“You gonna tell me where we’re going now?” I asked, slightly disappointed that the ride was almost over for the time being but still glad that I didn’t have to scream over the engine any longer.
“Nope,” he replied. I could hear the grin in his voice.
I sighed at the quick reply and pouted. Deciding to let him surprise me, I let my cheek linger a moment longer against his back, enjoying the feel and smell of his leather jacket. Along with the natural smell, the familiar scent of sandalwood and pine—Jace’s smell—had interlaced itself into the jacket. The combination was intoxicating and I found myself missing it as soon as it was no longer directly in front of me—a fact that I would have been embarrassed to admit aloud. It seemed an awkward fact, but I’d come to realize that every one of my senses was on high alert when I was with him, and I still didn’t know exactly how to properly handle the feelings that he’d brought out of me. Especially, I realized, since I should have started getting used to them by now.
Shouldn’t I?
As Jace pulled into a parking garage and parked the bike, I pulled back a bit, not wanting to embarrass myself by being caught huffing his jacket. He toed the kickstand out, steadied the motorcycle against it, and then moved off the bike with cat-like grace. I envied the sight of just how natural he was with the bike, with everything in his life. He had so much control and I wished I could have just a semblance of the grace he seemed to possess. He held his hand out to me and I took it as he helped me off the motorcycle. Catching my bearings, I looked around the area and once again wondered just exactly where Jace was planning to take me.
“You ready?” he smiled. “I had to take a moment too, honestly. It’s been too long since I last rode.”
“I couldn’t even tell, honestly,” I said, pouting slightly at just how easy he’d made it look.
“I hide it well,” he replied, offering a reassuring shrug and flashing a grin to match.
“So, you finally going to let me know where we are headed?” I asked for what felt like the hundredth time.
“Follow me,” was all he said as he took my hand and led me from the parking garage to the streets.
I looked up, seeing that the sun was already hanging low in the sky. I hadn’t realized how late it had already gotten and wondered absently how long we had been driving for. It hadn’t felt like that long but, then again, I did have a tendency to lose myself on the bike. And it wasn’t like I was keeping track of time then. He led us down a few side streets and I looked around, seeing that we were definitely in the heart of the art district. Statues and sculptures lined the streets, and paintings—both publicly commissioned and the not-so-legal-but-undeniably-stunning graffiti—littered the walls and billboards that surrounded us. I looked around in awe. Even there, outdoors, there was a certain air to the scene; something that would have felt familiar in a museum but without the stuffy sense of structure. The place was beautiful. Jace led me along, letting me ogle the surroundings while steering the two of us along. Then, finally, he slowed, and I, feeling the pace come to a pause, looked up. The shop, at first glance, seemed nondescript and neutral, but as I studied it further I caught sight of sign on a nearby placard that read:
“Annual Paint-a-Plate Couples Night!”
And, below this:
“Purchase any of our assorted plates or various ceramics and spend the evening painting with a loved one. Limited tickets available, purchase now.”
Frowning at that last part, I turned a curious eye towards him and asked, “When did you have time to buy tickets?”
“When I was thinking of what to do for our next date,” he explained with a dismissive shrug. It was a shrug I was used to seeing from him, and one that always seemed to accompany something incredible and seemingly difficult. It was his “I just perform miracles, didn’t you know?”-shrug. “Danny had suggested this, actually. He was the one who got the tickets for us, honestly,” he replied, running his hand over his neck. He actually seemed embarrassed by that confession. “I hope that doesn’t bother you that it wasn’t my idea.”
“Why would that bother me?” I asked, offering him a warm smile.
“I don’t know,” he answered, his face caught between guilt and confusion. I found myself endeared by this, realizing that he genuinely felt regretful that it hadn’t been entirely his idea. It only served to lend an even greater emphasis on how hard he was still trying to show me a good time. “Guess I didn’t want you to think it meant less or something”
“Don’t worry,” I kissed his forehead. “This sounds so fun! Let’s go!”
We walked into the store, seeing signs for the studio and followed them. A woman greeted us and Jace handed over the tickets. She pointed us over to where we would pick out what we wanted to paint and I was surprised at how much of a variety there was. I walked over, looking at the different styled plates.
“What catches your eye?” Jace asked.
“Well, I’m not the best at painting,” I said, chuckling nervously. “Maybe just a plate to start, right?”
“Good idea,” he agreed, also picking out a plate.
I was surprised to see how busy the event was. All seats were filled and as we moved to take our own, I saw that there were some amazing painters in the room. As we sat, I chewed my lip nervously, looking down at my blank canvas (or plate, in this matter).
“So, what should we paint?” Jace asked.
“Are we painting the same thing?” I looked over at him.
He shrugged and looked back at me, offering me a wide grin. “I hadn’t really considered that,” he looked back down at his own plate.
I saw a small laminated sheet in the middle of the table and grabbed it, looking down to see the “suggested” stencil patterns. The ideas seemed easy enough, and I figured with my limited abilities it would be better to take a suggestion than attempt to create something original. Finally, spotting something that I thought might be simple enough, I pointed.
“How about this?” I asked.
“The sunset?” he confirmed, nodding his own appreciation.
I glanced at it again, furrowing my brow. “Huh,” I hummed, “I saw it as a sunrise.”
Jace smirked at that. “All in how you look at it, I guess,” he pointed out.
“Oh yeah. That’s true,” I said as I considered this for a moment and realized, with a smile dawning on my face, that prior to our sex earlier that afternoon I, too, would have probably seen a sunset there. Then, worry suddenly creasing my brow, I said, “Should I be nervous that you see a sunset?”
Jace regarded me with those knowing eyes and that sly grin. “Maybe I like sunsets more,” he teased.
I giggled and gave a nod, deciding that, again, he had a point there.
“Anyway… yeah! I think that’s our design,” he agreed. “Seems simple enough, anyway.”
“Simple enough,” as it turned out, wasn’t simple enough.
Twenty minutes later, we were both looking down at our individual plates in a mixture of amusement and horror. What was supposed to be the “beginners” suggestion, had turned to a splattering of multiple colors on a plate. Realizing that we were both obviously a long way from even being considered decent beginners, we burst out laughing. Our “masterpieces,” or so the instructor was kind enough to call them, were nothing more than nonsensical smears of various shades that barely formed cohesive shapes let alone an identifiable image.
My sun, I realized with equal doses of humor and disgust, looked more like a bloody wad of sickness. Surrounding this, perhaps imagining themselves to one day represent clouds on a more talented artist’s plate, were what appeared to be a smearing of semen splatters. At least the mountains, which were little more than triangles in the original stencil, could boast that, indeed, they only had three sides and three corners. A triangle could aspire to little more, I decided.
Jace’s plate, however, could not even lay claim to a triangle. The mountains, like an extra chromosome in a fetus, sported an additional
angle that deformed the entire product. What was likely an attempt at another peak had melted into a vision of something resembling a wart jutting from a browning recreation of Madonna’s cone bra. His sun, which was justifiably circular, was a bright and aggressive yellow that lent itself more to what looked like an unfinished smiley emoji than an actual sun. His clouds, however, looked more like clouds than the pseudo-pornographic depictions I’d created.
“Wow, we suck,” Jace stated flatly.
“Yeah, we really do,” I agreed, still working to collect myself.
“Well, what do you say we go get some dinner and nurse our bruised egos now that we’ve found out neither of us are artists?” Jace offered.
“Dinner sounds perfect,” I said.
Nodding, Jace collected our “mess-terpieces” in a gift bag—promising that we’d laugh more over them later in the privacy of his condo—and started out. “How much do you wanna bet that Danny knew this would happen?” he asked with a grin.
I giggled. “Is he a good painter then?” I asked.
Jace paused, considering, and then shrugged. “Dunno. Don’t think so, at least,” he confessed.
Considering this, I decided to gift the “mess-terpieces” to Danny. Either he was the artistic sort, and the plates would serve as a sort of twisted present or, at the very least, they’d represent an ironic “thank you” for the unique date. It had been his idea, after all.
“So, where to eat?” Jace asked, looking around the area as he did.
“Why don’t we just see where the road takes us?” I smiled.
He regarded me then with a sense of awe and admiration. I blushed, realizing that, in a part of town where everything was a work of art, he was looking at me like I was the most inspired vision he could find. There was something in that moment, being elevated to such esteem in that instant, that had me so honored by him that it terrified me immensely. To feel so adored when I’d basically grown accustomed to being nothing but a whore in everyone’s eyes was on par with being raised with aspirations of poverty only to discover you were a goddess.
Then again, I thought, recalling a mythology course I’d taken in college, what sort of beings marry goddesses?
“Good plan,” he finally said, pride sparkling in his eyes and lust tugging at a grin, and took my hand.
We walked a few blocks before coming across a street filled with a few different eateries. Looking around at the different restaurants, we settled on a small American Bistro that had a live band playing. Feeling this was pleasantly reminiscent of the night we’d spent at the Canal Days, we agreed that it was what the road had wanted for us and went inside. After being sat, I looked over at where the band was playing.
“Want to dance again?” Jace asked, following my gaze and obviously thinking the same nostalgic thoughts.
“Maybe after we get something to eat,” I smiled. “Though I’m still not sure how great of a dancer I am even after everything.”
“You did fine,” he gently squeezed my hand over the table. “Now, what should we order?”
“One of everything?” I offered, teasingly.
“Don’t tempt me,” he said, sounding dangerously serious.
I decided not to, remembering just how much food he had ordered last time and just how much I had actually eaten. Thinking back to how concerned I’d been with gaining weight while working for T-Built, I decided I didn’t care if Jace ordered the entire menu. I’d gone long enough worrying over any little thing I put in my system and while I wasn’t looking to gain a ton of weight or anything, I wasn’t going to hold back like I used to.
I relished in the freedom Jace had given me once again.
While Jace had refrained from ordering every item on the menu, our table had still been covered in plates when he’d been done. I was once again surprised at just how much of the food we had cleared, and I smiled, leaning back against the booth.
“I don’t see myself dancing now especially,” I laughed.
“Aw, come on,” he smiled, standing. “Just one dance?”
I looked over as he held his hand out to me and sighed playfully, knowing I couldn’t say “no” to him. I took his hand and was instantly whisked out to the dance floor. I wrapped my arms around his neck as he moved me across the dance floor expertly and I wondered absently where he’d learned to dance.
One dance had apparently turned into five and by the time we had finished and were making our way back to the booth, we were both breathless and exhausted. A crowd had formed once again, and we’d had to work our way back through a crowd of applause and praise. The whole experience felt eerily similar to that one night; my mind once more toyed with the worry that this was all just a dream, but I couldn’t bring myself to resent such a wonderful moment—whether or not it was real. I watched as Jace finished paying the check and after another round of compliments from the crowd, we were finally able to leave.
As we stepped out of the bistro, I was surprised at how dark it had gotten. I hadn’t even realized we had been out for as long as we had. As Jace led us back to the parking garage, I smiled giddily, knowing somehow that the night was nowhere near over. Jace’s cat-like reflexes played back in reverse as he mounted his motorcycle, and he smiled back at he as I followed suit—feeling much less graceful in doing so.
“Hurry back home,” I purred in his ear. “And I hope you’re ready for Round Two.”
“Yes ma’am!” Jace said, hitting the ignition.
We both made no mention of the obvious tremble that passed through his body a moment before the engine loosed its first growl.
****
I could feel the excitement grow as we sped through the highway, heading back to Jace’s—Our, I corrected myself—condo. I closed my eyes, loving the feel of the night air hitting my face as Jace expertly wove through the streets.
It wasn’t long before Jace was parking the bike once again and we made our way into the lobby. Jace and the doorman traded nods and a handful of friendly words—none of which slowed our steps as we hurried, horny, towards the elevator.
I pounced Jace before the doors had closed to hide my eagerness.
My mouth and my body came down on him in unison, capturing him in an inescapable frenzy. Judging from how quickly he pulled me in, however, I guessed he had no desire whatsoever to escape the onslaught. Our arms were locked around the other, our lips all-but fused and our tongues wrestling for dominance, refusing to give the other’s a moment’s dominance. As the elevator doors opened to his private floor, we more collapsed into his condo than actually stepped in. By some strange miracle we remained upright, though I had to unwrap one of my legs’ vicelike grip around his waist to stabilize us; momentarily creating an erotic tripod with our combined bodies and clumsily teetering towards the living room. Still riding on the bizarrely surreal fumes of grace bestowed upon us, we kept from hurting ourselves as we chaotically made our way around the sofa, which happily caught a few discarded strings of clothing that we’d managed to wrestle off the other.
For one perilous instant, thinking it was safe to pull my one leg out of the equation, Jace fell into a stumble. He grunted what could have either been a halfhearted “fuck” or a fully-invested moan into my open mouth, turned to catch us against the fast approaching wall—an airy-yet-indifferent grunt being forced out as he took the impact while still holding me up—and, without a moment’s reflection on the possible danger we’d just evaded, moved on up the stairs and towards the bedroom.
The entire time, neither of us broke the kiss, save for one moment when, possessed by some wild desire deep within me, I pulled away long enough to growl, “Fuck me like you want to break me!”
By the time we’d made it to the bedroom, we were both naked and panting with pleasure. Jace, eyes flashing like a predator’s, pushed me on the bed a moment before pouncing after me and recapturing my lips. I shivered and purred, arching against his touch. We both grappled for dominance before Jace managed to turn me onto my belly and I, groan
ing and stretching before him in a feline arc, submitted. I felt the air against me, cool and tantalizing against my dampened folds and the parted cheeks of my ass, and I wagged myself at him in a silent invitation.
“Wow,” Jace panted, and I felt him trace a finger from the base of my tailbone all the way down to the tip of my clitoris “Someone’s ready.”
A long, breathy moan oozed past my lips for the entirely of his finger’s journey and my voice, feeling smoky against my pant-ragged throat, asked, “Can you blame me?”
Jace let out a carnal sound—something ancient and lusty that resounded deep within my most primitive natures—and I felt his body drape over mine as he began kissing and nipping at my neck and the back of my shoulders. His hand slipped around my body, found my breast, and honed in on my nipple, working it knowingly. I gasped, an electric bite of pleasure jolting through me, and he caught me off guard with a bite to my collarbone that cut the sound from my throat while intensifying the pleasure it had signified five times over. I trembled, feeling the already substantial moisture between my legs grow and begin to run down my thighs. Trembling, my ass wiggled again, this time seeming to act of its own accord, and I felt a rigid length of Jace’s own need thrumming like the recently struck chord of some eager instrument achingly close to home. I gasped and whimpered, begging without words, as his teeth began to draw back—pausing only to let his tongue massage the area they’d once occupied—and I remembered how to make sound all over again. I was distantly fascinated by the realization that I would never get used to the feeling Jace gave me. Every touch was a brand new sensation and I was once again lost to him. He had complete control of me!
All of these thoughts, however, like Jace’s own carnal grunt moments earlier, came to me without words; gliding by in a haze that was more color and heat than coherent reasoning.
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