Chapter 8 - Miranda
When I start squinting my eyes to see where my paint brush lands, I know I need to leave. I’ve made such good progress, I don’t want to ruin it.
I’d be lying if I said I didn’t want to see Oliver too.
After what happened at lunch, I can’t help but want to spend more time together.
Am I stupid to trust him this much when I only met him yesterday?
Logically, I think so, but I can’t help it.
None of my radars are alerting me and, for once, I want to trust another human being with my heart.
Throughout the years, there’s a handful of people I’ve come to trust, the owner of the gallery I work with and a few artists I’ve met at shows but I’ve spent years coming to trust these people and it still doesn’t come naturally. With Oliver it does.
I knock on the door of Oliver’s place.
“You don’t need to knock, this is your place too.” I’m sure he says it because I’ve left all my clothes here but my mind goes to a future where I actually live inside this cabin.
My stomach grumbles when I smell the aroma that’s filling the cabin. There are candles everywhere, it gives off a very romantic atmosphere.
“It smells good!”
“I asked Aiden to come by and help me figure out what to do with all the ingredients you bought.”
“I hope you didn’t use all the ingredients in one single meal.”
He raises his eyebrow.
“I think that’d be impossible.”
I giggle at his stern look and sarcastic tone.
“Come here,” he says before wrapping his arm around my waist and kissing me. I melt against him, I missed his lips on mine. His big arms wrap me up and I feel his taut abs between us.
“I missed you,” he whispers in my ear.
“I was thinking the same thing.”
When I step back slightly, I see his smile. It’s not wide, it’s shy but so honest, I think my heart is going to burst. Do I love this man? Is it possible to love someone after a day? It can’t be, right? It feels right though.
“Are you hungry?”
“Yes!”
He guides me to the dining table which is already set up with a beautiful intricate lacy tablecloth, two candles in the middle and one tall jar with a rose in it.
“This feels very romantic.”
“I thought maybe we could have our first date.”
It’s cute he thought this through. Never in a million years did I think a rough man like him could have this sweet a heart.
I stand on my tiptoes so I can plant a kiss on his cheek. “Thank you, that sounds nice.”
It’s a good evening, there’s plenty of conversation but plenty of silence too, which we both appreciate. It’s like we get each other's rhythms, the best time to talk and the best time to just appreciate the food in front of us without words.
“Will you show me your paintings?” Oliver asks as we finish the delicious dessert Aiden prepared for us. Oliver said he didn’t want to risk making something inedible, so he ordered it from his friend.
My cheeks burn before I have the time to collect myself.
“Why?”
“I’m curious. I’m curious to know why you blush every time we talk about them honey.”
“No reason,” I answer too fast.
“I doubt that. But you don’t need to tell me.”
“It’s just…it’s embarrassing…”
He doesn’t push me, waiting for me to either change the subject or continue. I choose the latter.
“Let me get my business cards and I’ll show you. I always carry them in my bag.”
He points towards the flashlight before I grab it and go to the bedroom.
Do I really want to show him? I realize I do.
I want to share every part of me with him and although that’s scary, there's some relief too. To have someone know me completely. Not just the mask I put on for the world. To some I’m just a happy-go-lucky girl who always smiles, to others I’m the painter who rarely networks, to him I want to just be myself.
The multitudes that exist within me finally merge for someone to see the full me.
I’ve got a few different business cards, each with one of my paintings on the front. It’s a fun way to show off my work, and having variety keeps things interesting.
“You don’t have to show me,” Oliver says when I get to the dining table. I can see he’s not lying, he’d wait for me to be ready, I know that.
“I want to.”
When I hand him the business cards, he widens his eyes for a second but doesn’t look up, instead he’s carefully studying them.
“They’re beautiful, Miranda. You’re so talented. I wish I could see the originals.”
He takes a sharp breath, like he's pondering what's the best way to approach what's in front of him. “So you paint naked bodies.”
Straight to the point like I expected.
“I do.”
“Did you think I’d think less of you because of it?”
“Not really, it’s just awkward. I bet you thought I painted landscapes.”
He scratches his beard. “Maybe. Since you said you liked to be around nature.”
“Well, they’re naked bodies in a landscape.”
He smirks, waiting for me to elaborate.
“I’ve always found the naked human body fascinating.”
His eyes flash with something lethal. Like he wants to murder someone.
“How many guys did you paint? There aren’t any here.”
“Oh. I don’t really paint men. I should have said I find naked female bodies fascinating.”
“So you've never painted men?” His jaw is clenched, his right wrist closing on itself.
I shake my head.
“Good. Because I’d kill those guys.”
I burst out laughing. My laughter stops when he asks me why.
“Why? I think I’ve always been intimidated by the male body. It frightens me. Not that anything ever happened to cause this reaction. I don’t know really but I’ve never been interested in it.”
He studies me, he’s wearing such a serious face, like he’s afraid I’m going to break.
“I've never wanted to... explore. But I’m interested in your body,” I say boldly.
His stance changes, there’s still a lot of seriousness but his expression is softer now.
“Are you saying you’re a virgin?”
Crimson tints my cheeks once again. He doesn’t beat around the bush, I’ll give him that.
“Yes, I am. The first time I had an orgasm with someone else was earlier today.”
He drags his hand across his face like he's regretting it. I hate it. “Fuck, Miranda. Fuck.”
“I wanted to!”
“I’m practically forty-years-old. I’ve nightmares every time it rains.
I’m a broken man who lives deep in the mountains who hardly talks to anyone.
These types of experiences should be with someone closer to your age.
And yet, just hearing you say that makes me want to be the first to ever touch you, to ruin you so no one else ever does, to make you come so hard you’ll never leave.
I’m a selfish bastard, you should know that.
And the only body I want you to not be afraid of is mine. ”
“I want you to be my first too.”
He stands up, lifts me up from my chair and kisses me. “Fuck, you can’t tell me that. You shouldn’t tell me that.”
“It’s the truth. Now?”
“No.” He puts me on the floor. “If you’ve been intimidated by a man's body all your life, you need to have the power to touch it first. Without me touching you.”
He takes off his shirt. He has more scars on his chest, some small like the ones on his face, others bigger, one goes from his left nipple to his navel.
I can't help but stare at it and wonder how hard it must've been to be in the military, to watch your friends die, to face danger every day.
What did it feel like to have his torso slashed like this? Just the thought is enough to hurt.
“Touch me. Feel me. I’m not going to touch you. Not today. Explore, honey. Let’s start slowly, just my upper body for now.”
I start by his clavicle, letting my fingers brush the contour of the bone, then feeling bolder, I move lower, when I reach his nipple, he shudders.
“I thought only women liked that.”
“Men like that too.”
I take my time, exploring, not going below his belly button, taking him in. I don’t feel afraid, even if I’ve never seen such a big man before. I should feel scared but all I feel it’s excitement coursing through me, a wetness gathering at the base of my center.
When my hands almost reach the waistband of his jeans, Oliver takes a sharp breath. I find I like this power I have over him. Like I’m not the only one who is feeling so turned on by this.
“Can you take off everything else?” I ask. I feel bold after exploring his body.
“Are you sure? I can take off only my pants.”
“Yes, I'm sure. Everything.”
He removes everything, including his boxer briefs and I see it. His hard cock, his tip glistening with something. It’s beautiful, why haven’t I painted this before? Men’s bodies can be beautiful too. Like before, he doesn’t move, he seems tense though.
“What’s wrong?”
“You’re killing me, Miranda. You can’t imagine how much I want you right now. How much I want to touch you right now.”
“How do you want me to touch you?”
“Fuck. No. You get to choose how you want to touch me.”
“You sound pained.”
“Don’t mind me. This is for you. Not for me. I love to see you this focused while looking at me. It’s intoxicating, Miranda. Touch me or just look, it’s your choice. Not mine.”
I nod, feeling both grateful and disappointed.
But he’s right, I need time to process him.
His huge cock makes me wonder how it’s supposed to fit inside me.
Are they usually this big? I forget the thought and focus on the veins surrounding his cock, how his cock twitches from time to time, how there’s wetness in him too.
After just looking, I wrap my hand around his cock. His face turns towards the ceiling.
“Fuuuck.”
“Am I doing this right? Can you show me? Please?”
“I said this is for you, not for me.”
“And I want you to show me for me. Not for you. I want to know how to touch you.”
He guides my hand right where he needs it, showing me how to stroke him. When he releases, I keep going, loving to see his breath sharpen after each stroke.
“You’re a natural, honey. Such a good girl, doing exactly what I showed you.” I moan just at his words.
After a while, he grabs my wrist. “Please stop, I’m too close. I don’t want to cum overyour clothes.”
“I don’t care,” I say, increasing my speed. He keeps staring at me as I pump up and down.
He grunts as he spills on my hands and clothing, he looks so wrecked, so raw like this.
And I was the one who got him there. I've never felt this level of satisfaction before, it feels so good to do this with him.
I always thought it'd feel dirty, but it doesn't feel dirty with Oliver, instead it feels special.
He makes me feel safe, that whatever we experience together is only ours, that I can explore if I want to, to stretch the limits I've carefully set throughout the years to protect myself.
I love this man. I’ve been trying to find reasons why this doesn’t make sense: the speed of it all, the fact I barely know him, but none of them can counter this feeling I’ve bubbling up inside me.
Now the question is: will he ever love me back?