Twenty Six

"Stay still, baby." I did my best to listen, holding my breath as the tape tugged against my sensitive flesh. It stung a little, but it was nothing compared to the pain of getting the tattoo in the first place. I felt the last pull, followed by the warmth of Joel's fingers on the outer edges of the artwork.

"Can I look?"

"Just a sec. Let me wash it." I let my head shift on the leather of the couch, trying to get comfortable just in case it took awhile. He rung out the washcloth in the bowl he had prepared, before pressing the warmth to me gently. He made small circular motions, around the edge of my hip before rinsing and repeating. It was actually pretty relaxing, and I let my eyes fall closed.

A dry towel patted me and I heard the cap of the lotion he had chosen pop open.

"Mm…" I moaned softly in contentment, feeling his lubricated fingers pressing into my skin.

"I love your little noises." Joel mused. My eyes fluttered back open, heat rushing to my cheeks.

"It feels good." I explained, lacing my fingers over my chest. His hands strayed a little north, heading towards my naval as they continued to rub. I smirked, my eyes still focused on the recessed lights in the ceiling. "Can I see now?" But he just hummed, his lips brushing just underneath my ribs, making my breath catch. "Joel." I protested weakly, making him laugh.

"Sorry. You just look fucking beautiful like this." He trailed his lips higher, until they caught up with my mouth, where he gave me a long, tender kiss. "Come with me." He commanded, breaking away to look at me.

"Okay."

He helped me from the couch, but before I followed him, I glanced down at the new part of myself. The colors were vibrant, lively, just like his painting, every swirl perfectly captured against my pale skin. It was absolutely beautiful. My fingers absentmindedly played at the ink in reverence.

"Admiring yourself? Or regretting it?" Joel teased, his deep and alluring voice drawing my attention. I looked up at him, smiling at the way his adoring eyes took me in.

"It's beautiful. I don't regret it." I rolled my eyes playfully, finally joining him. He gripped my hand, leading me down a hallway on the ground floor of his house. It appeared to have three doors, but only the one at the furthest end was open, spilling light into the otherwise dim hall. I could already smell the paint, and I knew before we rounded the corner what it was.

"Welcome to my studio." He stepped aside, granting me entrance to the magnificent sight. The room was massive, clearly designed to be some sort of entertainment area originally. Canvases littered the walls, some covered, some blank, while a floor to ceiling shelving unit took up the back wall. It was stacked with paints of all colors and types, jars and tubes, along with bundles of brushes. More brushes and spatulas were hung on a corkboard on the wall opposite, like tools, and various shapes and types of easels crowded the center floor. There were two stools, along with a paint sink and a small wooden table that made it a fully functioning art studio.

"Wow." To say it was intimidating would be an understatement. Joel was a professional artist, and it was clear that he took that seriously. My eyes flickered back to the covered paintings leaned against the warm caramel colored paint.

"Do you want to see?" He asked, stepping ahead of me. I cleared my throat.

"Please." But I was nervous. I hadn't actually seen much of his work. Literally two paintings worth, and I didn't know what to expect. I shifted from foot to foot, waiting for him to lift the tarp, but he didn't. Instead, he turned to face me, his smile slightly dark and mischievous.

"I'll make you a deal." Oh. "I'll show you if you agree to be my muse again." I smiled, stepping closer.

"Can I put my clothes back on?" He grinned, meeting me halfway and resting his hands on my waist.

"After I'm done."

"So this is a titanic moment then?"

"You still have underwear on." He retorted, his fingers sliding just below the lace waistband of my panties to prove his point. I bit my cheek.

"Okay."

He leaned down, pressing his lips to the top of my head so gently that it was hard to believe he was the same man who had me pinned to the bathroom counter earlier today. It made me wonder if the anger, the aggression, was new to him like it was to me. And if so, why was it there at all? Was he right? Were we destined to be at odds, to never mix peacefully? The fighting was normal for us, even since the beginning. Without it, what would we be?

I wasn't sure. But seeing him now, so gentle and peaceful, made me wish it were always like this. I felt so at ease, comfortable.

It didn't feel as temporary when he held me like this.

He pulled back, meeting my eyes as if he were thinking the same thing. Then, he cleared his throat.

"Let me get you a blanket to lay on." Just like that, the contact was lost. He came back into the room a minute later holding a fluffy white duvet, crossing to the only clear spot in the room and fanning it out. "Here, baby. Lay right here." My heart was thrumming in my chest. Was he actually just going to paint me? Or would it be another look into my soul?

I obeyed anyway, crawling atop the soft fabric until I was stretched out over the floor. My toes flexed into the material as I lay on my back, my hands placed awkwardly over my stomach. He let out a smooth chuckle.

"What? Don't laugh at me." I said with a smile. He shook his head.

"I'm not. But, may I?" He gestured to my hands. I nodded, clearing my throat and shifting a little.

He lifted my wrists delicately atop my head, exposing my torso entirely. I fought the urge to cover myself. There was something compromising about this. But I didn't mind. Regardless of our short yet quick relationship, I trusted him.

He crossed my wrists, his eyes and fingers trailing back down my arms, making goosebumps erupt over my entire body. Then, he moved to my legs. He pushed one up then out, allowing it to fall to the covers with my toes touching my other knee. With the other leg, he merely bent it slightly to appear more casual, combining with the rest of my body to create a position that made me feel the sexiest I ever had. It was sensual, mature, erotic. So much so, that I could see Joel's breathing increase at the sight.

His nimble fingers put in some finishing touches, fanning my hair and straightening my lingerie. I felt like I should be wearing more makeup for this, but he looked more than satisfied. He licked the dryness from his lips, standing and surveying me one last time.

"Shit, Jen. You're a fucking Goddess." My heart soared.

"After this I get to see your paintings?" He smiled, letting out a quick laugh with his exhale.

"You can see anything in this damn house after this, baby." Then, he was gone from my view. I heard clinking of brushes and paint jars, unwilling to move to see him collecting his supplies in fear that I would mess up my positioning, but he didn't take long anyway. Within a couple of minutes, he was sat in front of me, with a large canvas before him, his deep blue eyes regarding me carefully and making my stomach tighten.

"Will I have to hold this for nine hours?" I smirked. He chuckled, unscrewing a jar.

"I paint quickly. I used to do street art. It won't take long."

And thankfully, it didn't. It couldn't have been more than thirty minutes by the time he set down his final brush, picking up his hand towel to wipe off the paint from his fingers.

"You're done?" I asked, waiting for permission to get up.

"Yep."

"So I can move?"

"Now, I didn't say that." He replied, his voice deep and gravelly as he stood from the stool, joining me on the floor. I giggled, his warm breath on my tummy tickling me while one of his hands came up to capture my wrists.

"Joel."

"You're so beautiful." He cooed, pressing kisses up my torso and between my breasts. "You make the perfect muse." I squirmed, physically incapable of staying still with him hovering over me.

"Have you had a lot of them? Muses?" His lips lifted into a smile.

"No. Not a lot. Not humans." Then, with a grunt, he freed me, shifting his weight to stand. "Let me show you." He held out his hand to assist me, and I took it, already missing the feeling of him on me, but eager all the same to see his work.

I assumed he would show me his newest piece first, but he didn't. Instead, he led me to the pile in the corner, removing the tarp carefully and stepping back.

Sweet Jesus.

These didn't belong covered and on the floor. They belonged on the walls of a museum. So many bright colors, vivid imagery, just as gorgeous as the one he painted in class. Now I understood how he could make five to ten thousand dollars in thirty minutes.

I knelt down, handling them like fine China as I scanned them. I quickly noticed that each one had a common item; the silhouette. He never painted anybody with a face. Judging by the detail in the landscapes, though, I had a hard time believing it was lack of skill. Which meant it was a choice. Was this what he meant by not having human muses? He never filled them in. They were all just black figures set in whimsical locations.

"They're beautiful. God, Joel. There are so many. Why haven't you sold them?" Joel smiled shyly, shifting on his feet and putting his hands in his pockets.

"Thank you. These are actually pretty old. I haven't been in much of a painting mood, um, until recently." I cocked my head, standing with a small stretch.

"Why not?" His eyes met mine.

"The divorce was hard." Oh. Right. My gaze dropped to the floor, my arms instinctively wrapping around myself.

"Do you miss her?" I thought back to the ring I found the day we met. Of course he did, but I was hoping he'd say no, anyway.

"No. Don't worry about that." He stepped forward, encasing me in his warmth. "You're the only woman I think about, Jen." My hands released my shoulders, snaking around his waist to his back so that our fronts could touch.

"Really?" He leaned down, brushing his lips tenderly against mine.

"Of course. In fact, I probably think about you too much. Pretty sure Isaac thinks I've lost it." He smiled, his dimples sending a delightful shiver down my spine. "Now, does my muse want to see her portrait?"

Portrait? I nodded and he let me go, allowing me to pad over to where the newly stained canvas was propped.

Oh, Joel.

It was me.

Not a sillhouette showing a shadow of a person, but actually me. Well, a more beautiful and flawless image of me, anyway. My hands came to my mouth and I fought my blush from surfacing. I looked so mature, so seductive, each brush stroke emphasizing my curves.

Was this who he saw when he looked at me?

"This one will be staying in my personal collection." He remarked, his hands sliding around my stomach. I snorted.

"Well, that's good to know. I don't know how your students would respond to seeing this one." He buried his nose in my neck as he laughed.

"I don't know. I bet you'd get even more admirers." He mumbled, and I rolled my eyes, turning in his arms and placing my hands on his hips.

"I only need one. Only you."