The last few years of my life replay in my mind as the paint trickles onto my arm. Aaron smiling at me as he asked if he could buy me a drink that first night we met. His laugh as we spent our first lazy Saturday in bed. That happy twinkle in his eye when I said we should move in together—into my apartment.
Those images are overshadowed by the look of calmness when I walked into my apartment to surprise him by coming home from my parents’ house early and seeing Nicole making breakfast in my kitchen while wearing my robe. He was wearing the Knicks T-shirt I’d bought him for his birthday.
I don’t know why I remember what the two of them were wearing so vividly. It’s probably my heart’s way of protecting itself from the things I don’t want to remember—the clothes strewed across the living room floor, the tangled sheets on the bed, or the fact that Aaron wasn’t wearing any fucking pants.
This is how you say fuck you.
When my arm flies through the air, splattering paint all over the cloth in front of me, I scream in elation.
Fuck you, Aaron, and your tears when I barged out the door and ran down the hallway.
Fuck you, Nicole, for your cries of how it’s not as bad as it looks.
Hatred for him, hatred for everyone I called my friends, and hatred for myself for not seeing it. The paint flies off the brush with a violent thrust.
Fuck you to our so-called friends who knew they were screwing behind my back.
“I thought you knew,” they said. “It’s none of our business,” they said. “We didn’t want to get involved. You know how these things work out.”
Fuck.
You!
I’ve been pushing this emotion down because I didn’t know how to handle it. I hate being mad. I despise wallowing in my own bullshit. But this? This feels amazing.
My mind goes completely blank, and I’m lost in the moment of music, mess, and a floating sensation that brings me higher than I’ve ever been.
The song pulsates through the speakers, talking about giving me something to break.
With every drop that lands on me, my anger fades away. With every swipe against my face to wipe it away, I feel it smear like I’m trying to erase the pain from my mind.
And it’s working.
I turn to dip my brush and notice Tanner has changed the paint can. Instead of red, he gave me purple.
When I glance up at him, the serious look of awe he’s giving me sends chills to all the right places.
I coat the brush in the paint and pause as I look back to the red massacre in front of me. It’s raw. It’s ripe. It’s the death of my past.
“Are you ready to rewrite your story?” he whispers in my ear. He’s given me purple, so I can paint my new world over the one I thought had killed me all those days ago.
But it didn’t. I’ve survived, and I know now, without a doubt, that my new life starts today.
P!nk’s song “F**kin' Perfect” plays as he walks behind me, taking my hand in his. My eyes instantly close as I step forward and place the bristles directly onto the sheet. I glide a thick purple line across the center of the canvas.
When I flung paint before, it was in anger, hurt, and frustration. Now, with every swipe of the brush, I feel reborn and more alive than I’ve ever been before.
When I’m finished, purple now covers most of the red, but some pieces are still there.
Just like me.
Aaron will always be my story. No matter how much I try to forget him, I can’t, and I shouldn’t. No matter what happens beneath the surface, I’m still me. Strong. Determined. Powerful.
I’m ready for what’s next.
The song ends, and so does my painting. I turn to find Tanner staring at me with the most expressive smile.
“You’re exquisite,” he says, stepping toward me.
I look down, noticing my dress is covered in paint as well as my shoes that are lying on the floor, but I really don’t care. They’re just shoes.
I return his smile. “I feel beautiful. Probably for the first time in my life.” Normally, I’d be too embarrassed to admit anything like that, but right now, nothing can take me down, not even my own self-doubt.
“I want to paint you,” he says.
I blush and nod. No one has ever painted me before, but this is a night of firsts.
He steps closer, wrapping his arms around my back, and slowly starts to unzip my dress.
My eyes widen as my breath hitches. “What are you doing?”
His lips tug up in the corner. “I said I wanted to paint you. Is that okay?”
“You mean, literally?”
“You’re my muse, and your body is my canvas.” His voice is soft, and his eyes are filled with the utmost conviction. “Do you trust me?” he asks over a barely audible whisper, like he’s afraid of the answer.
His questioning gives me more motivation. I do trust him. In this moment, I feel like I owe my rebirth to him, and I’m more than willing to do anything he asks.
Instead of answering, I help him. I reach over to the left sleeve, pulling it down my arm before working on the right. Slowly, I shimmy out of the dress, letting it pool at my feet.
The dress was so snug up top that I didn’t wear a bra, and now, I’m standing in front of him with only my thong panties on, offering my body in a way I never thought I would.
Tanner’s eyes take me in. Every curve, every lump, every blemish, and all I see is appreciation reflecting back at me.
It feels natural. I don’t feel embarrassed or ashamed. I never liked to be completely naked with Aaron, yet, in this moment, I’ve never felt more secure and attractive in my own skin.
Tanner’s pupils dilate, and there’s a hunger to his eyes. He likes what he sees, but he doesn’t say it. The way his throat bobs with a hard swallow lets me know he’s holding back.
He leads me over to an open space in the room and gathers a group of pillows from a closet. Then, he tosses them, covers them with a blanket, and sits me down.
Once I’m comfortable, he pulls the large table filled with supplies over to where I’m sitting, pops the tops off various cans of paint, and makes a palette. With a brush in hand, he steps back and stares at my body as the canvas it is. His eyes widen as he decides what his creation will be.
He dips the brush in white paint. When the brush hits the skin of my thigh, it tickles, and I flinch at the sensation.
“Don’t close your eyes,” he says as he swirls up my leg.
I look down and watch as he creates an intricate flower. While Tanner paints petals dancing up my leg, the paint melts against my warm body with each stroke.
As the brush lifts up the inside of my thigh, my core clenches with need. It’s the most erotic thing I’ve ever experienced, and he isn’t even physically touching me, only the brush. Among the petals, he inscribes a word—Pure. It’s ironic since I’m feeling anything but.
He grabs another brush and dips it onto his palette. I can’t help but laugh slightly as the brush tickles against my stomach. He tries to hide his grin as he continues his work, his eyes focused as he creates his masterpiece.
This time, the flowers he’s drawing are yellow, and I notice they are actually roses. Hundreds of roses—some opened up, some barely budding.
He lifts his thin black brush again and writes Friendship across my stomach. I smile at the thought of him explaining the meaning of roses on my body.
Next, he grabs the purple paint and mixes white into it with a little bit of blue, creating this amazing lavender color. To my surprise, he skips over my naked breasts and starts on my neck, clavicle, and down my arms. Painting more roses.
Down one arm, he uses a fine script for the word Enchantment, and on the other, he scrolls First Sight. Questions flood my head on the meaning of all this, but I try not to overthink things.
That’s the old me. The new me, the tonight me, will live in the moment and not question anything, especially when it comes to Tanner.
As he cleans his brush, his eyes roam over his work a
nd then meet with mine. Both of us knowing the only place left are my breasts. He pauses, making sure I’m okay with what’s next.
I hold my chin high, slightly pushing my breasts out, giving him my approval.
He rewards me with a kiss before grabbing the green paint and starting in on my breasts. To my dismay, he doesn’t take advantage of the situation. The brush caresses my skin, gliding around each nipple, sending me into a lust-filled frenzy that has me breathing in quivering exhales.
He paints me in the same dignified manner as when he painted my legs, but he can’t hide the way his pupils dilate and how his breathing has grown deeper and hurried. His resolve amazes me because I am slowly losing my own.
He’s so close yet so far away, and I’m dying for him to touch me with more than the paintbrush.
This time, he’s not painting roses but a meadow of greens and yellows with a sky bright in the background. Until he gets to my heart, where he paints one single red rose with the word Love wrapped around it.
I’m officially done for. Lying here, I’m painted from neck to toe in the most beautiful piece of art I’ve ever seen. I should continue to stare down at my own body and what he has created of it, but I can’t.
I can’t take my eyes off of him.
Off of Tanner.
Off of this mysterious man who has turned my world upside down in a matter of a few hours.
He leans back on his knees and looks down at his masterpiece.
“Beautiful,” he says. His eyes rake over my skin, hugging every curve and cherishing every vibrant color. When he lands on my face and gazes into my eyes, he lets out a breath I didn’t know he was holding.
I lean up on my knees. I know the paint is still wet, but I can’t lie here any longer. With my body now just inches from his, I place my palm on his face.
“Beautiful,” I whisper as my hand skims down the side of his golden skin, feeling the rough stubble of his jaw.
I raise the other hand, bring it to his shirt, and give it a little tug. He raises his brows, and I nod.
This is what I want.
He lifts his arms as I pull the shirt over his head and stare at his body—all taut with rippling muscles beneath. I lay my palms on his silken skin and feel every hard edge. His physique is that of the gods, a statuesque monument that should be put on display in a museum. His body shakes as my hands travel to his well-defined abs.
“Beautiful,” I sigh.
My fingers land on his belt buckle, and I look back at him, asking for his approval. His eyes smile a little as he undoes it himself.
I bite my lip as I lower the zipper.
His hands slide onto the sides of my face as he holds me still. He looks like he wants to say something.
My body is flush, my pulse is racing, and my hands can’t seem to control themselves. I don’t give him a chance to speak as I smash my lips against his and kiss him. His words swallowed by my desire.
I’ve been loved. I’ve been forgotten. Until this very moment, I’ve never known what it’s like to be loved upon. To be breathed into and to fall into another.
His hands roam my body and tightly pull me into him. The paint on my body swirls onto his skin, and neither of us seems to mind.
My back hits the pillows, and Tanner is on top of me. I push his jeans down his body as he kicks off his shoes. My legs are wrapped around his waist, and we’re a tangle of tongues and touches.
His mouth moves to the side of my neck and kisses the sensitive skin, making my head drop back. I’m completely lost to his touch.
When he comes back up, I let my own mouth roam over his chest and suck on the skin over hardened muscle. Then, I settle on his nipples. He groans and then pinches my own. It forces me to find his mouth and devour him once again.
My hips grind against his thigh as I look for the friction I so desperately seek. His fingers skim down the side of my body and shimmy between us to settle over my core.
As his hand moves in vicious circles, my body comes alive. And, when he slides two fingers inside, I swear, I’m done for. I moan with a cry that comes from deep within my belly.
“Tanner,” I beg.
He kisses me again and then holds it as he works me into a frenzy. I have to release the kiss as I gasp. I’m so close, and it feels dangerous.
My hand wraps around his shaft, and I watch his eyes close in pure passion as I pump the hard steel up and down. It’s thick and throbbing, and I need it inside me. Desperation is seeping through me, yet what we’re doing is too erotic, too powerful … and I don’t want to stop.
I’m stroking him on the outside. He’s stroking me on the inside.
It’s foreplay, and yet it’s the home run.
This man can caress me so intimately, caressing me with his kisses and touches, loving me with his glances and words.
I come apart at the seams.
With ragged breaths, I clench around him and experience a climax beyond my wildest dreams. He is right behind me, spilling out onto my belly.
There’s no rush to leave. No need to abandon where we are. Our mouths are once again intertwined as he softly kisses me and wraps his hands around my body. And that’s how we stay.
A man and a woman on a bed of pillows on the floor, covered in smeared paint … kissing until the feelings of pleasure lull us to sleep.
6
TANNER
The sun pours through the exposed windows, hitting me square in the face. I lift a hand to block out the light. It does no use, so I roll over.
Last night’s memories come back full force—Harper’s fluttering eyes after I kissed her in the bar, the shocked expression on her face when I let her follow me onto the subway, the laughter at the club, that wild look in her eyes when she was unleashing herself on the canvas, and the way her body went limp after she fell apart from the stroke of my hand.
Last night was unexpected, to say the least.
I look down to see the sheets covered in paint, as is my body, which is buck naked.
“Harper,” I call out.
If she showered without me, I’ll be disappointed. I’d love to see what all that color looks like when dripping off her body.
We kissed for what felt like hours last night. My cock was so close to her, so ready to take her on the floor and fuck the night away, but we didn’t. She didn’t push for more, and I didn’t take it.
And it was erotic as hell.
I wipe the sleep from my eyes as I grab boxers off the ground and slide them on.
“Harper?” I ask again, standing up and fixing my hair so that it’s not falling in my face. I walk through the studio—to the kitchen and then to the bathroom.
She’s gone.
I look around the room for a note. There isn’t one. I stretch out my arms and feel a tug in my chest. I’ve had one-night stands with women, but I’ve never left without a goodbye. It’s called common fucking courtesy. I didn’t take Harper as that type of girl who tiptoes out in the night.
Annoyance climbs up my spine and grips my stomach. Anger and hurt go ten rounds in my veins, and I’m about to punch the wall to rid this foreign feeling when I turn to see the painting she created up against the wall.
The red and purple are boldly displayed on the sheet from when Harper went wild on it. The only difference between how it looked last night and this morning are the words Thank you written in black paint across the entire piece.
No phone number. No last name. Just a thank you.
I think of all the times I’ve listened to my friends who’ve bailed on women in the middle of the night. I never understood how they could be so crass, yet here I am, the one who was ghosted.
She set out last night, looking for a guy to help her get over her ex-boyfriend. Looks like she got what she wanted.
Good for you, Harper. I hope you find what you’re looking for.
I kick a plastic bottle sitting on the floor and head to the shower to wash off the last bit of my muse. I watch it run down the drain, nev
er to be seen again, just like her.
* * *
I open the door to the small, locally owned coffee shop around the corner from Columbia University and see Chris’s hungover face sitting in a corner table. Ryan is next to him, reading The New York Times.
I grab a coffee and a bagel before heading in their direction. We clap hands in our usual greeting as I sit down, pushing back on my chair to lift the front half off the ground.
“You get your dick wet last night?” Chris asks.
He knows I don’t normally share, so I shrug—not really saying no, but not saying yes either.
“Don’t mind him. He’s mad he went home stag last night,” Ryan says as he closes the paper.
“What happened to you?” I ask Chris, motioning toward the dark circles under his eyes and the hood he has pulled over half his head.
“Tequila,” Ryan explains. “And a four-hundred-dollar bar tab.”
I whistle through my teeth.
“Someone was supposed to buy last night—until he bailed,” Chris drawls.
I lean forward with a thud as the legs of my seat hit the ground. I take a sip of coffee and brace myself for the questions.
“One minute, I was talking to that hot lawyer, and the next thing I saw was you making out with her friend,” Ryan states.
“And then you just left!” Chris’s hands are up in the air in exasperation. “She took off after you. It was classic!”
I unwrap my bagel, tearing the two pieces apart and avoiding his remarks.
Chris narrows his eyes and leans in. “What? Did she turn psycho? Did you get in her pants, only to realize she had a full bush? You know”—he points an accusatory finger at me—“she was a little older than us. Women her age don’t always believe in the go bare or go home motto.”
I almost choke on my bagel. “Did you really just say that?”
“Yes, I did. And it’s a thing.” His eyebrows rise as he nods, sure he is speaking the truth.
Ryan shakes his head. “You’re such a douche sometimes.”
Chris continues, “Fuck, man, I’m sorry. That’s it, isn’t it? Don’t worry, bro; I don’t think I could go there either. All that hair, getting all over the place and in your teeth—”
Tanner: A Sexton Brothers Novel Page 5