Page 19 of Menotte avec toi

“And this is where the magic happens.”

I glanced back toward her sleeping area. “Isn’t that the room we just came from?”

“Nope. My magic comes in the form of paint and canvas.” She gestured around the open space. Daylight streamed through the windows, illuminating her work. And then, I spotted them.

“Sonnet, are these?” My breath caught, and my heart raced. “These are perfect.” Sensual and alluringly non-binary. “I love the gender-neutral ones as much as the defined drawings.” Tears welled in my eyes, and I now had a glimpse inside of what it felt like to be an artist. I may only be a dreamer, but she put my dreams to canvas. “Sonnet.” I cursed myself for not having come up with that idea. Our club was all-inclusive, and that should’ve been at the forefront of my mind.

“Are you sure? You don’t want them more specific or realistic?” She nervously chewed on her lip much as she had the other night.

“Absolutely not. These couldn’t be more on-point if you’d been inside my head. We’ll take them all. Name your price.”

“Mistress, we already agreed to a price, but I’d like for you to pick one just for yourself to place above your bed.”

“I’d love one of you for that, my Kitten.”

And there was that beautiful blush the shade of the roses I’d given her.

“Did you bring your camera?”

Goddess, if I wasn’t falling in love before, I sure as hell was now.

Chapter Eight

Sonnet

“Will the camera on my phone be sufficient?” she asked.

“Absolutely,” I replied, elated that she was pleased with the paintings I’d worked so hard to create for her.

I’d left her apartment with bright images in my head that burned hotter than the sun. They’d drowned out the need for caffeine, leading to several mugs getting cold before I drank them. Not that it bothered me, I loved iced coffee, especially when it was all creamy and sweetened up like liquid candy. Meals were another thing I’d eaten cold, when I’d bothered to remember them at all. My refrigerator and freezer were packed with premade ones because I was shitty about pulling things out to thaw. When I did cook, I forgot that I was just one person who didn’t eat a lot, which always resulted in leftovers. Freezing them made it so I didn’t have to eat the same thing every day. Shopping for specific dishes and making them all at once meantI didn’t have to cook again until I got bored with the rotation I had or ran out of things completely. There was rarely any middle ground with me.

I was such a slave to my muse that I’d picked up silicone trays so I could fill them with fruit and juice for premade smoothie blends. It was great for mixing and matching too. Two fit beautifully in my bullet blender with enough room for a splash of added juice or yogurt. Most days that was breakfast and a boost at lunch if I remembered to pause for a sandwich. Those I made two at a time, eating one and wrapping the other for mid-afternoon, when my tummy finally decided to go to war with my muse and devise something more substantial.

“Let me put the wine in the fridge to chill,” I said, carefully taking it from the counter. “Ohh, I love a beautifully sweet Riesling, and this one says it has notes of mandarin and lime that will go perfect with dinner.”

“It’s called an Erotic Riesling,” she explained. “And I happen to be very fond of them myself.”

“I bet you’re fond of anything with erotic in the name,” I sassed as I tucked it in the fridge.

“Not everything,” she said as she leaned against the counter and watched as I rearranged a few things.

I’d been a whirlwind of chaos in the grocery store this afternoon, mentally plotting out the meal I wished to share with her as I wandered the aisles, which meant doubling back several times as the ideas built on themselves, much as they did when I was creating.

“Really?” I said as I closed the refrigerator door. “Tell me something labeled erotic that didn’t appeal to you.”

“Besides a dancer who came out so drunk one night that he fell off the stage and landed in the crowd,” she remarked with a teasing shrug, her lips pursing a bit as she leaned there looking thoughtful. “Well, there was a cream I tried once. According tothe vendor, it was created to enhance pleasure. Unfortunately, I had an allergic reaction to it that led to hives in very sensitive areas.”

“Oh my,” I said, eyes drawn to her chest and the beautiful bounty that lay beyond the top she was wearing. “I think you made your point. I stand corrected and promise that there is nothing in the meal I made for us tonight that will leave you itchy and uncomfortable.”

“Really? And what have you made?”

“Something for us to share,” I replied, not wanting to give away that secret until I set the dishes in front of her.

I’d gone off the meal we’d had at the club when choosing what to create, though I’d opted to pass on the steak for a more seafood-based menu.

“Really? Now you have me keenly interested in seeing it revealed.”

“Soon,” I replied. “The wine should chill a little more first, and I still haven’t shown you the last piece yet.”

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