by Huss, JA
But I’m not in the mood to fight with her right now. I just want to move forward at this point. “You said I can borrow a helmet? I’m going to the Harley shop down in Broomfield soon to pick up my own gear, so I’ll bring it back when I’m done.”
She stands and goes back to her bedroom, leaving me to wait. It pisses me off that everyone seems to know Spencer better than I do. Just plain pisses me off.
But I take a deep breath and tuck my annoyance away just as Rook comes back and hands me a black helmet with a full face shield. We walk back up the way we came and end up in the carport where her custom Shrike Bike sits under a blue tarp. She unfastens the bungee cords holding the tarp down and then pulls it off with a whoosh.
I sigh with happiness. I’ve seen this bike a million times, but it’s never looked so beautiful. Rook said she picked this bike out on a whim, way back when she first met Spencer. Back before the STURGIS contract, before season one. Back when she was modeling for the TRAGIC stuff with Ronin.
But it’s strange that she chose this bike, of all the bikes he had in the showroom back then.
Because this is the Shrike Blackbird.
The very bike he drew in my sketchbook.
The very bike I tattooed on his back.
The very first bike Spencer Shrike ever made.
And now it’s mine.
Chapter Eight - Veronica
“I’ll follow you,” Rook says as she opens her truck door.
I twist the key in the ignition and start the bike and then nod out an OK. “I’m gonna take side streets to the DMV so I don’t have to pass the shop or Shrike Bikes. So I’ll cut out once we get back to town.”
She sighs and points her finger at me. “Be careful.”
I nod. “Yes, Mother.” She gets in her truck and I pull away and go slow to let her follow. I realize I’m the only girl in a family of six men, but holy hell, does everyone have to treat me like an invalid? Because seriously, I’m way tougher than Rook and if she can ride a bike to Chicago alone, I’m pretty sure I can handle scootin’ around town.
The dirt road is a bit muddy, so I am extra-special careful until we make it back on the main road that leads to town, but once I get there, I relax and let my mind drift.
Seeing that picture of the first time Spencer painted my body on his desk has triggered all kinds of memories. I have pictures of that day too, but I haven’t looked at them in years. Since the day he gave them to me, as a matter of fact. I was sorta embarrassed to have naked pictures of myself. And I was very worried about my brother Vic finding out about the whole body-painting thing. He’s very protective. The twins could give a shit what I do, and Vann is like my partner in crime. They’ve always babied him too—never stopped them from kicking his ass regularly all growing up, but still. He can relate to being told no all the time.
Eventually Vic did find out about the body painting. How could he not? Spencer and I traveled all over the place doing contests the year after we graduated. But he never did see the pictures of the night in the atrium.
That day, that night, that experience…
That was not just body painting.
That was seduction, pure and simple.
Three years ago—Shrike Shop Atrium
“Take your clothes off, Bomb,” Spencer says casually as he messes with an airbrush.
I just breathe and nothing more.
He cocks his head at me and squints. “You having second thoughts?”
My breasts rise and fall in rapid succession as the adrenaline courses through my body.
Spencer does not miss this. “You’re nervous?” he tries again. I’m only capable of the most basic functions of living. Breathing. One, two, three more heaving breaths bring his attention back to my chest and then before I can understand what’s happening, he’s supporting my weight. “Ronnie, you OK?”
I shake my head, uncertain what just happened.
“Ronnie? Speak.”
“I’m OK. I think. What happened?”
He leans down and kisses me on the lips and it’s only then that I notice we’re sitting on the ground. “I think you fainted.”
“That’s… stupid. I’ve never fainted in my life.”
He kisses me again, just as softly. It’s not a seductive kiss, even though I know for a fact I’m being seduced right this very moment. It’s a casual kiss, the kind you’d give someone absently. Out of habit, with no thoughts of being denied or crossing boundaries. It’s a kiss that says, I’m here.
My head spins again and I have to close my eyes and breathe deeply for a second.
“Veronica?” His voice has a little more concern now. “What’s going on?”
“I’m not sure.” Thoughts are racing through my head, fast and furious. Even though I know such thoughts need to be tucked away, lest I faint again, they surface and there it is. “I think I…”
“What?” he asks, leaning in close again. His lips caress my cheek this time and I’m dizzy.
“I think I swooned.”
I expect a laugh, or a tease. Or maybe a kiss to wash away my silliness… but instead he says, “You know what that means, right?”
I force myself to look up into those gray eyes because I need this answer.
“It means you’re in love.”
“I am in love,” I admit immediately, breaking every rule of new relationships in one fell swoop. “I’m afraid I’m a goner and you might be stuck with me forever.”
He smiles the warmest, most adorable smile I’ve ever seen. On anyone. He’s got the most amazing smile. It’s soft, and caring. Such a contradiction to his hard body. “I’ve already planned our whole life, so I’m good with being stuck. But first, Bombshell, I’d like to get you naked. And then I’d like to caress you with my paintbrush until I turn your body into something magical. I’m gonna make you blush, Bomb. I’m gonna make you blush, and when we’re all done, I’m gonna capture you on digital film and keep you with me forever.”
Goddamn. This man has a way with words. How can his mouth be sexier than his… sex. I’m not sure, but it is. It very much is.
He gently moves me so I’m lying flat on the grass, my arms relaxed and my head lolling over a little with acceptance or surrender, I’m not sure which. And then he’s unbuttoning my shorts. My eyes dart down to his hands and then back up to his face.
He gives me a soft, but very crooked, smile as he drags the zipper down.
I swallow.
“Lift your hips, babe.”
I lift and he slides my shorts down, leaving my underwear on. My chest starts to rise and fall in that weird pattern again. He leans down to give me another comforting kiss. “Be still, breathe deep. I’m not gonna hurt ya.”
“I know,” I say quickly. “I’m not afraid.”
“Your body says different, Bombshell. But it’s OK. I’m gonna lead you through this, step by step. Now.” He gently grabs my upper arms and pulls me towards him until I’m sitting up. “Let’s take this off, OK?”
I nod as he slips my tank top up my stomach. And I swear, I try my best to not let it affect me, but holy hell. His fingertips drag up my ribcage, and I’m not ticklish much, but my head falls backwards and a moan comes out.
What the hell is happening to me? It’s like I’m out of control. Fainting and moaning. And all the man’s done is ask me questions and lift my shirt off!
Spencer leans into my neck once the moan subsides. “Do I make you hot?”
I try to regain some semblance of control, but I totally fail. So my words betray every empty thought in my head when I whisper, “I’m an insatiable inferno.”
His large hands stroke my calf, then he grabs my foot and pushes it until my knee bends. He does the same thing to my other foot, and then grabs my panties and says, “Lift, please.”
I swallow and lift.
His fingertips drag down my outer thighs this time, then tickle that little dent behind my knees as he hooks the panties over my kneecaps and lets them drop to the groun
d on top of my feet.
I wait for him to finish what he started and remove the panties from my ankles, but he doesn’t. He leaves them there, a reminder that he just stripped them off me.
God, that makes me wet for some reason.
His hands reach around to my bra clasp, and then before I can even formulate how I might feel about being stripped of my last bit of clothing, my breasts fall free and he licks his lips. He pulls the lacy pink bra down my arms and I slip my hands out before he makes me keep it on. I’m still thinking about the panties around my ankles. Something about that is just so… so… sexual.
I wait.
He waits.
“Now what?” I ask.
“What do you want to do now?” he counters.
I reach down and slip the panties over my feet and then set them on top of the small pile of clothes.
“And now you’re ready,” he whispers.
“What am I ready for?”
He gets up from the grass, grabs my clothes, places them in the office, then drags his airbrush equipment over to the spot where I’m sitting on the grass. “Now, I fuck you with paint.”
Holy shit. He just said that.
I’m so turned on, I’m starting to throb. He walks back over to the cart, tests the flow of paint on a piece of cardboard, and then turns to me. “You will never forget this day, Veronica Vaughn. For the rest of your life, whenever someone asks you what the best day of your life was, this will be in your top three.”
“What about the other two?” I ask.
“We haven’t made those memories yet, Bomb. But we will.”
The air bursts out of the gun and flows against my lower leg. It’s not a sexual place on the body, not really. But I have to stop myself from coming right then and there. When I look up at Spencer he’s all business now, concentrating on his canvas.
I take my attention back to the paint. It’s clear, or almost clear. But it’s got some kind of glitter in it too. And as time passes and more and more of my skin is coated, I realize what he’s doing.
He’s making me… shimmer.
“Lie still,” he commands in his alpha voice. “And spread your legs.”
“Oh. God.”
But he ignores my words and instead takes his light stream of air to the inside of my thighs. He paints them in long strokes. Long, agonizingly delicious, flutter-inducing strokes. Up and down.
He adjusts the paint flow and then a puff of air hits my pussy and I almost die. “Oh,” I moan out.
Spencer’s spraying never stops. The stream of air only becomes slower and more directed. Lingering over my clit for a moment, then moving off to the side, then down my leg again. I realize he’s been doing the same places over and over and I want to open my eyes and ask him what he’s doing.
But I don’t need to. I know what he’s doing.
He’s fucking me with paint.
“Give in to it, Veronica. Just give in, baby.”
And I do. I open my legs wider. I pull my knees up and slip my hand down to my stomach, but it’s quickly removed.
“No cheating,” he chastises me. And then he adjusts the stream of air so it’s stronger and the delivery of paint so it’s almost nonexistent.
My back arches as the nothingness reaches out and caresses my clit. One pass. I moan. Two more passes. I whimper again and again. Three quick bursts and I lose myself in the sensation. And then the air is gone, and Spencer’s body is propped over mine, his mouth on my mouth, his tongue tangled with my tongue.
I orgasm in the atrium.
And only his paint and his mouth ever touches me.
I have Spencer’s complete attention the entire day. After the erotic beginning, the conversation is easy and fun. He teases me and tickles me, on purpose and sometimes not on purpose. We laugh and when it gets past dinnertime, he stops and feeds me strawberries and holds a glass of wine to my lips. My fingers have been intricately painted with elaborate rings and the jeweled bracelets encircling my wrists are so detailed and beautiful, I wish they were real.
He’s painted my face too. A fantastical pattern of barely-there pastels that have the same shimmer to them as the whole-body paint. He won’t let me look in the mirror and even though I can guess that I’m some kind of fairy by the outfit, I really have no idea what he’s doing other than making me fall in love.
“What are you thinking about, Bombshell?” he asks me.
I realize I’m smiling. Very big.
I turn my head so I can see him next to me, careful not to rub my painted cheek on the soft grass since I’m lying on my back. “You,” I sigh.
“Then my plan is working.”
“What’s your plan? Keep me captive in this atrium all day, naked under the pretense of making my body your canvas?”
He smiles, like there’s more truth in that statement than not.
“It’s gonna get dark soon. Are there lights in here?”
He looks up at the ceiling and my gaze follows. It’s only then that I notice that some of the branches of the large tree have been trimmed so the geometric patterns of the ceiling can be seen. He points. “All the light we need will come from the moon.”
This statement stops my brain. I look over at him again and he’s smirking. “What are you up to? You’ve certainly taken your time today.” I lift my head so I can look down the full length of my body. “Is it done?” It could be, I conclude before I look back at him.
He says nothing, just smiles.
The minutes pass and I relax back into the soft grass. “It’s such a shame this will all be gone next week.”
“Nah,” Spencer says as he stretches back next to me. He reaches for my hand and gently twines our fingers together. “It’s gonna be here forever.” For a second I think he’s changed his mind about ripping down the building. But then he taps my head. “Veronica Vaughn, this place will live on in our fantasies. You will remember this place for the rest of your life.”
I say nothing to that. Just accept that it’s true.
A little while later the moon appears above us, but it’s not fully dark yet. “Soon,” Spencer whispers.
“Are we done painting?” I ask.
“We’re done painting, baby. We’re just waitin’ on the moon now.”
With each passing minute the moon travels closer to the apex of the atrium and the sky grows darker.
It’s a full moon. And I realize that it’s bathing me in its light.
Spencer stirs and then leans in and kisses me on head. “Stay here,” he whispers. “Be right back.” I tilt my head as he walks off into the little office room off to the side. He emerges a few minutes later with an armful of camera equipment, including a tripod, which he sets up a little ways off from where I lie still. He mounts the camera and presses some buttons which make a beeping noise.
And then he stands up and walks towards me, reaching down.
I take his hand, carefully, mindful of the paint. But he doesn’t pull me to my feet, only a sitting position. I stare up at him and he puts his finger to his lips. “Shhhh,” he breathes softly.
And then he lifts the hem of his shirt and drags it up over his abs. Over the muscles of his chest. Then, in one swift movement, over his head.
I’ve seen Spencer Shrike’s amazing body plenty of times over the past couple weeks. He’s been in display as our life drawing model in art class.
But with him standing here, in this magical room, bathed in moonlight—well, I’m breathless just looking at him.
He unbuttons his jeans and drags the zipper down, the sound a break from the nighttime song of crickets against the backdrop of a flowing river on the other side of the glass walls. He steps out of the pants, completely nude, and then picks up his clothes and takes them back into the office.
When he comes back out he stretches out his hand again and this time he pulls me all the way up to my feet.
The camera beeps. Spencer leans into my ear and whispers, “Stay still now, Bomb. I need a long exposure
time to catch the moonlight on your body.”
As soon as the silence is back, it’s broken again with the programmed click of the camera. It’s positioned beneath us, looking up. And I realize that this photo will capture my shimmering body being held in the arms of Spencer Shrike in the moonlight, the view of the apex of the geometric glass over our heads, and the branches of the tree in each shot.
The shutter clicks and Spencer’s hands come up to my throat and he kisses me. The beep sounds and we freeze, mid-kiss.
I can feel his breath inside me.
I feel nothing but him.
The camera shutter clicks and we change positions again. This time Spencer maneuvers me in front of him, one hand greedily squeezing my breast, the other flat against my throat as his mouth claims the tender spot on my neck, just below my ear.
Beep. Freeze. Click.
He turns me around again and now I can feel his thick hardness against my leg, but not for long, because he reaches around to my ass and lifts me up. I instinctively press my sex against his and wrap my legs around his waist.
Beep. Freeze. Click.
We move again. This time he eases inside me, and I throw my head back as he fills me up.
Beep. Freeze. Click.
I have never.
Been fucked.
So slowly.
In my life.
I have never felt every movement so clearly.
And who knew that an orgasm could obey the laws of moonlight photography exposure times?
I drag myself out of the daydream and turn into the DMV parking lot. I park the bike and take my pack off as I walk into the building. My phone begins ringing inside the pack. I check it.
Spencer.
Shit. I cannot talk to him right now. Not after I just relived those first few minutes in the atrium. I feel weak all over again. How the hell can this man affect me like this across time?
I need some fucking space. So bad.
I let it go to voicemail and then take a number and sit down in the hard plastic chair to wait my turn. It’s not busy, so I don’t expect it to take long. My phone dings a message.