Chapter 3 #4
Should I be upset by that? I wonder. But no—I know I’m not the first. Logically, I don’t see an issue. Emotionally… there’s something that makes me uncomfortable, and I don’t want to explore it. There is no real relationship here, I think. I set my bristling feelings aside.
As much as I’ve acted like I’m too skittish to do this, I am here.
I am all the way here, in this tiny, decked out room with THE Devo.
Because I reached out to him, and continued to write to him, and asked him to come to Brooklyn, to my studio, and then I’d found him charming, and mysterious and I’d wanted to touch his body with mine…
I am here because of me. And I will continue to be here because it’s what I want.
“Let me take a look.” I put my hands out for the papers.
His face lights up as he hands them over.
It’s not that I don’t trust him… it’s just that I’ve never had to sign an NDA in order to proceed with an art project before…
nor with anything for that matter! I’m just an amateur painter, a non-celebrity.
A good ole’ fashioned, runaway transplant in an artsy pocket of a big city.
I suppose I’ve gotten to this place in life by taking some risks, so what’s another one?
I believe him when he says I can walk away at any time no matter what.
I sign the document with a flourish and down the bottom half of my drink.
Excitement rushes up my torso much like the bubbles that had rushed up my champagne flute.
Devo turns back to me after inspecting the unframed canvas lying flat upon the raised platform, almost like a stage.
I can also see he’s pulled out a few fresh tubes of paint alongside cups and brushes and what I think is a thinning agent of some kind.
“You’ve signed it then!” He throws me a wide grin, his eyes on my signature. “This calls for a proper cheers!”
I extend my flute with a soft smile. I still feel in the dark, but I’m happy to celebrate with him.
We clink and Devo sits beside me, he then pivots my body and drapes my legs over his.
This feels a bit intimate, but it also feels…
good, just touching him. We both smile over our sips of champagne.
“So now you’re mine for the day.” The carnal look is back, and he makes no effort to hide his roving gaze.
“I’m ‘yours’?” I counter. Is that what I’d signed off on in the NDA? I hadn’t read it fully, but I didn’t see anything possessive.
“Yes, only if you want to be, of course.” Devo leans in close and searches my eyes.
“And in a way, I’m yours as well.” He makes a show of casting his gaze away from me.
“Only if you want me.” Without shifting his head back to me, he gives me a side eye and a smirk.
He has a very good guess that I do want him. And once again, he’d be right.
I take a deep breath. “Yes, I um, want you.” I scrunch my eyebrows, tasting those words as they come out of my mouth.
That doesn’t feel natural to me—to admit what I want.
I look up into his eyes. I can’t believe I’m saying this in this straightforward of a fashion.
It feels forbidden, to be so honest, but it’s lighting up something inside of me that I didn’t realize I’d smothered.
“Good!” He swings my legs off him and abruptly stands, setting his glass down.
He reaches for mine with a “May I?” expression.
I hand it to him, and he sets that one down by the bucket as well.
When he rejoins me on the couch, he has a glint in his eye.
He clasps his hands and asks, “What turns you on, Miss Faure?”
I blink back my surprise. Nothing about today seems conventional, so I suppose I need to roll with the punches.
His art depicts female pleasure, I remind myself.
This is the inspiration he wants from me.
I really think about my answer. “Well”—I look around—“an attractive man helps.” I keep my gaze directed away from him, and he laughs.
It’s a beautiful, husky laugh, and it takes the edge off his mysterious persona.
“I’m flattered,” he says with a hand over his chest.
I roll my eyes as he moves forward to kiss my cheek.
“What else?” he whispers. He skims the side of his pointer finger down my jaw and I shiver.
“You like being pushed up against things I noticed,” he says, running a warm hand up my thigh, squeezing lightly just inches from the bend at my waist. My back involuntarily arches with his hand so close to the spot that’s already hot and slick for him, uncomfortably so.
“Yes,” I breathe, “I do like that.”
Devo then swiftly slides my body down the length of the couch by my ankles so that I’m fully laying on the settee. A soft vocalization escapes my lips and I look up at him with wide eyes. I guess there’s more to his process than just talk. He laughs again.
Devo uses a knee to widen the space between my thighs on the couch and then kneels down over me, just inches from my face. I can see his arm muscles flex as he grips the back of the couch, holding himself up.
For a moment, I’m disoriented. The way the light falls across his face has his icy blue eye looking at me from shadow, while his green eye appraises me from a brighter angle.
Looking between them is like experiencing the switch between Devlin, the young man who's quick to laugh and full of boyish charm, and Devo, the aloof, enigmatic man who hides behind a dark mask and is brimming with desire.
I go to sit up on my elbows and he gently, but forcefully, pushes my shoulder back down and maintains the exertion of force upon it.
“What else, Charlotte?” His eyes are already heavy with lust as he drops light kisses across my cheeks and lips. He nips at my jawbone by the side of my chin. I gasp, not expecting teeth. He pulls up above me and smiles. “What else?”
My heightened arousal and quick intake of breaths have my mind foggy.
Devo runs his hand down the side of my T-shirt, tracing my waist in a way that once again feels amazing; the look on his face as he does so is ravenous.
Seeing him want me this much is a sexy feedback loop I can barely stand.
He slides his hand down further and cups my pussy over my jeans, then presses in.
My hips buck slightly and Devo smiles. I slowly lower them back down at the indignity.
I both love him enjoying me and hate how closely I know he’s observing my reactions.
“Listen,” he says in a gruff voice, “I don’t want to do anything you don’t want to do.
” I attempt to pay attention through my lustful brain fog, blinking more rapidly to try to get a grasp on what he’s saying.
God, it’s hard to retain information when this captivating man is on top of me.
Devo continues, “Don’t get me wrong—” He comes in close to my face again and just lightly puts his lips to mine.
“There’s plenty I’d like to do to you.” He can feel me smile against him and he smiles in response.
He gives my lips a quick kiss and pulls back to see my face yet again.
“But for this to work Charlotte, I need to know what you want. And of course, that includes if you want to stop.”
I close my eyes to gather my words, aware of my full body flush. “You need to know?” I ask. I’d never had someone tell me they needed to know what I wanted. I’m sure people had been curious to know what I’d wanted, but no one had ever said they needed to know.
“Yes, Miss Faure.” He grins. I’d never noticed how sharp his canines are—they make his smile wolfish.
“I need to know.” He nips my neck and I yelp.
I feel we’re at a precipice. What way will this scenario tip based on what I say?
“We’re creating something here today,” he murmurs against my neck, running the tips of his fingers down the center of me, between my breasts like at McArthur’s, but still not touching them.
“And knowing what turns you on is part of the process.”
My heart races wildly because I know the flavor of what I want to say, but I’m still afraid to let it pass my lips… and I don’t know how to say it.
“What is it?” He looks between my eyes, assessing. I almost wonder if he can see what I want to say before I say it. “You can tell me,” he coaxes.
“I want—” I say, my voice soft and unsteady.
He runs his fingers down the edge of my hairline, starting at my temple.
It’s so gentle, and that’s not… exactly what I want.
He waits patiently, brushing his rough fingertips down the side of my neck now, his eyes following the trail.
“I want you to be in control,” I say quietly.
His eyes snap back to mine and narrow. “I want you to tell me what to do”—my cheeks are hot—“and I want you to make me do it.” I bite my lip, hard.
Perhaps the pain will distract me from the embarrassment of what I’ve just shared with him.
I only manage to hold his gaze for a half second before I look to the side.
My chest rises and falls beneath him, waiting.
I’m only held in suspense for a minute before his hand cups my jaw and turns my face. “Charlotte.” His voice is rough and low. “Look at me.” I do. I want to do as he asks, as I’ve just revealed.