinner.”

“It’s called an Erotic Riesling,” she explained. “And I happen to be very fond of them myself.”

“I bet you’re fond of anything with erotic in the name,” I sassed as I tucked it in the fridge.

“Not everything,” she said as she leaned against the counter and watched as I rearranged a few things.

I’d been a whirlwind of chaos in the grocery store this afternoon, mentally plotting out the meal I wished to share with her as I wandered the aisles, which meant doubling back several times as the ideas built on themselves, much as they did when I was creating.

“Really?” I said as I closed the refrigerator door. “Tell me something labeled erotic that didn’t appeal to you.”

“Besides a dancer who came out so drunk one night that he fell off the stage and landed in the crowd,” she remarked with a teasing shrug, her lips pursing a bit as she leaned there looking thoughtful.

“Well, there was a cream I tried once. According to the vendor, it was created to enhance pleasure. Unfortunately, I had an allergic reaction to it that led to hives in very sensitive areas.”

“Oh my,” I said, eyes drawn to her chest and the beautiful bounty that lay beyond the top she was wearing. “I think you made your point. I stand corrected and promise that there is nothing in the meal I made for us tonight that will leave you itchy and uncomfortable.”

“Really? And what have you made?”

“Something for us to share,” I replied, not wanting to give away that secret until I set the dishes in front of her.

I’d gone off the meal we’d had at the club when choosing what to create, though I’d opted to pass on the steak for a more seafood-based menu.

“Really? Now you have me keenly interested in seeing it revealed.”

“Soon,” I replied. “The wine should chill a little more first, and I still haven’t shown you the last piece yet.”

“There’s more than the art you showed me?”

“One more piece, for the entryway. I was inspired after seeing the array of beautiful kilts and schoolgirl skirts at the club the other night and how transformative the outfits were, especially once they passed from outside the club to the inner spaces. I loved the fierceness of your security team too, so protective. Watching them, I never saw a hint of judgment in their eyes as they looked at the people coming in. It was like they were saying, without words, that they’d stand between them and anyone who tried to ruin their evening or keep them from being their authentic selves. So, I painted this.”

I tugged the cloth draping off with a flourish, the rustle of it as it slipped free of the painting reminding me of a cape blowing in the wind. My breath caught in my throat while my gaze dropped to the ground, uncertainty making my shyness burst to the surface as I waited for her reaction.

It was hard to infer anything from the gasp that escaped her and the silence that followed.

Had it been a mistake to paint the guards as lions posed looking boredly fierce beside the registration desk?

Between them was a regal, leather-clad noble adorned with silken chains as golden as the lions beside them.

Like the other people I’d painted for the club, I’d made certain they were androgynous, with their features blurred hues composed to give the illusion of stern efficiency.

Behind them was a huge, open doorway with shadowy figures on the other side.

I’d focused more on their attire than their features, so they appeared as a walking collection of clothing with hazy features.

Onesies, harnesses, pup gear, crisscrossing strips of leather, and form-fitting lace bodysuits, each shadow figure resembled the attire I’d seen at the club.

While I hadn’t written a title on the back, in my head I’d referred to it as the doorway to freedom, and it had been the very first thing I’d painted when I’d returned from my Mistress’ home.

The paintings I’d previously shown her had been born of this one.

“You…this is…” she stammered.

Swallowing hard, I lifted my head to see her staring with her mouth half hanging open.

While I watched, she cocked her head to the side, squinted, and let out another little gasp.

When she finally moved, I stepped back so we wouldn’t collide, as she returned to the other art pieces and moved back and forth between them while my inner muse did a happy dance that ended in a handstand.

She’d noticed.

“Each of the shadows has its own painting,” she murmured as she moved between them a little slower this time.

“Yes,” I replied. “I thought this one could serve as a sort of teaser for what lay beyond the door.”

“It’s magnificent!”

Warmth flooded me and allowed me to finally take a full breath.

“I can’t wait to see it hanging in the club,” she explained. “The way you portrayed the guards should serve as a brilliant reminder to everyone who sees it. While it’s rare that they have to step in, when it happens, it’s swift and vicious.”

I giggled at that and eyed the lions I was so very proud of having brought to life on canvas. “With that description, maybe I should have drawn them as cheetahs instead.”

I loved listening to our laughter mingle. Something told me she hadn’t had much of it in her life, at least not recently.

“No,” she said. “The lions are perfect. I love that they are the only figures with clearly defined features, right down to the scowl on this one.”

“He did have a fierce scowl as he stood watching everyone come in,” I explained. “It was his hair that made me think of a lion, though. The other guards all wore theirs short or shaved almost completely, but his was long and flowed over his shoulders like, well, a lion’s mane.”

She chuckled at that. “Casey is a bit vain about his hair, until it’s time to wade in and deal with someone. Then he doesn’t give a damn about the condition it ends up in, as long as he gets his hands on the problem. I think he’ll appreciate you painting him this way.”

“I hope so. I wouldn’t want to get on his bad side.”

“Everyone should aspire to stay on his good side,” she said. “He’s hard to settle down when he gets pissed.”

“I bet he is. Is it the same way for you?”

“When someone truly does something utterly asinine, it can be,” she admitted, “though I’m more like a simmering pot steaming before it boils over.”

“I’ll remember that,” I said. “Wouldn’t want to get burned.”

“No, you wouldn’t. It can be hard to sit when that happens.”

“Eeep.”

The sound slipped out before I could press my fingers to my lips to hold it in.

The thought of trying to sit on a stinging bottom was not one I wanted to think about.

Her chuckle sounded almost wicked as she dragged her fingers through my hair, carding it away from my neck so she could lean in and kiss me.

Sighing, I tilted my head to the side to give her more access, a gasp and soft moan escaping when she nipped.

One arm snaked around me, her fingers splaying across my belly as she held me in place.

“I-I should cover the paintings back up until I can crate them for transport,” I whispered, shivering as she ran her thumb along the curve of my breast.

Her touch was sensual, teasing, and on the verge of turning me into a smoldering mess.

“Yes, you should,” she murmured, the pink tip of her tongue flicking up to lick her upper lip as she stepped away from me.

I needed a moment to remember which way was up and where I’d laid the cloths, so rattled that I was disoriented in my own creative space.

She winked, and I melted a little more, because damn it all, she was deliberately teasing me, making it impossible for me to get my shit together.

“I believe you dropped one on the back of that chair,” she said, when I still didn’t spot one after several moments of standing there.

“Thanks,” I replied, retrieving it and carefully covering the painting.

Fortunately, I’d dumped them all in the same place, in and on the chair, and was quickly able to recover the paintings.

“If you’d like to make yourself comfortable on the couch, I’m going to find something that will serve as an ice bucket and start bringing everything out,” I said, gesturing towards the curved purple sofa I’d fallen in love with the moment I’d laid eyes on it.

The two-seater offered an intimate setting for the meal I had planned, while its curves kept us from having to turn to see one another.

The bend of it always made me feel like it was hugging me when I stretched out on it, while its wide cushions left enough room for two people to snuggle in its embrace.

In no time at all, I’d repurposed a reusable popcorn tub from the theater and filled it with ice and the wine, open and breathing.

I remembered the lighter I kept in the kitchen drawer so I could light the trio of candles on the coffee table.

Soon they were flickering, letting off the scent of the ocean I loved so much.

Returning to the kitchen, I loaded the bamboo tray I’d set out on the counter with the pan-fried crab dumplings I’d made with a homemade dipping sauce that was loaded with flavor and a hint of spice.

Shrimp with mango cocktail sauce rested in the center of the tray, bracketed in by plates containing three different sushi rolls and a small one holding chilled mango slices drizzled with coconut milk.

It wasn’t dessert. I had that tucked away for later.

This was more of a fun palate cleanser and to see if she shared my love of mangos.

While two sets of silver chopsticks rested on the tray, I’d tucked a fork just under the edge of one of the plates in case she needed it.

I remembered wine glasses too and carefully carried everything to the coffee table.

When her eyes went wide again, I could tell this was the last thing she’d expected.

“I brought a fork if you aren’t comfortable with chopsticks,” I said as I positioned the tray and filled our wine glasses.

“I am rather proficient with chopsticks,” she replied, smiling over at me as I used the remote on the coffee table to dial down the overhead light and turn the flatscreen on. “But thank you for your consideration. This looks delightful.”

“I thought it would be fun to feed one another,” I explained as I plucked up the chopsticks, captured a dumpling, dunked it and held a small saucer beneath it to catch any droplets as I brought it to her lips.

Watching her eyelids flutter as I fed her the first bite was as confidence-building as the mmm she let out after she’d tasted it.

Pampering my Mistress was going to be so much fun.

I had no idea if this was the way it was done or if I was doing everything bass-ackwards.

I was just going on instinct, and my instincts screamed to show her how much I was already coming to cherish her.

“The flavors are wonderfully blended,” she said. “Where did you learn to make all of this?”

Giggling, I just grinned as she picked up a shrimp by the tail, dunked it in the sauce, and held it out to me.

“YouTube,” I said before opening my mouth to take the shrimp from her.

Her laughter was praise to my ears. I’d deliberately removed the whole shell, even if not technically proper.

It made it so much easier to lightly suck her fingers as I accepted the shrimp.

As I’d hoped, the flavors of the sauce were truly bursting after several hours in the fridge.

I’d cued up a movie I hoped she’d like. My tastes tended to run towards musicals and visually stunning movies with a great deal of ambiance.

For that reason alone, I’d chosen the original Broadway musical version of Cats for us to watch.

While I enjoyed the remake, there was just something about the original that always called to me.

Tonight was about seeing the way our tastes lined up, including the chocolate fondue pot and array of fruit and cubed pound cake I’d tucked away for later.

As we continued to feed one another while the opening credits appeared, all I could think about was her and how pleased I was that our second date together was already off to a wonderful start.