I’m usually so careful with my art. So precise and meticulous in making sure that it’s taken care of…
But that cautious nature seems to disappear when Donovan is involved.
I stare at the sketch—his gorgeous face… covered in blood and streaked with cum.
It’s filthy. A mess that proves I’m not as untouchable as I thought. Proof of a weakness I’ve never felt before.
No matter how much I want to, no matter how much I tell myself I should… I can’t tear the sheet of paper from the sketchbook to get rid of the evidence that some part of me already knows.
I want to make Donovan Myers mine. Living, breathing art, covered in blood and streaked with cum. I want the reality that the ruined portrait staring up at me dares me to take—a promise made in blood, pleasure, and ink.
CHAPTER TEN
DONOVAN
There are toomany art galleries in Boston.
I frown as the bus hits a bump, jolting my finger where it rests on the screen of my phone and making me accidentally click a shitty ad for some car insurance company. I backtrack quickly in the browser, finding my place again in the list I was browsing through.
Shiloh said he made money from his art, and that means he has to sell it somewhere, right? I figure one of these galleries may have some answers to at least a few of the questions I have burning in my mind, and it’s not like I’m doing anything else right now.
Around me, my teammates have either been lulled into sleep by the swaying of the bus as we travel back home, or they’re watching a movie in their own silence. Some of the seats ahead of mine are illuminated with a soft glow, but it’s quiet as we make our way through the darkened night. I’ve never been able to fall asleep during these quick little road trips, and while I usually occupy myself with a movie or a book, tonight my brain is curious about Shiloh.
It feels like I’ve been curious about Shiloh since the first moment I met him, really.
I click into one of the art galleries and I’m faced with an image of purple and pink wildflowers painted against a yellowy orange sky. I don’t have to linger long to know that’s not Shiloh’s work. While I don’t quite know what he paints, I can probably rule out anything flowery or soft, I think. I can’t picture his hands creating something like this, it doesn’t quite match with the lines of the sketches he did at the diner.
I’m looking for edges and angles.
Sharp, bold lines and probably deep colors.
Definitely not soft flowers and gentle shades of yellows and oranges. These flowers are pretty, but that’s about it. It’s kind of boring, like something I’d see in a hotel lobby or some shit. Good for the artist getting their work out there, but absolutely not what I’d want in my place.
Absolutely not what I’m looking for.
I don’t think Shiloh would make boring art for hotel lobbies.
I click back to the list of galleries and pick a new one to look through, but I can’t find anything that looks like Shiloh could have made it there either. I’m checking artist names as I go, but I’ve learned that sometimes artists use fake names for their work. A pseudonym or something, like a book author might. With Shiloh being as secretive as he is, I can’t put it past him that he may use a different name for his art career, and that means any of these artists could be him.
Except the soft flowery ones.
I select the next gallery from the list and start clicking through artist names, coming across brilliant colors, bold patterns, and fine lines that don’t quite feel like Shiloh’s work either, but I can tell I’m getting closer. These colors match more closely what I imagine he’d make, but it feels too… clean? I know I’ve only seen sketches, but they felt messy, and I think that maytranslate into his finished work? I could be totally wrong, but it’s what I’m going with anyway. At the very least, it’s keeping my brain occupied while we travel, and that’s worth it to me even if I’m wrong in the end.
I spend a bit more time clicking into and discarding art galleries that don’t feel right for Shiloh, until I click into one that makes me instantly slouch in my seat and pull my phone to my chest. I scan the seats around me carefully, making sure I’m not being watched back here in my darkened corner. Gilly and I usually get to sit by ourselves at the back of the bus, but a glance in his direction tells me he’s asleep, and as far as I can tell, nobody has eyes on me.
With my heart racing, I pull my phone away from my chest and glance down at the screen. I swallow hard as I stare at the art on this particular artist’s page, surprised it wasn’t hidden behind some kind of disclaimer or something. Some kind of barrier I needed to click to confirm my age or something.
It’s a nude painting of a man, and nothing is hidden from view. He’s painted leaning back against something, one hand on his chest, the other hand on his thigh, but beside that hand… yeah. That’s an erection. I swallow hard again as I scroll down, finding more paintings of the same man in various poses, all nude with his erect cock jutting out from his body.
This doesn't strike me as being Shiloh’s work, but I can’t help but wonder whether Shiloh maybe paints nudes? He did say I’d be good captured in paints, and now, staring at these paintings of this naked man with his thick cock between his legs, my brain is starting to wander.
Would Shiloh want to paint me nude?
Would I let him, if he did?
My cheeks burn as I consider it, imagining myself in place of this naked man in the paintings for Shiloh to capture. Standing in front of him with an erection and moving around intodifferent poses for him to capture with his talents. He’d see all of me, all the lines of my body, all the freckles on my skin. It’s been a while since anyone’s seen me that way: there hasn’t been much time for being naked around other people, and I’m not into apps or hookups. But Shiloh? His art?
I’d do it. Probably. Just for him, if he asked. Maybe.
