Complementary Colors Page 2

  He stood in the doorway. His eyes followed the movement of my hands as I traced the thin line of hair running down the middle of my stomach.

  My pants slid down my hips. I massaged my cock through my boxers. “Don’t make me wait.”

  The width of his shoulders, his height, it expanded in front of me. He stalked me in long powerful strides, wearing the expression of a man about to fight for the last drop of water. Along the way, he worked the remaining buttons on his shirt.

  One day when I did this, when I brought a stranger home with me, he was going to be a serial killer or just some maniac who would beat me and leave me for dead. The thought that this might be that day sent a shiver through my body.

  I shed my boxers. “You don’t talk much, do you?”

  He seized me, one hand on my throat, the other smashed against my ear. Fear ran in cold rivulets over my skin.

  “I thought you wanted me to fuck you.”

  “Yeah.”

  “We don’t need to talk to do that.”

  I grinned because he was so goddamned right.

  We tumbled into my workbench. A palette and tubes of oil paint hit the floor. He bent me over the wide slat of wood, and my elbow caught a jar full of brushes, ejecting the contents. Wooden handles ticked off their landing.

  He trapped me with his thighs and brushed his hands over the globes of my ass. The buckle on his belt clanked against the tile floor and the length of his cock slid down the crack of my ass. He moved his powerful hands up my back and over my shoulders.

  I widened my legs, offering myself. The deep breath he took was exhaled on a growl.

  Heated flesh pressed against my hole. Slick with precum, he only needed to push.

  He hesitated so I grabbed a jar of vegetable oil I used to thin the paints. “Here.”

  The metal lid scraped against the glass. “How much?”

  Was he serious? “As much as you think it will take.”

  A stream of oil ran down my crack. “That doesn’t mean the whole damn jar.” I think he apologized, but I was too drunk on the need for release to be sure.

  He put the jar out of firing range of my elbows. Then returned the thick head of his cock to my opening. He rubbed the puckered flesh but didn’t push hard enough to enter.

  “Goddamn it, will you fuck me already?”

  He increased the pressure enough to make the ring of muscle give, but once again, not enough to breech my hole.

  I slammed back, forcing my body to take his cock in one stroke. My insides clenched, and my ass burned. I’d forgotten how big he was.

  His weight pressed against my back, and he made small hesitant thrusts. I writhed, trying to take control, but he pinned my wrists above my shoulders.

  “More.”

  He peppered the back of my neck with small kisses.

  I bucked. “Damn you, fuck me or get off.”

  He froze. Would he walk away?

  The weight on my back disappeared. I was about to tell him to wait. Then he dug his fingers into my hips and thrust so hard the bench moved.

  Over and over, he slammed into me, knocking the air from my lungs.

  I think I said faster, or harder, or maybe nothing but some sort of animalistic howl. Whatever it was, he understood.

  He pulled me by my shoulder. The change in angle allowed his long thick cock to reach parts of me that were never meant to be touched. My vision darkened, and every beat of my heart fought the constriction in my chest.

  I went beyond pleasure, into some realm where sensations worked like a creature eating me alive. All I could do was suck in air through my gaping mouth and pray I wouldn’t pass out.

  Droplets of sweat rained down on my back with every violent surge of his hips. He readjusted his grip, lowering his body, tilting me farther over. Then he pummeled my ass so hard I was lifted to my toes.

  His thigh muscles rippled down the back of my legs. Some of his weight returned, pushing me forward. Every hot, ragged breath that escaped him blew against the skin between my shoulders.

  Static wove around my bones, and the cool air in the studio burned away.

  “Almost,” I said. “Almost there.”

  The edge of the bench kept me from reaching down and finishing myself off. I needed him; harder, faster, relentless.

  He gave me everything.

  His rhythm broke, and he buried a cry into the back of my neck. At the same time I buried my shout against the table. A second later, the pulse of his cock echoed through me.

  Then the quiet of the studio blanketed us, and he cradled me against his body.

  I don’t know why, but I put my hand over his. And I didn’t fight it when our fingers entwined.

  After a long moment he said, “Do you have a shower?”

  No one ever asked me that before, but then no one ever stayed beyond a quick fuck and the time it took to button their pants.

  “Sure.” I led tall, dark, and silent up the stairs.

  He hesitated at the bathroom doorway, and his soft gaze wandered over me. Modesty was something I’d never had, but I found myself looking at anything but him.

  “I thought you wanted a shower?”

  “Yeah.” He trailed a finger along the edge of the counter, touched the brass towel holders, then cast a look over the stone alcove where six shower heads pumped hot water into the air.

  “I take it you like my bathroom.”

  “They still call something this fancy a bathroom?”

  I pulled him into the shower, and water rolled over his shoulders, following the valleys of the muscle on his arms and chest.

  “Tell me about yourself.” Once again, the sound of his voice went right to my dick.

  “What do you want to know?”

  “You could start with your name.”

  “Paris Duvoe. And you?”

  “Roy Callahan.” Soaking wet and surrounded by steam, we shook hands.

  He grinned. “I guess we forgot the formalities.”

  I picked up a bottle of body wash and a cloth. “What do you mean?”

  “People normally exchange salutations before…” He jabbed his thumb over his shoulder. “You know.”

  “Before fucking?”

  He winced. “Yeah.”

  “Maybe where you come from.” I smiled, but he didn’t.

  Roy took the bottle and washcloth from my hands.

  He loaded up the rag with some sort of earthy smelling soap Alice bought. She picked out all the lotions, colognes, and aftershave. My other sister was all about making me look nice. Not the formal kind of nice, that was Julia’s job, but the daily kind of presentation.

  “Here,” Roy said. “Turn around.”

  “You plan on fucking me against the wall?” Sex in the shower wasn’t my favorite, but I never turned down sex in any location.

  “No, I want to wash your back.”

  He ran the soap-swollen cloth over my skin. “You were serious.”

  “You sound surprised.” His touch traveled down my body to the cleft of my ass. There was nothing sexual in the way he cleaned me.

  I didn’t know what to make of his actions so I faced the wall. His presence surrounded me in the hush of spraying water. A weight formed in my chest.

  He said something.

  “Huh?” I glanced back.

  “Do you go to those art gatherings a lot?”

  “You mean a showing?”

  “Is that what they call them?”

  “Yeah,” I laughed. “But I like to refer to them as a communing of the socially constipated.”

  Roy swept the washcloth over my hip. He knelt and placed a searing kiss on my left ass cheek. Then he washed me all the way down to my toes.

  “If you don’t like them why do you go?”

  I asked myself the same question every time Julia announced the schedule for my next showing. “The boss doesn’t give me a choice.”

  “You work for the artist?”

  “Sorta.” I hid my grin against my
arm.

  He stood and turned me around. “Is he as much of a jerk as the curator says?”

  I raised an eyebrow. “Hiram says he’s a jerk?”

  “The words he used were more colorful, but I’m pretty sure that’s what he meant.” Roy’s eyebrows came together. “How did these happen?” He traced the line of fading bruises on my shoulder with his thumb.

  “I probably ran into something.”

  He caressed a spot near my hip. “And here?”

  What would he say if I told him? “Do you fix air conditioners full time?”

  “I’m kind of a jack of all trades.” Roy washed himself with a distracted efficiency.

  “Are you married?” A lot of the men I took home were. They came with me because I would give them the kind of sex they couldn’t get from their spouse. None of them had ever worried about the bruises. Why should they? I was nothing but a couple of holes waiting to be filled.

  “No.”

  It didn’t sound like the complete truth. “You sure?”

  He finished rinsing and shut the water off. “I’m divorced.”

  “Kids?”

  “God no.”

  “You don’t like them?”

  “They’re okay. I just hate the idea of anyone being forced to live with…her.”

  The towels were folded on the counter. I handed one to Roy, but before I could grab another, he was drying me off.

  “Boyfriend?”

  His gaze flicked up and was gone again.

  “It’s not like I care.” It was his problem if he got caught.

  “No.” He stood. “I haven’t had the opportunity.”

  I threw my arms around his neck and toyed with the thick dark curls of his hair. “You make it sound like I’m the first man you’ve been with.”

  A dark flush spread up his face.

  “Roy?”

  He dried himself.

  “You’ve never been with a man?”

  He shrugged.

  “Never?”

  “Is it a requirement?” He folded the towel and looked around.

  “Just toss it on the floor. The maid will get it. Or Alice.”

  “Are you married?”

  I barked a laugh. “You’ve got to be kidding.”

  “Then who’s Alice?”

  “Why, are you jealous?” I walked into my bedroom. The bed was covered with black on red. Not silk or satin. I hated both. The rest of the room was occupied by a few pieces of furniture, a thick rug on the floor, and two of my personal paintings on the wall. They didn’t harbor the terrible things that lived in the ones I sold. That’s why Julia hated them.

  “Alice is my other sister.” I tossed myself on the bed. The first thing he saw when he walked out was me leaning back on my elbows, legs spread for him to admire or claim.

  I watched his reflection in the mirrored ceiling for a moment. He stopped at the door still holding the towel.

  His Adam’s apple bobbed.

  “I’m always up for more.” I rubbed my cock and hiked up a heel on the edge of the mattress.

  “Are you hungry?” Roy looked away.

  “You mean food?”

  “Yeah.”

  “There’s probably something in the kitchen.”

  “You don’t know?”

  I sat up. “Alice does the shopping.” I opened the bedside drawer. The pill bottles inside rattled.

  I picked out the funny shaped pink ones. “You want some?” I held out the bottle.

  “What is that?”

  “Hell if I know.” The pills tried to stick in my throat. I drank water from the bottle next to the clock.

  “Then why are you taking them?”

  “Because they make my mind bleed.” Filtering out the thought-numbing guilt that accompanied the worst of the hallucinations let the colors flow. I didn’t expect him to understand. Especially since I didn’t.

  I nodded at the pictures on the wall. “Bleed.”

  He turned, and I took the chance to admire the tight globes of his ass. There was a dimple above each cheek.

  “Did you paint these?”

  My grin was wasted on the back of his head. “Yep.”

  “They kind of remind me of the ones at the gallery.”

  “What makes them different?”

  “They’re better.”

  The room shrank around me. “Why are they better?”

  “I was never much of an art student.” He turned back around. “But I like the lines. The color. The white voids left on the canvas.”

  “And you didn’t take art classes?”

  “Not after the ninth grade.”

  “But you know they’re better.” Not just better. They were some of my best.

  “Sure. The pictures are clearer.”

  I rolled to the end of the bed. “What pictures?”

  Roy shook his head. “I’m probably imagining it. You know, like one of those ink blots.”

  I stood. “Tell me what you see?”

  He glanced back at the canvas. “I see a woman cradling a child.”

  If he could see the beauty of these works, it meant he’d seen the sins carved in oil at the gallery. How could he stand to be in the same room with me, let alone touch me?

  “Are you okay?”

  My heart skipped against my ribs. Maybe he wasn’t even real? “I’m fine.”

  “You’re shaking.” He touched my cheek. The warmth of his caress assured me he was made of flesh. “You shouldn’t have taken those pills.”

  “No, no, that’s not…” I gripped his forearms. My hands looked paper white against the golden brown of his skin. “Maybe food is a good idea. I haven’t eaten today.”

  “All day?”

  “I’m not going to starve.”

  Roy picked up my hand and petted the outline of my wrist bone under my skin.

  I pulled away. “C’mon, I’ll show you around.”

  He wrapped the towel around his waist and followed me back to the studio. Moonlight traced canvases and easels in silver lines. Pigment mixed with the headier scent of sex saturated the air. Everything that had been on the table where Roy fucked me, lay on the floor.

  We reached the bottom of the stairs. “Wow.”

  “You’ve already seen this room.”

  “I wasn’t really…” He took a few steps. “You’re pretty serious about your art.”

  “You have no idea.”

  Roy scanned the room, touched a few things on the table, got something on his thumb and wiped it off on the towel. “If you’re this serious, why don’t you do one of those…” He snapped his fingers.

  “Showings?”

  “Yeah, that’s the word.”

  “Who says I haven’t?”

  He stopped in front of a couple of pieces drying on their easels. “Can you turn on a light?”

  I flipped the switch.

  The darkness winked out, revealing half assembled frames, tubes of paint, and some of my finest brushes cluttering worktables. Rows of canvas filled the room with offensive color.

  Roy clenched his eyes shut. “Those paintings at the gallery were yours, weren’t they?”

  I leaned back on one of the tables. Like the smile, how I stared, and used my bangs, it was well practiced.

  “Those things I said about…”

  “Being a jerk?”

  “Yeah, that. I’m sorry.”

  “But you didn’t say them, the curator did.”

  “I know, but—” Roy raked his gaze over me. I don’t think he realized he licked his lips.

  “You sure you only want a sandwich? You might be hungrier than you think.”

  The bulge in the front of his towel jumped.

  “I think your cock agrees with me.”

  Roy gripped the edge of the terry cloth like it might run off. His cheeks reddened, and the sight made me ache. Who could have guessed embarrassment was such a turn-on?

  Hell, maybe it was just the drugs.

  I held out my hand.
Roy took the offering, and I pulled him off balance. His weight pushed me into the edge of the workbench.

  “You really weren’t joking.” I nipped his bottom lip.

  “About what?”

  “About ever being with another man.”

  “Why would I tell you that if it wasn’t true?”

  “No. I mean never being with another man.”

  “Is there any other kind of never?”

  “Most guys at least experiment. Mutual masturbation, sucking each other off.” I shrugged. “But you haven’t.”

  “No.” He brushed his fingertips up my arm, shoulder, neck, to my face. I sucked his thumb into my mouth.

  The hard line of flesh hidden behind the towel pushed against my stomach.

  “It’s getting late,” Roy said. “You should eat.”

  I released his thumb. “You’d rather have a meal than me on your cock?” I pinched one of his nipples. “I could use my mouth, or if you want, I could ride you.” I traced the shell of his ear. “You know…there are so many places that feel good to be licked.”

  I would have paid Roy to let me rim him just to see his expression.

  “Right now, you need to eat.” The kindness in his eyes left me wishing for something to cover myself with. I slipped from his grasp.

  Fancy pots hung from the ceiling in the green marble and chrome kitchen. A fridge as large as a walk-in closet occupied the niche in the counter to my left. I opened the door. Tupperware containers filled the middle shelf.

  “Find anything?” Roy wrapped his arms around me and rested his chin on my shoulder.

  At that point, I couldn’t even be sure what it was I’d been looking for.

  “You okay?” His words vibrated through my bones.

  “Yeah, why?”

  “You tensed.”

  I tried to find that flippant persona I was comfortable with, but he was gone. “It’s the cold. I’m not exactly dressed for it.”

  “Do you want me to go back upstairs and find a robe?”

  I coughed to have an excuse to pull away.

  He patted me on the back.

  “Sorry, swallowed wrong.” The double meaning struck me, and I laughed so hard I had to grab the door to keep from falling. He reached into the fridge and took out a carton of eggs, block of cheese, and a few other items that were familiar but my addled brain was unable to give me the names at the moment.

  He put the stuff on the counter and led me to the table. “Here, sit.”