The Beauty's Beast

by Eddie Cleveland

  For a moment, we don’t move. I free my thumb from her ass and grab the base of the condom as I pull out of her. Sam twists around on the seat and slumps against my chest, panting. I wrap my arms around her, pulling her into me and breathe in her natural scent.

  “So, that’s pretty much all the excitement you can have in one of these,” I smile at her.

  “I’ll have to get you to show me how this all works again,” she looks up at me slyly, “I may have forgotten.”

  “Well, I know I won’t be forgetting any of this,” I kiss her on the forehead and she giggles.

  “I should probably get Gertrude parked,” I move around Sam and try to pluck my clothes from the floor but I freeze when I see my business cards scattered over the floor.

  She follows my gaze and hops off the seat before I have a chance to grab anything. “Oh, I didn’t mean to spread your stuff everywhere,” she apologizes. “I guess I was just caught up in the moment,” she gingerly lifts my cards and her eyes travel over them.

  “Nice font, I like the metallic sheen,” she runs her finger over the front of one. “Wyatt James Lefevre…” her voice drops down as the realization hits her, “CEO”. Sam looks up at me with wide-eyed shock and I don’t answer her unasked question as I pull my underwear back on.

  “Wait, is this right? You’re the owner?” She stands up and scoops the rest of the cards from the floor, searching through them like she may have just found one exception, like the rest are going to say something different.

  “That’s right,” I pull on my pants and curse myself for letting her grab the condom. The way she’s looking at me right now, like I’m the face of a company instead of a man, that’s exactly what I wanted to avoid. That’s exactly why I try to hide my identity and my job.

  “So, why did you lie to me?” She pouts and slides her panties back up her legs before grabbing her bra and putting it back on.

  “Sam, I’ve had a lot of fun with you tonight. Like, real fun. Do you know how often that happens when I go on a date as Wyatt James Lefevre, billionaire? It doesn’t,” I answer the question for her. “I just wanted to see if I could meet someone real. If I could find someone who connected with me, because of me. Not because of my company or my legacy, but because I could make her laugh, not to mention make her cum,” I lower my voice and she blushes.

  Sam tugs her dress back on and I stop Gertrude’s engine. Suddenly we’re cocooned in silence. I feel like I could hear a butterfly flap its wings if it flew by.

  “I like you for you. Even your terrible taste in restaurants,” she shrugs and looks up at me.

  “I was hoping you’d say that Sam. Cause I would really love if I could take you out again. But next time, I’d like if I could cook you a proper meal. I mean, there won’t be any Big Buck Hunter, so I hope it’s not too disappointing,” I smile and cup her chin.

  “That’s ok, we can find something else for me to kick your ass at,” she grins back.

  “Oh is that right? How about I smack your ass instead?” I give her a sharp slap on the behind and she yelps but moves closer to me. I kiss her, tenderly at first and then my restraint dissolves into feverish need.

  In her kiss I can feel her true desires. Her true longing for me, Wyatt James the man, not the bank account. I wrap my arms around her tight, never wanting to lose this feeling. Never wanting to let it slip away.

  THE END

  10

  Naked Canvas

  Chapter 1 - Skylar

  “Ooh! You know I’m turning this up,” Sara cranks the volume and Drake’s Hotline Bling fills the air and spills out of our mouths. We do our best Drake dances and laugh as she drives us home.

  “I wish him and RiRi had worked out,” I feel a moment of sadness, as if I actually know either of them.

  “Nah, she’s too good for him and she knows it,” Sara’s brown eyes flicker over to me and she belts out another line, “you, you, you!”

  “She isn’t! Drake seems like a nice guy. He’s Canadian, they’re way nicer up there,” I defend my musical man-crush.

  “Yeah, RiRi doesn’t want nice, Skylar. She wants a badass with a big piece who can school her ass in the bedroom. She’s rich and powerful, people are nice to her all the time.” Sara twists her lips up the way she does whenever she thinks she’s just won.

  “Well, those kind of guys aren’t the marrying type. Drake would make a great husband and a sweet Dad,” I argue like he’s some kind of contestant on The Voice that I’m trying to convince people to vote for. “Plus, he’s hot as hell! If you ask me, she’s being a bitch,” I double down on my argument.

  “I don’t think she did ask you. Did she?” Sara gives me a look and I know she’s right. “Rihanna only answers to one person…herself. And that’s the way it should be. Besides if you want to get upset about celebrity couples that didn’t make it, I thought… Shit!”

  Everything is happening so fast, but somehow slow like it’s underwater at the same time. The crunching of the metal. The way the car spins and then flips. The world is upside down. The pebbled glass from the car windows is carpeting everything. I smell gasoline. I hear screams. It takes a second to realize they’re mine. I can’t see right. Someone is pulling on me. Yanking me through where the window once was. It was just there. Like a minute ago.

  I’m on the side of the road, sitting, holding my knees in against my chest and trying to make sense of what’s going on. I put my hand up to my head and instinctively pull away from the sting, my fingers coated in blood.

  I look around the intersection. A four-way stop that’s covered in twisted metal and shattered glass. There’s a blue car that’s banged up bad with no one inside. A red minivan with a woman slumped over the steering wheel, she’s not moving. My mind can’t fully process why. Is she sleeping? My eyes travel over to Sara’s car, upside down and crushed in on her side. It takes longer than it should for the realization to rise inside me. It takes more seconds than I can count for me to jump to my feet, shrieking in horror.

  “Sara! Oh my God! Sara!” I try to run over to the car but crumple to the ground, I look down with shock at the broken bone sticking out of my leg. I didn’t even feel it.

  I’m determined to get to her. I start dragging myself across the pavement toward the car when a young man wearing a sleeveless shirt, drags Sara’s motionless body to the side of the road. At first, I don’t see the gash in his arm or the blood flowing down to his hand like a river. It’s hidden by the extensive mosaic of tattoos covering every inch of his exposed flesh.

  “Sara!” I choke on my sob as he lies her down on the gravel beside the road. I watch as he begins pumping her chest with his broad hands, trying to keep her heart alive. The side of her head is smashed in, I can’t make sense of how the bone and skin is pushed inside her skull instead of outside.

  I can’t look at her. This can’t be real. It can’t be.

  I look back over at the minivan. The woman behind the wheel still hasn’t moved. She’s… she’s fucking dead. Tears blur my vision and streak over my cheeks. My head twists over and I see the blue car again, that must be his. It has writing on the side. Letters. I focus but my eyes can’t seem to make words out of them.

  Ryder’s Ink

  I got nothing. Suddenly the sounds seem to roar back as I hear a siren wailing, it’s getting closer.

  “Sara! You gotta pull through this! Please don’t die. You’re my best friend!” I scream.

  Paramedics flood the scene rushing over to the cars to assess where they’re needed. A woman is suddenly beside me. She’s talking to me but I can’t look at her. I can’t listen to her. I can’t stop screaming.

  I see two men approach Sara and the guy doing his best to keep her alive.

  “She’s gone and you will be too if you don’t get help now. Look at your arm, you’ll bleed out!” The paramedics pull him off Sara and drag him to the ambulance.

  I don’t even notice that the woman brought over a stretcher. I’m being strapped into it a
nd Sara is just lying on the ground. Lifeless. Alone. My best friend is gone.

  Forever.

  Chapter 2 - Ryder

  I Swiffer the floor, it’s the last part of my clean up before I leave for the day. I’m a bit of a neat freak when it comes to my shop, but I refuse to let my place turn into one of those sketchy dives that make you wonder if you’re paying for a tattoo or a lifetime of hepatitis C. No way, I’ve worked too hard for too long to let anything bring my reputation down in this business. And when every guy with a tattoo gun and a portfolio full of prison tats he’s done on his friends can qualify as an “artist,” reputation is everything.

  I always knew in my heart that drawing was what I was meant to do. When I was little, I shared the dream of a million other boys to become a famous graphic artist and work for Stan Lee at Marvel. I poured over homemade comics for hours, working hard to get the shading just right on the villain’s smirk.

  Of course, once I graduated high school, comic book artist didn’t exactly have a clear career path. It wasn’t like there was a building in my town where I just needed to get my foot in the door and prove my talent. So, I went with my backup plan. Travel.

  I glance down to my fingers wrapped around the slender mop handle. The words “Hold Fast” tattooed to my fingers reminds me of the years I spent sailing in the Navy. Hauling lines and making waves, that’s what my other boatswain buddies and I used to say our motto was. A smile pricks the corners of my mouth as a collage of drunken port memories swirl through my mind.

  “Excuse me?”

  I’m not the kind who scares easy, but I jump at the interruption to my thoughts. From the sad sound of her soft voice I inwardly groan. I hope this isn’t some chick who wants her money back because she’s decided her Hello Kitty tramp stamp was a bad idea or something.

  “We’re closed,” I answer too gruffly as I turn around.

  “Oh, uh, it’s just…” but she doesn’t say more. Or maybe she’s talking my ear off and I just can’t hear it. My body must have decided that it only has enough blood to run the essential organs right now and as my eyes desperately try to soak in every sexy detail, my dick is the part that’s getting priority.

  I try to subtly push my hardening cock down, hoping it’s not too obviously filling my jeans. It’s not like I’m some kind of inexperienced preteen. I’ve got my wood under control, thank you very much. I see gorgeous, half-dressed girls in here all the time and it never even twitches.

  But the woman standing in front of me is different. She tucks her flowing amber hair behind her ear and looks up at me with uncertainty dancing in her light green eyes. She’s breathtaking without even trying. The way her shirt clings to her full tits and hugs her round belly only to flare out where it meets her jeans at her hips. Her thick thighs make my mouth water as ideas of licking a trail up the inside of them destroy my ability to concentrate.

  I’m staring. I need to quit that shit. If I keep devouring her body with my hungry gaze this way she’s gonna think I’m the one who’s fresh outta prison with a tattoo gun and some bad pictures of teardrops I etched into my cellmate’s face.

  I manage to meet her eyes. I’m not sure why, but she looks familiar. I don’t see any of my art on her exposed skin. Maybe she’s the kind of girl who likes to keep her tattoos more personal. The one who gets them in secret or naughty places for lovers to discover like little treasures that expose her history one picture at a time.

  “I’m sorry, I know you said you’re closed,” she bites her lip. That perfect, plump pout. I’ve never been jealous of a tooth before and yet, now I’m standing here, frowning at her front teeth wishing I was the one giving that lip a nibble. A nip. A suck. A kiss.

  “I am closed for today, but I can take a look at what you want to get done and fit you in tomorrow, if you want?” I nod to the piece of paper she’s holding in a tight wad in her milky hand.

  “No, it’s just, I really need to get this tattoo today,” she stresses.

  “I can’t, I’m sorry…”

  “Please,” her voice is soft but firm. It’s not so much a plea as it is a demand. I like a woman who knows how to take charge, but I’m not about to open back up after I’ve sanitized every surface because she’s bossy.

  “I can’t tonight. Sorry.” I hold her gaze in a standoff, getting lost wild green jungle of her eyes.

  “Listen, I know you don’t remember me, but two years ago I was in a car accident. It’s really important to me that I get a tattoo today to commemorate my friend.” She explains as the hairs on the back of my neck electrify. “You tried to save her that day, but she didn’t make it. There was nothing you could do, really, you did everything.”

  “I remember,” my voice chokes up as the flashes from that day swirl in my mind like a hurricane.

  “I know your name, but you don’t know mine,” she continues, “I’m Skylar Dixon, and you saved my life.”

  Chapter 3 - Skylar

  Silence shrouds us as I stare at the only tattoo I remember on his arm. It’s weird, but after the crash I struggled to remember the details of that day. Most of the time all I could conjure was fragments of images, shattered in my mind like all of the broken glass that was scattered around us on the ground. One image that was clear was his tattoo. I mean, he’s covered in them, but the one of the old fashioned tall ship on his forearm, the one that looks like something the Vikings would have traveled over in, stood out. Sometimes I’ve found my self distractedly doodling it when my mind has wandered off.

  My life has changed a lot in the last two years, but part of me can’t let that day go. I still dream of Sara. I travel back to us singing Drake’s song and laughing only to wake up with a pillow soaked with tears and a hole in my heart that my best friend left behind.

  She’s gone and I need to do something to get the closure that I never got as I sat on the side of the road in shock, not understanding she had already left this world.

  “Skylar, wow.” Ryder finally unfreezes from the spot. “Of course, come in. Take a seat. Can I get you anything? Water? Coffee?” He leans his mop on the wall and ushers me over to the modern, white leather sofa against the far wall.

  “No, thank you. I’m good,” I sit down beside him.

  “I’ve never forgotten that day,” his voice wavers and he looks down at his hands like they betrayed him somehow. “I can’t believe it’s already been two years,” he sighs.

  “I know, I wanted to come last year. To thank you and to get this tattoo,” I hold up the paper I didn’t realize I crumpled in my hand, “but I couldn’t do it. I wasn’t ready yet.”

  “Hey, I get that. Do you mind if I take a look?” He nods to my sheet and I hand the wadded-up drawing to him.

  Ryder flattens the paper against his thigh, rubbing his large hand over it again and again until most of the wrinkles have been smoothed.

  His steely blue eyes meet mine and I can see clouds of confusion billow in them. “You want a Tinker Bell tattoo?” His voice is tinged with disappointment. He was probably expecting a quote Sara treasured or her favorite flower.

  “Yeah, except instead of making her dress green, could you make it blue with orange trim? Those were her favorite colors.”

  “Yeah sure, that’s easy enough. If you don’t mind me asking, why Tinker Bell?” His dark eyebrows furrow together as his eyes slide back down over the famous Disney fairy.

  I rake my fingers through my long hair and fight the tears threatening to form in my eyes by blinking quickly, “Well, obviously, you know about the show, right? Peter Pan?” I nervously pick at my nails and look up at him. I can feel my heartbeat quicken as I meet his gaze.

  His eyes are so intense, I never did get a proper look at him at the accident. I never realized he was so sexy. For two years, I just remembered him as a tattoo. His dark brown hair is half covered by a grey beanie that brings out the same color in his eyes. I had no idea he had a beard, maybe he didn’t two years ago, I’m not sure. But now he does and it makes him
look rugged. Like he spends just as much time outside building things in nature as he does in his studio. I push away the thoughts, and swallow the lump in my throat hard.

  “Yeah, of course,” he nods.

  “Well, just over a year ago when that Peter Pan song came out I read a description that stuck with me. I just couldn’t shake it. Basically, it said that Peter was the collector of the lost souls of children who had passed away. He brought them to Never Never Land you know, the Lost Boy?”

  Ryder barely shakes his head, listening. “Yeah, so he brings them there where they can spend eternity playing games and having adventures. That’s why they never grow up, because they’re…” my voice cracks and a tear slides over my cheek. I wipe it away quickly.

  “Anyway, Sara wasn’t a kid, obviously, but she was taken too soon. She was spunky and sassy and kinda magical, like Tinker Bell. So, I thought honoring her as with this tattoo, it would be my way of remembering that she never had to grow up and get boring and worn down by life. She stayed awesome, like Peter Pan and the Lost Boys and Tinker Bell,” my voice shakes as real tears that I can’t just brush away, fall from my eyes.

  “Hey, I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have asked,” he rubs my shoulder and the flood gates open up. Tears I thought had long dried up flow down my face. I realize I’m ugly crying. hard, but I can’t stop. I wonder if this pain will ever go away.

  “Shh, come here,” Ryder slides over on the couch and wraps his muscular arms around me. I lean into him, crying against his chest as he gently strokes my hair. “Shh,” he rocks me in his arms.

  I can’t believe how comforting it is to be held by him. It’s like the world and everything bad in it is shut out by his broad shoulders and his thick arms. I breathe him in, his light musk smells like cedar and reminds me of how I can picture him out chopping trees somewhere just as easily as I can imagine him doing tattoos.