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Chapter Twelve

Sonnet

It was a little scary and a lot thrilling to watch and give direction as my artwork was hung up in the club, especially when my Mistress had instructed me to choose the spots where they would hang.

For the first few minutes, I’d simply stood, taking in the size and shape of the space while considering how to tie them in with the erotic displays they’d experience beneath their tables.

Hanging art on the walls behind the booths across from the interactive displays would mean the patrons would have to turn their heads to look at them, so that wouldn’t work.

I turned my attention away from that area and focused on the rest of the space.

The far wall, with its horseshoe shape, would be the best place to hang pieces so patrons could enjoy them as a part of the already erotic dining experience.

Placing the ones for sale in the lobby proved to be a little harder, as pricing my pieces has always been something that made me squirmy and uncomfortable.

With my Mistress providing input in the form of a raised eyebrow when she thought I was undervaluing something to a warm smile and a nod when she felt I’d gotten it right, we soon had that task completed as well.

Returning to her side after the final painting had been hung, I slid my arm around her and sighed as I cuddled into her embrace.

“Do you have to work tonight?” I asked.

“No Kitten, all my duties for the day have already been attended to and the last of my subs has been assigned to someone else to see to. My night is free if you have something in mind.”

“I do, actually,” I said, taking her hand. “Let’s go for a walk.”

“A walk, huh? It’s been a while since I’ve gone on one of those.”

“That makes it even more perfect,” I murmured as I went up on tiptoes to kiss her.

What was meant to be sweet and soft soon turned feverish and hungry as she took control of it and I mewed and pressed against her front, fingers tangling in her hair as I sought to show her just how hot and needy she made me every time we touched one another.

My cheeks felt flushed when we finally broke apart, but I was smiling too and more than excited to show her one of my favorite spots.

It wasn’t a long walk from here, and the city was alive tonight. With her hand in mine, we wandered past a wonderful mix of dark buildings and bright ones teeming with laughing people enjoying an evening together.

“This was the first gallery to ever display my pieces,” I said as we reached the big brick building on the corner of the street we needed to turn down.

“The owner, Arthur, was so amazingly kind to me. He taught me how to select the best pieces for a show because my thoughts were scattered, and my selections were all over the place in terms of tones and style. You want to give them a taste, never the full buffet. That’s what he told me as we sat down with the pictures I’d taken on my phone of each of the paintings.

One by one we went through them all, with a notebook between us where we wrote notes on how to group them.

I had no idea then that he was going through all that effort because he already had a follow-up show in mind. ”

“Really, how many times have you been featured there?”

“Four so far,” I explained. “Each time more than half of the paintings sold. I haven’t done a showing in a while, though. The commission-based pieces I’ve been contracted for have kept me busy for the last year.”

“Do you enjoy doing those more than having the opportunity to paint whatever you’d like?”

“No, but painting whatever I’d like doesn’t always pay the bills,” I explained.

“Not once art supplies are factored in. I’m picky about my paints and the quality of my brushes, and I’m super picky about color tones and the consistency of the paint.

One brand is not the same as another, no matter what the websites and ads might claim. ”

“Now that I understand completely,” she said.

“Just because something serves the same function doesn’t mean the results will be the same.

I’ve been burned a few times myself, grabbing a different brand when what I’d come for was sold out.

I finally learned to stick to what I liked and what gave the result I wanted, even if it meant visiting other stores or biting the bullet and ordering in. ”

“Exactly. I’d rather order in and get exactly what I’m after, especially if that meant that I don’t have to wade through crowded stores or deal with people clogging the aisles with their carts and conversations they could have had over the phone or through text messages.”

“Now that level of rudeness just pisses me off,” she admitted.

“I should not have to say excuse me several times and even resort to nudging someone’s cart to get them to scoot it out of the way so I can pass.

I don’t know what it is about people, but some of them get out in public and act like they’ve never been taught any manners at all.

I’ve even seen people open a box to look at the contents, then put the open box back on the shelf after putting a different box in their carts.

It’s ridiculous and utterly unnecessary. ”

“That’s the other reason I order most things in from online shops,” I explained.

“There’s a whole ick factor in stores, seeing people sneeze, wipe their noses, and then handle produce like they didn’t just contaminate everything they came in contact with.

No one wants to buy snot-covered plums. That’s just eww. ”

“You do realize that the plums being delivered just might be covered in snot and germs too,” she pointed out.

“Oh, I know, and I always wash them regardless. But there is something about seeing gross things take place that wrecks my appetite completely.”

“It would wreck mine too.”

As we rounded the corner by the gallery, the first notes of a saxophone reached my ears, and my heart felt giddy as we approached my favorite place in the city.

Lit up with fairy lights, with a gazebo placed several feet away from a small amphitheater, it was the site of more impromptu concerts than I could count, seeing as how I came here often.

How weird was it that I’d been so close to the club on so many nights and never even known that it was there?

To be fair, I was usually so focused on my muse or looking for the perfect bit of inspiration to enhance something already tumbling around in my head that there were times when I walked blocks past my destination before realizing that I’d forgotten to turn.

By happy accident, I discovered the teahouse several blocks from where we stood.

I’d have to take her some time. The soft atmosphere was warm and inviting, with greenery everywhere and gleaming wood that created little alcoves of privacy, even when all the tables were full.

The inside smelled amazing too, and with all the tea blends they carried, I never ran out of the variety I loved.

The best part was when they announced new flavors.

I was always all over those, eager to try something new, even if the taste turned out to be one I had no interest in drinking again.

“How long has this been here?” My Mistress asked as we drew closer and the low concrete benches on both sides of the gazebo were revealed.

“Years,” I replied. “It was one of my favorite places to sneak out to when I was a teenager. I’d sit on the railing of the gazebo, sketch and listen to music, or sprawl out on one of the benches and draw while different musicians played.

That’s Gus on the saxophone, he’s here often.

He’s one of my favorites. I can listen to him for hours and sketch the night away.

There’s a girl who comes here sometimes with her cello.

She’s fabulous too, and oh goddess, the sounds she wrings from that instrument are just divine. ”

“Don’t cello pieces tend to be a bit darker than saxophone ones?”

“Not necessarily,” I explained. “It just depends on the player and the mood. Sometimes whole bands show up to play acoustic sets, and that’s awesome too.

There’s just something about music at night that has a different feel from the way it hits in daylight.

I think maybe it’s because there aren’t many competing sounds.

It’s far enough back from the busy storefronts and bars that even traffic sounds are muted, unless someone really lays on their horn. ”

I led her to the gazebo, our fingers laced together, swinging between our bodies. A part of me longed to skip a little as the music washed over us, but I curtailed the impulse to give her time to drink it all in, especially since the gazebo was empty.

A few people sat on scattered benches. Some were watching Gus, while others fiddled with their phones or whatever they held in their hands.

One was a fellow artist I’d spoken to from time to time.

Tonight, he lay sprawled on a bench, hair spilling over the side as he sketched.

I couldn’t place the song Gus started playing as we climbed the gazebo steps, but in my soul I felt like he was playing it just for us.

Soft and romantic.

With the perfect beat for what I longed to do.

“Talk about a hidden gem,” she whispered as I led her to the center, then turned so we were face-to-face. “You and this place are magical.”

“Would you care to add a bit more magic to the moment and dance with me?” I asked, opening my arms as I stepped closer to her.

“It would be my pleasure.”

No other words were needed. Her arms closed around my waist as I stretched my hands up to slide them over her shoulders.

Giggling, I recalled the way the chaperones at the few school dances I’d attended had wandered the room tapping couples on the shoulder while suggesting they put space between themselves as they danced.

No one was here to do that tonight.

We melted against each other and swayed, easily getting lost in the song. All the times I’d come here alone to feed my muse has been amazing and was why I kept coming back. But this was the first time I’d brought anyone here, and I was thrilled that it was her.

My Mistress.

The void she’d already begun to fill was one I hadn’t realized was vast, deep, and a little cold.

I’d always known it was there. But for most of my life I’d counted on my muse to keep it from drowning me.

Slowly, she was beginning to teach me that I didn’t have to fill every moment of my life with my heart.

Melting against her chest, it was easy to drift in the moment, inhale the scent of my lavender body wash clinging to her skin from the shower we’d shared that morning, her hair occasionally tickling my nose as the night’s gentle winds made it flutter.

As Gus moved from one song to the next, I got lost in her and another perfect moment of absolute bliss.

Funny how in the short time I’d known her, she’d already been able to give me several of those and a wealth of beautiful new memories to draw from whenever I felt sad.

Even after Gus tucked his saxophone back in the case, we continued to sway, simply enjoying the opportunity to be in each other’s arms.

“Thank you for this,” she said as we finally drew apart. “I can’t remember the last time I danced with anyone, and never like this.”

“If you don’t mind walking another few blocks, there’s a little bakery and sweet shop that’s open late. Their strawberry shortcakes and fruit tarts are amazing. I’d love to share a little late-night dessert with you.”

“How do you find these places?” she asked. “I have a hard time finding good takeout, let alone a bakery at this hour.”

“Wandering,” I explained. “Back when I was in art school, I’d drop in a few times a week and get a box of pastries to nibble while I was working on my projects.

Two doors down from it is a little bookstore that’s open until ten on Saturdays.

They hold wine tastings there and open mic nights.

Listening to them was always as much of an inspiration as drinking in the sights, so I drop in there a few times a month and usually wind up filling several pages in my sketchbook. ”

“Fruit tarts and strawberry shortcake sound like a wonderful way to wrap up the evening,” she replied, my hand firmly held in hers. “Lead the way. Dare I say you are starting to become my muse?”

“How so?”

“By inspiring me to step outside of the club and the duties I’ve been focused on for years to finally start living life again,” she explained.

“And by reminding me that there are so many little things I’ve overlooked these past few years.

I’m starting to see that I might have been growing a bit jaded after narrowing my focus on business for so long. ”

“You’re not the only one.”

“You, jaded? Kitten I just don’t see it.”

“Not with the world around me,” I explained as we walked the short distance to the bakery. “But when it came to love and relationships and putting myself out there to meet people, well, let’s just say that it had grown easy for me to come up with excuses not to bother.”

“Then it’s a good thing you changed your mind, or we’d both be missing out.”

Our faces in the bakery window reflected the joy I felt inside.

I rarely walked around smiling, but as we stepped through the doors and up to the display case, I was beaming ear to ear, so much so that my cheeks hurt.

There were still a few open tables and plenty of time to enjoy our treats right there when they were at their freshest.

As we sat across from one another with a mixed berry torte and a four-layer hunk of strawberry shortcake between us, it was hard to pay attention to the dessert when I got to stare into her beautiful eyes.

The taste of that first bite, after she’d lifted it to my lips, was pure and utter heaven.

Creamy with plump, bursting pieces of fruit.

Her eyes promised wicked, wonderful things when she leaned over to kiss a bit of custard from the corner of my lips, and in that moment I couldn’t wait to experience each and every one.