Kerrick could envision a full color painting of Shannon in the tub, no bubbles to conceal her figure, only a lightly tinted water suggesting perfume. And a languid, sensual pose, a dreamy expression on her face... There'd be another cold shower for him if he didn't focus on something else.
Apples and cinnamon filled his thoughts. Apples in the bath water? No, they should be rose petals. Where had the apples come from? A noise at his door awoke him. Kerrick shook himself, fisting sleep from his eyes. "Huh?"
"I made Apple Streusel for breakfast. Would you like to get up and have some while it's still hot? It's almost noon."
"Yeah. I'll be right there," he grunted. Mornings were for idiots. He forgot to tell her that he wasn't much of a breakfast person. Kerrick pulled a clean pair of jeans from the drawer, remembering that he was going to take her to the museum today. That meant a clean shirt was called for, as well. He'd have to do laundry soon, or buy more clothes. He stumbled over the mess on the floor to find his way to the kitchen.
The streusel was good. It was heavy and filling, and spicy, and rich. It could almost make breakfast worth getting up for. Shannon, though, was the clincher. Dressed in the overalls again, her hair in pigtails, she made him feel like smiling all day. She started rinsing their dishes in the sink.
"Leave them for now," he urged. "We'll want to get to the museum early."
She laughed, a light, musical sound. "Early would have been hours ago!"
"Okay, okay. Noon is early for me. I didn't grow up with roosters." He swatted her bottom playfully. She didn't wince, so maybe the welts were starting to heal.
Being a school day, the lines weren't too long for getting in to the museum, neither were his favorite displays too crowded to get a good look. He showed her the huge train set from the second floor, looking down over the balcony so she could see the whole thing. It was a mini replica of Chicago, ages ago, back when it was a major hub for the railway industry. They went downstairs next for a closer look, but Kerrick always thought it was more impressive from above.
She liked the fairy castle - some rich little girl's doll house, which had cost thousands of dollars back when the dollar could buy a lot more. The house had real working chandeliers, even though the dolls were no bigger than a man's finger. They walked through the giant model of an ear, and one of a heart. They went down inside a mine shaft, and built a tower from Legos. Shannon laughed, her eyes wide with wonder, overwhelmed by it all. "Oh, thanks so much! This was great! I never knew a museum could be so interesting! May we come again sometime?"
He smiled, but her question disturbed him. Yes, they might come again. But six weeks wasn't very long, and the first week was almost over. Then they'd go their separate ways, and he'd never see her again. He gritted his teeth, angry that the memory of this day might spoil the museum for him forever. "Let's go."
She looked hurt and confused. "Okay. I'm sorry to take so much of your time."
Feeling like a heel was becoming second nature.
Kerrick painted furiously. For two weeks he painted Shannon. He painted her washing dishes, reading a book, and taking a bath. He sketched her in every imaginable pose. He painted her with her hair down, spilling over her shoulders, or swept off her neck, which did make her look older. He did one of her lowering her overalls, baring her bottom for an impending spanking - although he painted her bottom without the faint traces of her nearly healed welts. He did one of her scrubbing the kitchen floor - on her hands and knees, a scarlet bottom implying that it was an act of penance. He did the same pose, but from the front, focusing more on her breasts than her bottom. It was a shame that he couldn't get her whole bottom and full breasts in the same painting, but the human body just wasn't made that way. And then he found a way. He posed her in front of a full-length mirror.
And she was the perfect model. She was like clay, just waiting for him to mold her. She held absolutely still for hours on end, never complaining. And she hadn't been lying when she told him she could cook. Every morning she woke him with something hot from the oven - bran muffins or coffee cake or quiche. Suppers were more sporadic, depending on how long he kept her posing. If he released her in time, she'd prepare meatloaf, or roasted chicken, or piping hot chili. Otherwise, he took her out for Mexican, Italian, or Chinese. He no longer worried that she might have an eating disorder. She had a healthy appetite, and didn't seem to be hurling it into the toilet. She even looked like she might have gained a little weight.
If the days seemed to fly by, the nights were just the opposite. They were interminable. He lay awake, tossing in his bed, unable to sleep for thinking of her. And she seemed as restless in her room. Finally, he couldn't take it anymore. He tugged on his jeans and pounded on her door.
"Are you okay?"
She sat up groggily, the sleeping bag bundled about her hips. She slept naked! For crying out loud—how the hell did she expect him to walk out of here now, knowing that the only thing between them was his boy-scout sleeping bag? That her bare bottom was sitting on his red plaid flannel? He wasn't a clear thinker anyway when he couldn't sleep, but clear thinking abandoned him at the door. He drew closer, like a tiger stalking its prey.
Her lips parted in a gasp, her eyes grew round, and she lay back down, her lush breasts puckered for him. He knelt above her, his arms on either side of her face, then as if in slow motion, as though the past few weeks had all been just foreplay towards this one moment, he lowered his lips to hers. The kiss was light, testing, to give her a chance to back out of this, but her response was hungry. Her arms snaked around his neck and held him, crushing him to her breasts. Then she moaned.
Desire coursed through his veins like wild fire after a drought. He kissed her neck, her ears, her shoulder, each breast. The cot groaned as his hips began the ancient dance, even though his jeans and the sleeping bag still separated them from more intimate contact.
Shannon kissed him, too. Tentatively. She nipped at his shoulders, her small warm hands roaming across his back as if to see if he were real. Her motions were passionate, yet artless. Warning bells pealed in his brain, yet Kerrick ignored them.
She tugged on his zipper. Kerrick tried to get up to take off his jeans, but she gripped his hips. She wanted it now, thank his lucky stars! She needed this as much as he did! Oh, god, yes! He dug through a pocket for a foil wrapped condom and handed it to her.
Shannon didn't seem to know what to do with it. He chuckled into her kiss, thinking it odd that he should be the more coherent of the two. He ripped it open, then handed the condom to her to put on.
"What is this?" she asked.
And if that wasn't a dump of cold water, Kerrick didn't know what was. "A condom, baby," he snapped. "Don't tell me you've had unprotected sex."
"Of course not. I've never had any sex."
Kerrick swore. He thrust himself from her bed, turning away to tuck his swollen cock inside his pants.
"Kerrick? What's wrong?"
"You! This! Damn!"
"I'm sorry I'm not experienced," she whispered, tears spilling down her face. "But I'm a willing student. Teach me!"
"I don't have sex with models."
"Oh, then what was I ten minutes ago? A convenient whore?"
Kerrick felt like hitting something. He bolted from her room and slammed the door. He should have known she wouldn't let it drop at that. She pounded on the bathroom door, demanding he talk to her. He unlocked the door.
"Kerrick! Tell me what's wrong! I don't know how to apologize."
He drew in deep breaths, struggling to find a sane thought to share with her. "It isn't you," he managed. "But, well, the first time should be special. Someone you really care about. Not just a bump and grind in the night with a stranger."
She smiled. Damn the girl! Had she no sense at all? And she was standing there naked! Not even the damned sleeping bag for protection. "You're not a stranger, Kerrick! You've seen more of me than even my parents! I've been living here for nearly three weeks now! And this, sex with
you, it would be special."
His cock pulsed, drawing her attention. Her gaze lowered, her lips parted, and she moistened them with the tip of her tongue. Kerrick tried to push her out and lock the door again, but the moment he put his hands on her, he was all over her again. Hugging, pinching, grabbing, rubbing his eager cock against her. Damn, but he had to have her.
One last time, he pushed her away. "Get out of here!"
She bit her lower lip, her brows drawing together. "So what you mean is, you don't want me? Just because I've never done it before? So if I go outside tonight, and pick up some prick in a bar and let him do it, then you'll want me tomorrow? Fine! I'm leaving!"
Kerrick grabbed her wrist. "You're going nowhere, Shamika."
"You don't own me. I'll do as I please!"
"I'm your boss."
"But not my pimp! Let me go!"
"You're asking for it."
"Don't you touch me!"
Kerrick shouldn't have done it. He knew that later, when he recalled the next series of events, but it was the middle of the night and he really wasn't thinking clearly. He wasn't thinking at all, at least, not with his brain. He picked up the naked young woman, tossed her over his shoulder, and slapped her exposed bottom as he hauled her into his bedroom. He sat on the edge of his bed then, positioned her over his knee, and proceeded to give her a hard, furious spanking.
She kicked and screamed, which only made him spank her harder. She wiggled, rubbing up against his hard cock, and he nearly exploded. He walloped her over and over, trying to make her cry, trying to make himself forget about her, about having sex with her, about the blinding fury that her threat to go have sex with the first available drunk she could find had caused. His world shrank down to the small moments of time, to nothing more than his heavy hand and her naked bottom.
And when the spanking was over, sanity still had not returned. He pulled her onto his lap and kissed her. Not with compassion or forgiveness, but hunger. He kissed her breasts, giving in to the desire too long held in check. It didn't matter that she was a virgin and he was a heel. Nothing mattered. Only this pliant, willing woman, and his intense need. All the passion he'd poured into his paintings now manifested in this ancient dance. He penetrated her in a swift motion, taking her cry of pain and kissing her hard, until the pain was all but forgotten in the wake of their burning passion.
He tried to slow down, to bring her as much pleasure as was humanly possible, but she clung to him, panting in his ear, moaning sweet little moans. Her fingers raked across his back. Her hips whirled in a little circle. Her gasps came faster, her eyes widened, and her face was flushed. Kerrick felt it build inside, and he was powerless to hold back the flood. With one final, powerful thrust, he exploded into her.
Shannon screamed, shuddering as her orgasm - her very first orgasm - ripped through her. And then she smiled. She curled into his arm and closed her eyes, content to sleep in his bed the rest of the night. Sanity slowly returned to Kerrick, as he stared down at her innocent, sleepy face. She was in his bed. She had been a virgin and he'd taken her. They hadn't stopped to use the condom. And there was no way on earth he could ever let her go in three weeks. He wasn't going to break her heart. She was going to break his.
Chapter Five
That was incredible! Shannon smiled, twirling her finger around the sparse black hair that covered his broad chest. Sex! Finally she knew what it was about, and it was the best kept secret in the world. No wonder why her parents hadn't wanted her holding hands with boys - if she'd known how great it was, she never would have waited so long!
But maybe it wasn't so great for everybody. She thought of Jenny Matthews, the cheerleader who'd slept with Shawn Clemmens in high school. She'd gotten pregnant, and had had to drop out of school. Shannon almost hadn't recognized her when she'd seen her in the grocery store a few months later. Her belly huge, her face puffy, even her hands were so swollen she couldn't wear any rings. And she'd been angry, swearing she'd never have sex with another boy as long as she lived. They had gotten married, but it hadn't even lasted until the baby came.
Shannon's parents didn't even seem to like sex much. They had separate bedrooms and only one child. And they didn't hold hands or kiss or show any sign of affection, other than exchanging gifts at Christmas. Of course, Shannon's mom said they had separate bedrooms because she was a light sleeper and he often worked late. And there was a time when Shannon had come home from school early and they'd both been in her mom's room with the door locked. Her father had yelled at her to go out and feed the sheep for her mom because she wasn't feeling well, which had gotten Shannon out of the house quickly, but at dinner that night her mom hadn't seemed sick at all. She'd seemed fine. In fact, she'd looked quite pretty. So maybe her parents were part of the conspiracy as well?
She wanted to do it again. She licked his nipple and blew across it, watching how it puckered much like hers. She felt his - his penis - stir, too. Then he groaned, and rolled on top of her, half stealing the air from her lungs as he kissed her hungrily. Yes, it was just as good the second time. Better, because he didn't spank her first, and he didn't have to hurt her when he entered her.
Why had he spanked her? Did he really not want to have sex with her? Would everything be different now? Would he be different? She hoped this didn't mean he was finished with her - she really wanted to stay until the six weeks were up. Part of her wanted to stay longer than that, and that scared her. Maybe that was why he didn't want to sleep with models? Because they'd want to stay with him then, and he wouldn't have anyone new to paint.
So maybe she should pretend that it hadn't been all that special? No, she couldn't lie like that. He would know it for a lie and would spank the daylights out of her. But, she would have to be very careful not to imply that she expected anything extra from him - that the terms of their verbal contract remained the same.
Kerrick was already asleep again. She got up to shower, then went to fix their breakfast. Things were different, though. Kerrick was angry much of the time. He painted a lot, and found every little thing she did a spankable offense. She spent a lot of time standing in the corner when she wasn't posing for him, but every night she went to his bed and he did not refuse her. She learned how to put the condom on him, and even how to make it part of their lovemaking. She explored his penis, touching it, stroking it, kissing it, until she knew exactly what drove him wild. He did the same for her, helping her to discover the right movements, the right places, and even how to have more than one orgasm. If her father could see her now - well! He'd disown her. That was for sure.
The sixth week came too soon. Shannon folded the laundry one last time, putting Kerrick's things into his drawers, and stacking hers on the end of the cot. She'd saved some boxes from the delivery boys, filling them with her new wardrobe and taped them shut. She didn't know where she was going to go next, but maybe she could still get into modeling school. She'd never be able to pose again without thinking about Kerrick and the six, magical weeks she'd spent with him.
She'd never look at art quite the same, either. She'd compare colors and composition to how he would have done it. Critique everything against his style, and find it somehow lacking. She'd never be able to afford one of his paintings, but she'd never want to hang anything else in her house - if she ever had a home of her own. She wiped away a tear. She wouldn't even have a baby to remember him by, as she'd had a period since that first night when they'd had unprotected sex.
He banged on her door. "Shamika? Let's go!"
She pinched the bridge of her nose to stop the flow of tears that threatened to spill. "I'm ready."
He helped her into her jacket, then he did up the zipper. It was kind of sweet, the way he fussed over her, helping her dress, but it was kind of silly, too. She felt about six years old. "I can do that," she said, trying to push his hands away.
"I know. But let me. Please."
His voice was tender, thick. Like maybe he would miss her, at least a little. Th
en he kissed the tip of her nose, with an odd look. "I need your help."
"You want me to pose again? Now? I'm all dressed."
He chuckled. "No, sweetheart. I want to buy a car. I thought maybe you could help me pick one out."
"A car? Why? I thought you didn't like them, that they took too much time away from your art work, and delivery boys are so much cheaper."
"True. Nothing says I have to keep it. But I need one today. So, will you help?"
"Where are you planning to go?" She gulped, looking away so he wouldn't see the trace of fear. Even though he was finished with her, she'd thought she'd at least see him from time to time - that maybe their paths would cross. She didn't know where she was going, or where she'd find work, but she knew where he liked to hang out. But if he left Chicago - well, maybe it was time she move on as well.
"I don't know, exactly. But north somewhere. Rural Wisconsin."
That was weird. Like why would anyone want to go there? Well, there were some tourist spots even in Wisconsin. "This time of year, you'll want something with four wheel drive then. And a good heater. Are you going new or used?"
The next few hours were kind of fun. Kerrick might not like to shop, but when he did, wow, did he know how to party. They went to three different lots, test drove a dozen cars, had hot fudge sundaes while he made a final decision, and then they went back and paid cash in full for a bright red SUV with only a thousand miles on it. He pulled it into the parking spot reserved for his apartment, pressing the automatic lock button as he led her inside.
The Painter Page 5