by Penelope Sky
I dropped my jeans and boxers next, watching Vanessa’s face turn vermillion with desire. She used to guard her expressions fiercely, to make her thoughts impossible to decipher. But once she fell in love with me, her emotions always danced on the surface. She wanted me like she’d never had me before. She undid her jeans and pushed them off along with her thong until she was naked on the bed. Then she opened her legs to me, begging me to join her in the sexiest way possible.
My cock twitched as I stared at her perfect little pussy. I loved this woman for her smart brain, beautiful heart, and the sassiness that oozed out of every pore. But as a man, I fell in love with the slice of heaven between her legs. It’d become the permanent residence of my cock, the dream house I’d always wanted. I wanted to stay buried there forever, to spend every lazy Sunday deep in her crevasse.
She scooted back to the headboard and breathed hard as she watched me. “Don’t make me ask you again.”
My knees dropped onto the mattress, and I made my way between her knees. I held myself on my knees, my hands touching her soft skin as I explored her calves and ankles. For the three months we’d been apart, no other man had come to this bed. No other man had been between her perfect legs. This was my territory, my home.
She looked up at me, her breaths deep and irregular.
“Ask me again.” I looked into her deep green eyes, seeing the combustive desire that was about to explode. My hands squeezed the backs of her thighs, and my cock started to ooze from the tip. I made love to her the second I woke up that morning, not caring that she was still asleep. I was rude like that, taking my baby whenever I felt like it. But now I was desperate to have her again, like I’d never had her before.
Her hand pressed against my hard stomach, uneven because of the ripples of abs that were hard as steel. She moved to my hip then gave a gentle tug. “Make love to me.”
“Please.”
She was practically panting now. “Please…”
I grabbed both of her ankles and rested the bottom of her feet against my chest as I moved on top of her, my hands pressing into the mattress on either side of her small frame. She was petite and flexible, so folding her exactly how I wanted was simple. When she asked me to make love to her, she didn’t just want me inside her. She wanted me to conquer her, to sink her into the mattress with my weight so she would always feel safe. She wanted to be my queen, to submit to her king. She wanted to be smothered by my love, to feel guarded and protected every single day for the rest of her life. When she was mine, she knew she never had to worry about anything.
I kept her knees together as I pushed inside her, gliding through that tight slit as her arousal smeared my entire shaft. I sank into her, getting her at the deepest angle possible, until my balls tapped against her ass.
She took a breath when she felt all of me, like she wasn’t used to my size quite yet. Her nails dug into my wrists, and she looked into my gaze with a lidded expression. With parted lips and hard tits, she was ready for me.
I pressed my forehead against hers and started to move, to rock myself gently inside her and enjoy every slow second. I wanted to make this last, to make her come several times before I crossed the finish line. My job was to heal her heart the way she healed mine. Our separation had been brutal for both of us, stripping away all the joy that we cherished. When I lost her, I turned into a worse version of myself. She turned into a ghost. But now we would never know that pain again—because I was here to stay. I didn’t give a damn who liked me or hated me. This woman was mine—and no one would ever take her away from me.
She dug her toes into my chest and sliced her fingernails into my skin, her breaths coming out deep and heavy. She pressed lightly against my chest to lift her hips so she could move with me, let me fill her over and over.
I rocked into her a little harder, making her tits shake with my thrusts. I loved watching her nipples harden, the color of her cheeks becoming deep red. The green color of her eyes became more vibrant when she was lost in the moment with me. She’d been that way before I left. She was that way still.
I’d never made love to a woman before her, but the second I had her, everything came naturally. My eyes locked on to hers, and I shared my soul with hers. I gave her everything I had, accepting everything she gave with greed.
“I’m gonna come…” Her hands snaked up my arms. “Already…”
I moved her ankles over my shoulders so I could smother her even more. Her feet rested on my shoulders on either side of my head. I folded her deep, manipulating her body like she was a doll instead of a person. “You’re going to come more times than you can count.”
“I expect nothing less…” Her fingers moved into my hair, and she stared into my eyes, her lips desperate for a kiss. She was too busy moaning to seal her lips against mine. She made love to me with her eyes as much as her body. She rocked with me and took my thrusts with vigor. Her spine shivered as she approached the climax that was impossible to ignore.
I was glad I hadn’t been with anyone else in the last three months. They would have been disappointments compared to this woman. No matter how wild or enthused they were, they wouldn’t have filled the hole in my chest.
They wouldn’t have filled me the way she did.
I would have pretended they were my baby, would have pretended my life was still complete. But the second the fun was over, I would only feel worse about what I’d done—and missed Vanessa even more. “I love you.” She was the only woman who ever heard me say those words. The first time I told her how I felt, I didn’t hesitate. Confessing something like that didn’t come easily, not for someone like me. But it was the simplest thing I’d ever done. There was no doubt how I felt about her. I didn’t need to love another woman to understand what love was. She was my one and only.
Passion remained in her eyes, but emotion also jumped across the surface. She cupped my cheek and gripped my left hip. “I love you too.” Before she even finished saying the words, her pussy clenched around me, and she was thrown into a powerful orgasm. “Forever…I love you forever.”
I hadn’t slept well in the last three months. It was impossible for me to fall asleep unless I was drunk, and unless I woke up still drunk, I remembered all the terrible dreams I had about Vanessa.
Having her back was an improvement for my health.
I was sleeping again.
I wasn’t drinking nearly as much.
And I was happy.
But instead of sleeping all through the night, I would wake up at least once to look at her, to make sure she was really there. A part of me was afraid I would lose her again, even though that fear was unfounded. But if you’d ever truly been miserable, you were always afraid of being miserable again.
I’d already lived without her once. I couldn’t repeat that.
She was asleep beside me, naked under the sheets that reached her shoulder. She was on her side and facing me, her lips slightly parted as she slept. Her face always looked the same when she was asleep, rested and beautiful. Some of her small teeth were visible. When she was awake, her fierce attitude made her a spitfire, but when she was asleep, she appeared harmless.
I watched her for a while because I couldn’t go back to sleep. It was the first time I’d slept in a foreign place. The mattress was different, the atmosphere was changed. It didn’t smell like her because she hadn’t inhabited the place in so long.
I watched her for a few more minutes before I got out of bed and explored the rest of her apartment. I poured a glass of scotch since I hadn’t had a drink all day, and I sat on one of the couches in the living room. The place was already furnished when I bought it, so these things had belonged to someone else. There was a small coffee table, a little TV, and a large painting on the wall.
It caught my attention because I knew Vanessa didn’t paint it. It was an image of the countryside, of the endless vineyards, the Tuscan sun, and the summer heat of the valley. It reminded me of something she would paint, but the color
s, lines, and angles weren’t produced by her hand. It was definitely someone else.
I set my glass down and walked up to the painting. There was a signature scribbled in the corner.
Antonio Tassone.
A rock fell down my throat and landed in the pit of my stomach. It was like someone punched me in the gut with the butt of a rifle. It was a jolt of pain I hadn’t been anticipating, a shock to the heart that made my fingertips go numb.
I’d never been jealous of him because I knew he couldn’t compete with me. No man could. What Vanessa and I had was stronger than anything else she could have with another man. Even if she’d slept with him, it wouldn’t have shattered my confidence. I would have made good on my word and erased him from her memory. But seeing this painting…gave me a rush of doubt.
They had a deeper connection than I realized.
He was an artist, just like she was. They obviously had a lot in common. She got this painting because it reminded her of where she grew up. Or he painted it for her because he knew it would mean something to her. Whatever the case, they had a deep relationship based on mutual interests, art, and spirituality.
For the first time in my life, I was jealous.
I hated this painting. I was tempted to take it off the wall and snap it in half. I wanted to douse it with my scotch then light it on fire on the sidewalk. I wanted to burn it until his artwork was nothing but ash.
I had to remind myself that she dumped him the second I was back. She made the call, which lasted less than five minutes, and it was over. There was no hesitation of where she wanted to be. Even if this guy was an artist she had a connection with, it didn’t compare to what we had.
But I was still angry.
She didn’t sleep with him. She didn’t even kiss him.
I shouldn’t give a damn.
But I did.
I finally turned away and returned to the couch where my scotch was waiting for me. I didn’t want to look at that painting again. I couldn’t stand the thought of looking at it every day while I stayed here with Vanessa. It would be petty of me to ask her to take it down. I didn’t want to be that guy, to show any insecurity at all. But I also wouldn’t tolerate her bringing it along to our new place in Tuscany. No way in hell would I allow that piece of garbage to hang on the wall.
My painting was still there where I left it, on the other wall. But I shouldn’t have to share the space with anyone.
Light footsteps sounded against the hardwood floor. Vanessa was approaching from down the hallway. I didn’t make a sound, but she must have noticed I was gone when she reached for me in the middle of the night.
She appeared around the corner, her hair a mess from the way I’d fisted it earlier. Completely naked with beautiful olive skin, she was a living fantasy. Her dark hair, green eyes, and beautiful skin tone made her the most desirable woman on the planet. She squinted her eyes because she was still half asleep. “What are you doing?”
I was on the couch in just my black boxers. I held up my glass then took a drink. “Couldn’t sleep.”
She ran her fingers through her hair, her lids heavy with sleepiness. “Come back to bed.” Her tone was potent with her bossiness. She turned around, expecting me to follow her.
Normally, I would. But this time, I didn’t. I was pissed about the painting. Until that thing was off the wall and in the garbage, I would continue to be angry.
Her footsteps faltered when she realized I wasn’t coming. She turned back around and looked at me. “Did you hear me?”
Despite my anger, I wanted to smile. I liked the offense in her voice, the way she got angry when she didn’t get her way. She was used to having me whenever she wanted me. And when she didn’t get what she wanted, her attitude fired up. “I’m not tired.” I stared at my glass.
“Well, you can be not tired in bed. That way, I can get some sleep.”
“You slept without me in that bed for three months just fine.” I forced myself not to look at the painting on the wall, to give in to this strange feeling of insecurity. I assumed this guy was ordinary and forgettable. But perhaps my assumption had been wrong.
“What?” she blurted. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
I drank from the glass.
As the anger pumped through her system, her eyes opened wider as she became more awake. “Did I miss something? What’s going on?”
“I’m not tired,” I said simply. “I’ll come to bed when I’m ready.”
She crossed her arms over her chest, her rage growing with every passing second. “I don’t want to sleep another night without you beside me. I need to know you’re there. The sheets get cold without you. I don’t feel safe without you. So don’t make me ask you again.” She turned around and stormed off, her small feet stomping against the hardwood floor.
My anger hadn’t abated, but I was even more amused. If that painting weren’t on the wall at that moment, I would probably grin as my ego inflated. Nothing made me happier than watching my baby want me, watching her get angry when she didn’t get enough of me.
I left my scotch behind and got into bed beside her.
The second my weight hit the mattress, she moved into my side and tucked her leg in between mine. She embraced me like a body pillow, her face resting against my shoulder while she hugged my waist. Like the previous conversation never happened, she went to sleep instantly.
I watched her sleep for a few minutes before my lips pressed against her forehead. That painting haunted me, but I had to remember the piece of artwork right beside me. She was mine to stare at forever. She was mine to treasure.
She was never his, not when she was always mine.
I woke up the next morning and did my daily one-armed push-ups and sit-ups. I usually hit the weights every day, but without my equipment, I had to exercise on my own. I made coffee afterward then sat on the couch.
I usually fucked Vanessa the second my eyes were open. I didn’t give a damn if she was awake or not. My cock was rock-hard first thing in the morning, so I pushed myself between her legs and made us both come quickly before I started my day.
But today, I didn’t do that.
The painting stayed on the wall, silently haunting me. In the morning light, the colors were more distinguishable. The brush strokes were visible. I didn’t know shit about art until I started studying Vanessa’s paintings. I could read her moods and emotions. When I looked at his work, I felt like I knew him in some way.
I didn’t like that.
I needed to let this go. I was better than this. I shouldn’t feel threatened by him, not when she dumped him.
But that painting constantly reminded me of him, played with my fear and imagination. I never asked about their relationship because I knew it didn’t matter, but now I wondered about the specifics. That painting kept playing with my mind, turning me into a jealous psychopath.
I hated it.
Fucking hated it.
She woke up thirty minutes later, wearing one of my t-shirts that fit her like a poncho. Her feet struck the ground heavily as she stormed into the living room. With those angry green eyes burning into mine, she put her hands on her hips and exploded. “What the hell is wrong? We just got back together, and you’re being an ass.”
I stared at her blankly, surprised by her inaccurate statement. “How am I being an ass?”
“You disappeared last night, and then this morning, we didn’t make love. We always do that.”
“You mean, I fuck you when you’re still asleep then leave?” I asked. “I didn’t realize you found that so romantic.”
Her eyes looked like two grenades about to explode. She stormed to me then smacked her hand across my shoulder. “See? You’re being an ass. I know something is wrong. Tell me what it is.”
I didn’t react to her hit. She was small, but she could pack a serious punch. To me, the hit meant nothing. I rose to my feet and stepped away from her, unsure if I should come clean or not. If I kept it inside, I would keep
pushing her away because it bothered me so much. The second that painting was gone, I could stop thinking about the man who tried to make my baby his baby.
Vanessa watched me, her arms crossing over her chest. Her eyes were still potent with rage. “Griffin.”
I was too stubborn to admit the truth, to admit another man bothered me. But my rage was winning the battle, especially when the painting was on the wall right behind her. I could see both of them in my line of sight. I wondered if he’d given that painting to her as a gift, knowing she would love it after she told him about her childhood over coffee. Both of my hands tightened into fists.
She glanced at my movements before she looked me in the eye again. “I understand you better than anyone, but right now, I have absolutely no idea what’s going on. Tell me.” She stepped closer to me, dropping her hands to her sides.
I looked past her and focused on the painting. Artwork was supposed to stimulate the mind in beautiful ways, to bring a sense of peace to the home. But this painting tortured me, gave me heartache.
Her eyebrows rose in confusion, not understanding what my gesture meant.
I kept looking at it.
She finally peeked over her shoulder, paused as she looked at the painting, and then slowly turned back to me. She was still confused, but her eyes slowly started to fill with fear. She wasn’t sure if I’d figured it out, probably because it seemed unlikely that I spotted his scribbled signature in the corner.
“I want that shit out of my apartment.” My shoulders tensed as the rage vibrated through my body. Finally addressing the painting only made me angrier. Saying the words out loud only made me realize how much it really bothered me. Having it there was an insult. She hadn’t had time to take it down because she didn’t know she would see me in Milan, but that didn’t sway my rage.
She was absolutely still, even her chest motionless because she stopped breathing. All the anger she’d directed at me evaporated like it’d never been there at all. She didn’t bother pretending the painting wasn’t exactly what I thought it was. She didn’t apologize for it either because she shouldn’t have to. So she said nothing, knowing there was nothing to say to make this situation better.