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Sharing the totally raw and unedited beginning to Body Art (working title). This will be very dark, very twisted and very very erotic.
I’d love any thoughts and opinions.
Prologue
The Artist
The stench of sex and sweat threaded through the subtle scent of linseed oil and acrylic paint hanging on the air in the room. An unnerving aroma that slipped into the body like fine mist, snaking into the pit of one’s belly to stir deeply suppressed fantasies.
Xander Dupont didn’t want to suppress those fantasies any more. Not since Jess walked out on him. Now he wanted to live them. No, not just live them, submerge himself into them. Let them possess him. Own him.
He glared at the large canvas mounted before him on his old easel, its virginal-white primed surface mocking the dark desires smoldering in his core.
Jess may have denied him those fantasies before, but on canvas, where she had no control of his imagination, she would submit to his every whim.
Snatching up a number 5 sable brush from the cluttered table beside him, he drew in a deep, slow breath, letting the intoxicating air seep into his being. His prick stiffened, his balls rising up in response to the heady combination of sex and paint. Ten days since Jess had ended their relationship and he could still smell her. Could still smell the last time he fucked her on the day bed in the far corner of his studio.
His cock grew thicker and, with a snarl rumbling up from his gut, he plunged his brush into the glistening pool of crimson paint squeezed onto his palette.
He would fuck her again. If not with his flesh, than with his art. She had always been his muse. Now, she would be his subject. His movement. Van Gogh had his yellow period, XXXXX had his XXXXXX. He, Xander Dupont, would have his Jess Sinclair period.
Sweat trickled down his bare skin in a teasing caress he let his mind believe was Jess’s tongue. Over his chest, his stomach, down to his groin, his ass. He sucked in another breath, tasting her on the air and assaulted the canvas. Wild brushstrokes born from burning need and furious frustration.
Tube after tube of paint oozed onto his palette. Stoke after stroke gave birth to the woman of his denied fantasies – her sublime form curved in beautiful submission, her wrists bound, her legs spread, her sex waiting for him to…
Xander staggered back from the canvas, heart smashing against his breastbone, cock so hard even the air sliding over it made him want to cry with agonized want. Panting, he studied the painting before him.
“She is beautiful.”
The low voice beside him made him jump and he spun around, adrenaline flooding through his veins.
A man stood beside him. Tall and broad and darker than midnight, with eyes the color of melted steel and hair the color of blood.
Xander stared at him, every molecule in his body cowering in petrified fry. “Who the fuck are you? How’d you get in-”
The man waved his hand in a slow arc before Xander’s face and the words died on his lips. “I am Abbadon, Xander Dupont, and I can give you what you want.” His incandescent yellow eyes flared brighter and he smile, revealing teeth whiter than bone and sharper than daggers. “For a price.”
Xander felt his balls shrivel. Even as something dark and twisted and hopeful unfurled in the pit of his belly. “Wh…what do I want?”
Abbadon’s smile widened and he slid his gaze to the painting. “Her,” he said. He returned his burning stare to Xander. “Are you willing to do anything to have her?”
The dark hope in Xander’s gut threaded deeper into his core. Filled his cock with blood and his mind with infinite possibilities. He took a step closer to the canvas, pressed his fingers to the creamy wet surface that was Jess’s thigh. Stroked her painted flesh with his fingertips. “Yes,” he answered, staring at the bound woman of his fantasies captured before him. “I am.”
Chapter 1
The Dream
Jess Sinclair woke from the dream covered in perspiration.
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Oh yeah, I want more.
Where’s the rest?
I’ll never look at a blank canvas the same way again!
Holy s**t…
Are you done yet lexxie? How about now?
🙂