Page 5 of King of Clubs
He leaves Sara sleeping and heads out onto the boulevard wearing a pair of square sunglasses Melina gave him for his birthday and sipping from a bamboo coffee cup filled with espresso, because he actually gives a shit about the environment. Sara had barely stirred when he’d smoothed the hair away from her face and placed a kiss upon her forehead.
She’d been up most of the night tossing and turning because she’s on the fence about attending the event tonight, the one exhibiting her photographs. She doesn’t like being in the limelight - she prefers to operate in the background, showcasing other people’s talents.
“You should be proudMami,” he had told her, his thumb ghosting along the blush of her cheek. “They’re honoring your work.”
The two of them had been laying face to face amongst the plush pillows, wrapped up in Egyptian cotton sheets. He knows what the issue is, she has a problem with vulnerability, it doesn’t come naturally. Those pictures, it’s like sharing a part of herself, letting someone see inside her soul.
There’s going to be kids in attendance at the gallery from the art programs she’s hoping to support with the donation. They’re going to have questions, questions that she doesn’t wantto answer. Sara hasn’t talked about her past, about what led her to travel the world. He senses that those wounds, whatever they are have never really healed.
“You were a foster kid, weren’t you?” he whispers into the darkness, his legs tangled with hers.
“It’s hard for me to go back there,” she says quietly. “These kids are looking for me to share my experience, I don’t know if I can do that…”
“They’re looking to you for inspiration,” Leon tells her, his nose trailing along the length of hers. “They see your success and it gives them hope, something to aspire to. They want to know how you did it, how they can do it.”
“Leon…” she exhales, and his lips brush over hers.
“Think about it,” he murmurs as he kisses her again. “That’s all I ask.”
It had been six in the morning when she’d woken him up to let him know she’d made a decision.
“I’m going to do it,” she’d told him as her fingertips ghosted over his skin, chasing the pattern of his tattoos as she straddled his hips.
He found himself pinned to the bed underneath her, her thighs hugging his hips. Her fingers entwined with his, drawing his hands up above his head. It had been a while since he’d submitted to anyone, he’d forgotten how good it can feel. She’d rode him slowly, drawing out his pleasure until she had him gasping, arching, desperate.
During the whole thing, his eyes had never left hers. He couldn’t tear himself away because being wanted like that, it had created a sense of intimacy he wasn’t prepared for. He may have been learning her secrets, but she was learning his too. He needssomeone else to take control, to ruin him because his life has become all about maintaining it, holding onto it so tightly that he’s terrified about what happens when he lets go.
When her hand slipped down to his throat, he’d welcomed it, his breath turning ragged as her fingers squeezed just a little and it had sent him hurtling through the stratosphere. His hips had thrust up, burying himself deep and he’d climaxed harder than he had in his entire life. He was still coming down from the high when she’d kissed him, it was soft and tender, a simple brush of the lips. He’d moaned into her mouth as her thumb ghosted over the tattoo of the crown on his throat because this is what he wanted, to feel safe with another person, to know that he’s loved, cared for.
Sara’s the first person who has made him feel like that and he wants her to feel the same when she’s with him.
He thinks about that as he stands in front of a mirror in a suit shop in the middle of L.A. tugging at the cuffs of a fitted black suit. He looks good, the white of the shirt contrasting against his skin, highlighting the tattoos on his throat. He’s contemplating a tie when the sales assistant approaches him.
“Important event?” she asks him as she picks up a black tie and holds it up against him.
“Yeah,” he says, shaking his head at the tie, choosing to undo the first two buttons of the shirt instead. “You could say that.”
Chapter Seven
Leon’s adjusting the sleeves of his suit jacket when Sara steps out of the bathroom. He looks up and it’s like someone has stolen all of the oxygen from his lungs. She’s clad in a sleeveless mini dress, adorned with a black and white Aztec pattern. The black and white Medusa tattoo looks like it was carved from marble on her left bicep. Stunning greyscale roses with eruptions of red that match her hair, give way to that laurel wreath on the right. She’s paired the outfit with black Doc Martens and a leather jacket that she picks up off the back of the chair, slinging it over her shoulders.
His thumb runs over the silver studs in her ear, the first a tiny set of stars, the rest three small studs that decrease in size the higher they go.
“Very pretty,” he says, feeling something stir inside of him.
The whole thing is just so unapologetically Sara.
It’s outside the gallery that she falters. She steps up to the door, her gaze lingering on the people on the other side and she just stops. His hand comes to rest on her lower back, his thumb tracing a soothing circle as her hand grasps the handle.
“We don’t have to do this,” he says quietly.
She tilts her head towards him, her kohl lined eyes meeting his. He sees the trepidation in them, the indecision. This is a crossroads for her, she can either step forward and tell her story or she can run, the same way she has been since she was eighteen years old and newly turned out from the foster system. Her grasp on the handle tightens before she takes a deep breath, allowing the oxygen to flood her lungs and walks inside.
She’s a hit, of course, Leon knew she would be. He smiles, watching from a distance and sipping from a flute of Prosecco as she talks to a group of young people who accosted her on the way back from the bathroom. They’re just like her, he thinks, creatives in the making. They show her their work, explaining the concepts, and she takes interest, asking questions, pointing out the features she likes.
He continues wandering and he finds himself in front of her photographs, studying them. They’ve got a lot of attention tonight, from people in the industry, alternatives, kids from the programs the studio hosts.
There’s a rawness in the images, one that brings out the depth of the art style she’s documented. No faces, just huge sprawling designs across skin, showcasing their individuality through the expression of the artwork. They all capture a moment, a snapshot in time where the past and the present merge together.
