Chapter eight
Roan
I tried really hard. I swear on my grandmother's sapphires that I fought every fibre of my being to not touch myself. I'm trying to be a good person here.
But I'm only human.
I don't know what came over me after Clay's weird outburst. Because it was definitely weird and not hot as hell. I certainly didn't run back to the gallery in a wave of horny humiliation.
I tried scrubbing the first floor on my hands and knees, physical labour and all that. But I crumbled like a biscuit dunked in tea. Discarding my wet brush and leaning against the wall by the small open balcony, I push my jumpsuit down to my calves with my boots still on.
I open my knees and run my hand across the curve of my stomach, over my mons. My panties are damp with sweat and arousal as I press down on my clit.
Clay's voice echoes through my thoughts as I rub myself. His paws are so big. The pads look soft, though, like they would grab my ass or tits with gentle possession. He always smells so good. I could bury my face in his neck while he buried himself in my cunt.
While my forearms begin to cramp a little, I get more desperate. I want to come. I need to come to get this out of my system and go back to ignoring my crushes.
Because it's not just Clay filling my sketchbook—it's his mate, Mitch too. His brown fur shining copper under the sunshine. His tail wagging with excitement while his sharp teeth sink into me.
Would they fuck me together? I've seen porn. I've known plenty of horny artists. Not all monsters are monogamous, and some don't even have mates, just like humans don't. Threesome is probably my second most common spank bank reel.
Just the idea of being in a Clay and Mitch sandwich makes me moan. My hand moves faster. The material is soaked, and I don't think I've ever been so aroused in my life. I pant, rubbing my clit harder and faster, my body jiggling with my force. I'm so close, so close.
“Please,” I murmur under my breath. “Fuck.”
I press my head back against the wall and close my eyes.
Christ, why does the vision of them fucking me have to be so hot?
Their fur brushing against my skin as they use my body for pleasure.
My fingers move faster and harder against my panties until I can’t take it anymore.
My hips jerk up as I orgasm, pussy clamping down around nothing while I keep stroking my clit until my body is begging me to stop.
My eyes squeeze shut as I come down, ragged, panting breaths echoing around the empty room.
Nobody is going to know what I’ve done, and yet guilt settles in my stomach all the same.
I reach for my lucky handkerchief like I have done for a week, but just like it has been, my back pocket has been empty.
I never lost it before, but every day I can’t find it, my anxiety grows.
When I started university, I took a course with an older American artist who believed anyone could be anything. She humbled me more than anyone else at that school. She taught me the value of simplicity and seeing the world through my mind’s eye, not just the squishy marbles in my head.
When I graduated, she gave me that handkerchief to remind me to keep all my eyes open and believe in myself.
Right now, I feel sightless and lost.
I scrub my eyes with my clean hand and roll over onto my knees so I can stretch my back before I get dressed. These floors aren’t going to clean themselves.
The bright afternoon sun warms the air. Subtle mirage lines appear as I stare up at the tall, flaking walls of the ground floor.
The hard wood is clean, and I think with a bit more scrubbing and a good wax, it will be in perfect condition.
I’ll need to replace a few boards upstairs, but I can do that tomorrow.
Right now, I could really use a cuppa and quiet place to sit again.
Maybe Ted’s does takeaway and I can check out the Bookstore.
When I cycled to the Info Centre on Monday, Naia mentioned speaking to Barnaby Hallow about my plans for this centre.
I know that America doesn’t have the same sort of classism that it used to, but I didn’t expect to have to break out that old training in a town like Hallow’s Cove.
If Barnaby’s family has owned this town for a long time, he will probably have a lot of opinions about what he wants to see displayed.
Surely, he’s on whatever committee the mayor said selected my portfolio for this job.
I go to the toilet and splash cold water on my face and neck to get rid of the sweat and dust before I head off on a different mission for today.
Ted’s doesn’t do a takeaway for hot drinks, but Lerana was more than accommodating, handing me a hot ceramic mug with a wink.
I promise to bring it back before I go home for the night.
Before I leave, I look back over my shoulder, and a different patron is staring at me with a flush to their pale green skin.
There’s no subtle way to sniff myself, and I’m terrified it’s not sweat that some of the monsters in town must be smelling on me.
My panties are dry, it can’t be that. I refuse to believe they can still smell my cum after a few hours.
A small chime announces my presence in the Bookstore.
“No open drinks,” a woman behind the counter with a laptop open says without looking up.
I stand on the small welcome mat for a moment, wondering what I should do. This is a fresh cup, it’s too hot to just chug it down. The steam wafts up against my cheeks even as I try to take small sips to get some of my money’s worth.
“I can watch it if you wanna browse,” the woman offers. “You’re Roan, right? I think I missed ya when Louise did her tour.”
“Yes, thank you,” I smile and walk carefully up to the counter. She folds an old envelope up into a square and sets it by her closed laptop. “Do you know Barnaby?”
“I’d like to think so,” she smiles, little sharp points of her fangs showing. Ah, so she’s a Vampire. “What can I do for you?”
“I was told to speak with Barnaby about my plans for the centre. I’m just wondering if you could tell me a bit about him before I have to face him.”
She makes a face and snorts. “Do what you want, it’s your space now. If he gets a bug up his craw about it, I’ll set him straight. He’s a crotchety old man sometimes.”
“Maisie,” a voice comes from the back of the shop, “you wound me with your harsh words.”
A tall, dark-haired man in a suit walks towards us.
Maisie rolls her eyes and smiles at Barnaby.
He was curt during our introduction, but now he seems almost playful when he speaks.
He’s dressed more professionally than either of us, but when he steps behind the counter, he kisses Maisie on the head before dropping his jacket on the back of her stool.
“It’s good to see you again, Roan. I’ve mentioned to Maisie a few times that it’d be good to have you around at the Manse.
” He smiles, a quick flash of his fangs.
Is he teasing me? It’s not uncommon for Vampires in high society to be cheeky bastards, but I did not peg Barnaby as that type based on our first meeting.
“Or at the very least, around the back to look through our storage. I’ve collected so much art over the centuries, it would be nice to have it safely displayed. ”
Oh my gods. He’s not just some grandson of a grandson. This doesn’t change much, but it could easily mean he has museum-quality art he wants cared for. It also means that when we were introduced, he would have understood the exact magnitude of my family name.
“Oh yeah, then we can replace that boring landscape in the foyer with that nude painting of you.” Maisie smirks. “Really welcome people in with this newfound friendliness.”
“I may not be one of those French girls from that godsawful film you made me sit through, but at least my modesty is covered.” He blushes and folds his arms disapprovingly.
A smile creeps up my lips, and the apprehension in my shoulders slowly fades away. “I’m sure people in town would love to see you with the Leo treatment, Barnaby. Really helps us get to know the founder.”
Maisie laughs, and a small bubble of hope forms in my chest, I feel like I’m making another connection in town. There’s a small circle of people I’m forming, first Connie Lumzag and now Maisie. There and then, I decide I’m going to do my damnedest to befriend her.
“I’ve got the ground and first floor cleared out, and I plan to make them a gallery space. If you do have anything you want displayed, just say the word,” I explain. “Naia mentioned I should come down here to approve my plans for the space?”
“She was just trying to scare you. She’s a bit growly with most people, and I’m surprised you ran into her at all.” Barnaby waves his hand.
“It’s your space,” Maisie insists. “We’re all just excited to watch you work.”
“Since it appears you’ll be here for a good long while, might as well do it to your standards now, rather than wanting to change it again in a few years.”
My eyebrows scrunch up a little at the way he says that. Shouldn’t I design the space in a way that best suits the town and future residency artists? My plans aren’t overly ambitious, but they leave space for the Centre to grow and for the town to use it as a multi-functional space.
“True, plus the town council is full of overly opinionated people who can never agree on anything. Don’t let them throw off your groove.”
“They approved my application, so I guess a majority of them like me, right?” I chuckle sarcastically.
“No, Louise went behind all our backs and set up this whole thing without anyone else knowing.” Barnaby rolls his eyes. “You’ll get used to her go get ‘em attitude eventually.”
“Oh.” I blink, trying once again to school my features.
Maybe this explains the origins of the rumours.
Nobody really picked me. Hell, I don’t even know how the mayor decided on my portfolio.
Did she choose me just because a quick search of my name results in a myriad of annoying articles about my family?
Was I not chosen on merit? Did I take this position from someone more deserving?
“We should get a coffee or something when you’ve got an afternoon free,” Maisie says. “Gods, I can’t even drink anymore, and I’m jealous of all that free coffee they must let you have.”
“Yeah, let’s put something in the diary,” I agree, not really listening. “Nice to meet you, Maisie.”
I carefully take my mug of hot tea and walk back to the Cove Art Centre.
The tall, tan sandstone building feels more like a spectre of my past when I look at it now.
The neoclassical facade reminds me more of home than it has any right too, like the ghostly, polished fingers of my mother’s hands are wrapping themselves around the building, clawing away any hope of proving myself capable.
Where I had pictured a beautiful array of flowers flowing down from the Juliette balcony in the warmer months and seasonal lights wrapped around the columns, now I just see the grim and barren face of a residency I didn’t deserve.