Once I had the bottle uncapped, I drizzled it between her cheeks and over my cock. My hands moved as I readied us, but my mind was deep in the cave she'd unearthed inside me. I didn't know it was possible to experience this many powerful feelings for one woman—and experience them all at once. I wanted to know her, soothe her, annoy her, spoil her, protect her, see the world with her—and own every last inch of her body.
"Me? Brash?" I shook my head though she couldn't see it. "That seems an exaggeration."
She patted the mattress blindly until she found the Hitachi I'd abandoned a few hours ago, positioned it beneath her, and switched it to the lowest setting. My cock, shiny with lubricant and my own arousal, throbbed at the sight of her pliant and submissive in every way—but not at all.
Another wave of sticky, clingy thoughts crawled up my neck and damn near strangled me as I pushed inside Neera. If I hadn't been preoccupied with pocketing the desire to drop some heady declarations on her, I would've made a fine mess of us both and come within thirty seconds.
"If not for my preparedness, you wouldn't be fucking my ass right now," she replied.
"That's how it will work. You'll be prepared and I'll pick the positions." My words came in quick, gasping punches as I thrust into her. "That's not going to be a problem for you."
"Oh, it isn't?" she bit back.
"No, Neera. You like me this way." I reached beneath her, fumbled with the vibrator until it clicked onto the next setting. A curse slipped from her lips and it felt like she was levitating. Like we both were. "And I like when you give it right back to me."
I never went longer than a month without a project taking over my existence and though I hadn't known it until now, the same was true here. But this project wasn't a towering sculpture or myth translated onto canvas in the language of paint.
This project was the most important art I'd create, and for the first time I had the pleasure of sharing my vision.
Chapter Seven
Neera
Trompe l’oeil: a painting technique where objects are rendered with such verisimilitude, they force the viewer to contemplate the object's reality.
Cole:I have many things to discuss with you when you arrive. I made a list.
Cole:But if you ask me about the Monarch Project, I'll curl into a ball and rock in a corner. Fair warning. I'm not ready. It's not ready. Nothing is ready.
Neera:No Monarch. Understood.
Neera:I am prepared for everything on this list.
Cole:That's your superpower. Anticipating the unknown and then kicking its ass.
Neera:Speaking of the unknown…
Cole:Now I'm nervous.
Neera:No need to be nervous, though you should know I'm traveling with Gus Guillmand.
Cole:Who?
Neera:The artist-in-residence.
Cole:Please tell me I'm not sitting for a portrait. I'm not so egotistical that I'd have a portrait painted.
Neera:No, he's traveling with me.
Cole:He's painting your portrait?
Neera:Also, no. He is with me.
Cole:With you?
Neera:Yes.
Cole:As in…WITH you?
