23. Serena
TWENTY-THREE
SERENA
P ainting relaxes me. It has always been my escape, which is why as soon as we got back to my house, I changed and took Aster straight to the one place that always eases my nerves. Aster does the same, when I’m nervous or scared, he knows exactly how to bring me back down. He can block out the rest of the world, just like painting does.
He walks around the room while I tie the apron around my back. Picking up a paintbrush from the easel, he stares at the tip stained red.
“You know, I paint myself.”
I walk over and take a seat on the stool. “For your haunted house?” I ask, already knowing the answer.
“Among other things,” he hums, wrapping his arms around me and leaning his head on my shoulder.
“Oh, yeah?” I turn my head to meet his curious green eyes, “What else do you paint?”
Standing up, he grabs another stool to sit beside me. “Maybe one day I’ll show you.”
“You know, secrets don’t make friends,” I tease, grabbing a brush and dipping it in water to wet the tip, then black before beginning my strokes.
“They may not make friends,” he leans in, whispering against my ear. “But they make excellent lovers.”
He nips my ear, making my eyes shut, and shivers rack my body. I turn my head, my lips inches from his, glancing at his sinful smirk as I whisper, “Does that mean you’re keeping secrets from me, Aster?”
He licks his lips, looking at mine and whispers back, “Yes.”
I lean back, taken back by his sudden confession, my brows shooting to my hairline. He’s keeping secrets? What kind of secrets? I can’t be mad, I’m keeping a big secret of my own. Well… not anymore, I’m actually going to tell him.
I start painting, the secret bleeding onto the canvas. I’m not ready to show him the nightmare pieces yet, but if he reacts well to what I’m about to create, then I know I can share my secret. Secrets can eat you alive. Keeping them can tug at you until there is nothing left. Until you’re nothing but a shell of the person you once were. Keeping this secret, always wearing a mask to hide it, it’s stolen almost everything left within me. I have never shown a soul my true paintings, the ones that bring me a sense of peace. I should be terrified. I know there are artists out there who paint nightmares, but that is what their work is labeled as. My so-called nightmares are anything but something I fear.
“You’re not mad?” Aster asks, stirring me from my painting.
I shrug my shoulders. “Why would I be? We are all entitled to keep secrets.”
He tilts his head, studying me, and crosses his arms, “What are you painting?”
The corner of my lip lifts, and this time, it’s my turn to make him wonder. “It’s a secret.”
He tickles my side, and luckily I was dipping my brush back in the paint, making my grip tighten. “Oh?”
“Yeah,” I say, dabbing the black paint on his nose.
His eyes cross as he looks down at the tip of his nose. “You’re going to pay for that,” he growls, with a smirk playing on his lips.
“I’m so scared,” I say in a mocking tone.
“You will be,” he says, dipping his finger in my red paint.
“Don’t you dare!” I squeal, falling backwards out of my stool. He’s on top of me before I can get up. “I’m sorry! I’m sorry! Aster, please don’t get paint on my clothes, that’s why I wear an apron!”
He tears the apron off. “What apron? I guess the clothes need to come off.”
He swipes the red paint on my face, making sure every bit of it is off his finger. Heat courses through me at his wicked promise, and I start to feel his cock harden above me, desire pooling low in my belly.
He pulls my shirt over my head, a cool breeze hitting my breast making my nipples harden instantly.
I ’m supposed to be sharing my secrets, not fucking him right now . “Aster, wait-”
I’m cut off, his mouth crashing against mine, his fingers pinching my nipples. The secret can wait , let's count this as foreplay, a fun distraction before I potentially change everything between us.
My back arches off the floor and a quiet moan escapes my lips, muffled by his mouth. He twists and pinches and nips, making me writhe beneath him, desperate to get some friction against my pussy.
He grinds against my core, giving me the friction I need.
But it isn’t enough. I need more.
I try to rip his pants down, but he captures my wrist, stopping his teasing to secure both hands over my head. Fucker loves putting me in this position. I strain against his grip, solidly stuck in his grasp. I love it too.
He sticks his other hand down my pants. “You’re soaked, my little vixen, never patient, are you? Always waiting and wanting and forcing my hand.”
He circles my clit, his fingers relentless. “Aster,” I moan, seeing stars. He always knows exactly where to touch.
“I love it when you moan my name,” he whispers, circling faster. My hips buck, moving with the rhythm of his hand. He leans down to whisper against my lips, “Come for me. Soak my hand in your juices.” He circles faster and faster, and just before I’m about to explode all over his fingers, he removes his hand.
I open my eyes to protest, my hips seeking the friction it lost, seeing Aster smiling down at me, hand raised in the air, his fingers dripping with red paint mixed with my juices. When did he dip his fingers in more paint? The son of a bitch distracted me with an orgasm that never came, just so he could get me back. I’m screwed . I wiggle underneath him, trying to scoot away from his hold, but my arms are still above my head, and my legs are immovable, his legs trapping them.
“Aster. Don't,” I warn.
“Don’t what?” he says as his fingers caress over my bare chest, marking me from my chin to my belly button.
Oh, it’s on .
He lets go of my hands, standing up and removing his shirt. I guess he’s playing fair. I dip my fingers in the same red paint and rush forward, marking his chest with painless scratches. He darts behind me, gathering more paint into his hands, this time green, and rubs it across my back making me jump from the chill and turn around.
He holds my pallet of paint above his head, well out of reach. Time to fight dirty. I reach down and take my pants off, slowly pulling my underwear down. His eyes trail every movement I make, going completely dark. I hold my panties to the side and drop them to the ground. He mimics my movements, taking off his pants and boxers, in a slow deliberate dance just for me. I watch as his already hard cock stands at attention. He’s always as ready for me as I am for him.
He drops the pallet to the floor, causing me to flinch, and he walks over to me, reaching for me with paint covered fingers. I avoid his hands, jumping to the side and running behind him. He realizes what I’m doing too late and laughs as I snatch the pallet and the little paint that remains on it.
Now I hold the power but, turning around I see him grab the bottles of paint. He one upped me, somehow always one step ahead. I shake my head back and forth, stepping back slowly. Fuck me. I fucked up. I run just as he opens the bottle and squirts it at my back. I feel the paint dripping down my skin, hitting the curves of my ass.
I chuck the pallet at his head. He dodges it, and I lunge for the bottles of paint.
Two can play this game .
I grab four bottles of paint, quickly opening the tops and spinning around, to aim and squirt, but he’s nowhere to be seen. Where did he go ? I look around the room, ready for an ambush, but… nothing.
I don’t trust this. I know he’s waiting for me to lower my defenses, but he doesn’t call me vixen for nothing. I turn to faking putting down the bottles, and just as they hit the table, I feel him on me. Spinning around, I close my eyes and squeeze. I feel paint land on me at the same time I hope it lands on him. We’re both laughing like crazy, and being able to be this carefree with one another really helps solidify my choice in showing him my secret.
Once I hear the air from the bottles on his end, I slowly open my eyes. Seeing I did, in fact, hit my mark bringing a messy smile to my face. His chest, legs, and face are covered in red, blue, and green paint. I look down at my chest and see it's covered in red, orange, and black.
Silence blankets my studio.
We stare at one another, chests rising and falling rapidly, trying to catch our breaths. His eyes travel down my body, taking in every inch of my painted skin. I do the same, appreciating my blind handiwork. I look back up and he steps into me, looking down, his bright green eyes turning darker.
His lips crash against mine, my hands tangling in his hair, dragging the paint through it. His tongue greedily tangles with mine, neither of us giving an inch in this fight. I love kissing him , our lips fit perfectly together, always doing a bone melting dance.
He wraps his hand around my throat and slowly lowers us to the ground. He lays his body flush against mine, mixing the paints to create a rainbow of colors. His finger traces my belly, spelling a word I can’t quite make out. S.E.C.R.E.T.. Why would he spell that, does he want to know my secrets or is he finally going to tell me his? My breaths become ragged from the thought of him finally fully letting me in.
I look down at him, kissing my inner thigh. “Did you just spell ‘secret’?”
He stops kissing. “I did.”
“Why?”
He bites my thigh, ignoring my question and making me hiss before kissing to ease the pain. He spreads my thighs further, dipping his head just a breath away from my entrance. “Enough talking.” He dives in, distracting me from my thoughts with his tongue. He laps at my core as if he was starving for a taste. My fingers find his hair, and I push him deeper, slowly gyrating against his mouth, finding my perfect rhythm.
“Are you going to let me come this time?” I pant.
Instead of answering, he sticks a finger straight into my pussy, instantly finding my G-spot and making my legs shake. “That’s it, little vixen. I want to drown in your juices.” He licks and pumps faster, my eyes rolling back as my whole body convulses as I come undone into his mouth.
My legs close on instinct. It's too much. I try to push him away, but he forces my legs apart, his mouth never leaving my clit. “Aster, please , it’s too much.”
“This is your punishment for kicking me earlier.”
My punishment for kicking him? He wants my body to go into shock from coming back-to-back. I wouldn't call that a punishment, but as my body bows even more, the pain of coming undone mixed with the unrelenting pleasure is too much. I agree, this is a punishment, but I love it.
After he sucks every last drop, he doesn’t give me time to move before he thrusts his cock hard and deep, making me yelp from the sudden intrusion. I’m wet and sore, my muscles weak and numb, but him filling me is exactly what my body craves.
My pussy clenches around him, pulling him deeper with every thrust. My breath catches in my chest, my eyes shutting closed.
“Fuck! You’re so tight and wet. I’m balls deep, and your pussy is so greedy it wants more,” he groans.
His thrusts quicken, and I wrap my legs around him, grabbing his ass with both hands and pushing him further in. He palms my ass, lifting me slightly, and hitting a spot deep within me, making me see stars. I move my hips, matching his momentum. He leans down and bites my neck hard enough I know he’s leaving his mark, and I do the same. Piercing his throat, he comes undone inside me, hitting just right, and I come for the third time.
He rolls off me, laying on his back and breathing hard. I turn to look at him trying to catch my breath as well. He rests his hand on his head, staring at me. “You look beautiful, especially with our paint mixed all over your body.”
“You don’t look so bad yourself. We made paint magic.” I say, propping my head up on my hand. “How about we take a shower? Then I have something I want to show you.”
“Oh, yeah?” he asks, wiggling his eyebrows at me?
“Not like that!” I playfully slap his chest.
“Are you going to tell me a secret, little vixen?”
I bite my lip and look away. “Actually… yeah.”
He sits up. “Really?
I look back at him shyly. “Yeah, so let's take a quick shower before I chicken out.”
He lifts me in his arms and takes us to my shower, turning it on and stepping in. I watch as the colors swirl down the drain, getting hypnotized by how they all blend seamlessly. The last color to disappear down the drain is the red, and it makes me think of my paintings and what I am about to show him. I was going to paint him an example first, but he distracted me with his beautiful cock. Guess I’m skipping right to showing him my nightmares.
Finally clean, we make our way back to my studio. I stop in front of the closet I keep my paintings in. Taking a deep breath, hand shaking as I turn the knob.
Aster stands behind me, his eyes showing no emotion, not even curiosity laces his features. I fidget with the paintings before I pull out a couple, making sure the image is turned towards me. “Turn around and close your eyes.”
He obeys instantly, and I grab the rest of the paintings, even the blue rose one, and display them all side by side, on the floor, leaning against the wall. I take a deep breath, calming my nerves. “Okay, you can turn around.”
I hold my breath as I watch him take in my paintings. He observes each of them, something like recognition crossing his features. He moves down the line, stopping to touch one painting. It's of a faceless man over a faceless woman, her body painted and holding a blue rose on her stomach. A lot of my paintings, not all, look like that one, each faceless woman has a different painted outfit on, all holding a blue rose. Some of the paintings are more gruesome, in some the faceless man is torturing the woman.
If anyone were to see these they would think of the Morbid Monet, if they knew who he was. How it is painted is how he lays his victims. Where they’re painted isn’t where they’re found though, but still eerily similar. Since these paintings began, I always felt connected to the Morbid Monet. That’s why I’m so obsessed with him and keep every news article about him. There’s no way I’m actually dreaming of his actual kills.
He gets to the blue rose painting and starts counting every rose in the lineup. He looks at me, his eyes blazing with shock and awe.
“These are my paintings I’ve never shown anyone, not even Jessica,” I say, playing with my hands. He turns his head silently asking a question. “When I have a nightmare, well, I don’t think of them as nightmares. I’m fascinated by them, a whole scene plays in my head, like I’m watching the scene play out in front of me. Every time I have a dream I feel compelled to bring it to life and paint it.”
I can’t look him in the eye, he's not talking. Why isn’t he talking?
“I started painting these when I was fourteen years old, I don’t know why, but part of me loves that they happen. Look,” I say, walking over and pointing down at one of the girls. “Isn’t she beautiful? You can’t see her face but look how her body lays there. There is just something so beautiful about it.” I point to her chest where her heart is. “Look here, you can see the red like she has a bleeding heart. Makes me wonder if her love for the faceless man is what made that happen…” I mumble more to myself than to him.
He grabs my hand gently, but firmly, tugging me through the house. “Come with me.”
Is that seriously all he has to say? Why isn’t he asking me any questions? Why has he been silent? He was staring and touching the paintings like he was transfixed by them, so he should say something .
“Where are we going?” I ask as he grabs my keys and walks us out the door.
“It’s my turn to tell you a secret.” he says, not looking at me, but ahead and walking with purpose.
I look up at him, mouth parted, and a shocked face. He places me in the passenger side of my car, then peels out of my drive to wherever his secret is.