I Love My Secret (Nicole's Erotic Romance) by Sabrina Lacey Page B

“Promise.” He tries to
go for more. “Ah ah ah. Go on home,” I say, wagging my finger in his face.
    He hangs his head and leaves, reluctant as hell.
Men.
    When he gets to the door, he turns and asks,
“Nicole? Did you get rid of the guy?”
    Just the mention of him hurts. “He’s married.”
    “No shit?” He shakes his head and walks out,
closes the door behind him.
    Now he’s gone and done it. I pace my living room.
I was all worked up and then he had to go and ruin it. I know what I’m going to
do.

 
    At His…Our…Studio

 
    My heart is slamming in my chest as I walk up. I’m
reciting what I’m going to say: “Why didn’t you tell me you were married all
those times you wouldn’t make love to me?” “So, blonde, huh? Really?” “You have
got to be fucking kidding me!! You’re married?! You son-of-a-bitch. Do you not
have a heart in that chiseled chest of yours, all glowing in the candlelight,
all sweaty and sexy and …”
    Shit. No. Not one of those are adequate.
    This is the first time I’ve worn a dress to the
studio. My hair is wild like he likes it; I made sure it looked great before I
left. This lip-gloss was necessary, to show him what he’s missing. These heels
– these were all for me. To stand as tall as I can while facing him.
    Because it is over. I’ll find another studio.
    Anxiety grips me. How am I going to find another
studio? I’m still living off the inheritance my momma left me, and soon I’ll
need to sell some paintings in order to survive. Or go get a job. And that’s
not going to happen. There is no plan B. But I sure as shit am not ready to
have a show yet. What am I going to do? But I know I can’t keep using this studio
with Michael. I can’t.
    As I turn the key in the lock, I think, this is the last time I’ll let myself in . Tonight, I’m giving him back my key. The second I think it, a cold fist punches me in the chest and I can’t breathe.
I’m going to miss him so much. Choke it
back, Nicole. Go in… and show him what you’re worth.  
    Inside, his voice wafts down to massage my ears,
“Well, you must have read my mind…”
    “Oh?” I call up, taking off my jacket and hanging
it on the hook. I want him to see this little black dress without anything
blocking its impact.
    “Yes. I was just thinking that it’s been too long
since I’ve seen you. I missed you.”
    My hand shakes. I hold onto the railing to help my
legs not fall out from under me. He missed me? Steady steps. Take steady steps . “Well, that’s sweet of you to
say,” I call up, my tone smooth as cream on a summer’s day.
    When I walk into the studio, his eyes glance over
and he does a double take, straightening up and taking a long drink of me.
    “You’re stunning.” His voice is deep and quiet.
His look sets fire to my skin, and wilts my resolve more and more with every
step.
    Looking over to the table, I see there’s an open
bottle of red wine on it. With my head held high, I go to it and pour myself a
glass, letting him look at the low cut of the back, how it hangs open, gently
just above my tail bone. I peek at him over my shoulder and yes, he’s watching.
    “Nic. I can’t tell you how… you look incredible.”
    “You think so?” I ask, my back to him.
    “Let me paint you.” His voice is husky with need.
I’ve heard him sound that way before. Many times. But it’s stronger now,
stronger than it’s ever been. So, since you can’t fuck me, you want to do the
next best thing…
    “I like to be on the other side of the brush, you
know that.” I turn, the elegant glass held gracefully in my hand, my eyes
locked with his. “And didn’t you already paint me. Isn’t that portrait… of me?”
He knows the one I’m speaking of. A flicker of acknowledgment is the only
answer I get.
    “Sit on the stool.”
    The authoritative, confident order makes me melt,
sends tingles all over me. My mind is glazing over as my legs glide to the
stool in long, lazy strides.