Carter
I’ve been awake most of the night. It’s not a problem for me. I went plenty of nights without sleep when I was overseas. Some nights it was impossible to sleep with jets scuttling low overhead and the distant sound of missiles ripping through the air. Kind of hard to get shut eye thinking one of those missiles is going to rip into your bunk any second.
But, this is a different kind of sleeplessness.
I didn’t see much of Sadie or Dale yesterday evening. I stayed in my room until late and when I came out they had already gone to bed. I made myself a sandwich and went back to my room. When I came out this morning, it was quiet in the house. I knew Dale had already left for work because I'd heard his keys jingling in the hallway. I hadn’t heard anything from Sadie, though. She might be gone, doing whatever it is ladies do around here; yoga or candle-making or tea-drinking. Hell, I don’t know.
I wander across the living room and down a short hallway on the far side. There’s only one door back this way and I know it leads to Sadie’s studio. Both her and Dale have told me how he enclosed an area of the house and turned it into a place for Sadie to pursue her painting full time. I haven’t actually seen any of Sadie’s work, aside from the one picture hanging in the living room.
I pause by the door. I don’t hear any sounds coming from behind it. Then again, I don’t think painting is very loud! I look back down the hall towards the living room and finally, I put my hand on the knob and twist.
“Carter,” Sadie is sitting on a stool, her legs propped on the rungs, her feet bare, a brush in one hand. There’s a splash of orange paint across the top of her toes. She’s in a paint-spattered skirt and fitted tank top with her hair twisted into a bun on the top of her head. The light is golden this early in the day, slanting through the windows with the shades pushed open. The gold rays light up her skin and eyes in the morning light. I was inside this woman last night. My head feels woozy.
“I was just…I didn’t mean to disturb you.” It's bullshit but I don't even want to admit that to myself. What the hell am I doing here? I step back and start to pull the door shut.
“That’s okay. Sadie slips off the stool and comes to the door. “You can come in if you want.” Her voice is shy, hesitant. This must be just as awkward for her as it is feeling for me.
This is her private space, but I guess we're past standing on ceremony after what we did. She steps back and waves me in.
The smell of oil paint and solvent tickle at my nose when I step inside. There’s classical music playing softly in the background. It’s so low I couldn’t hear it from the door. There are canvas drying racks along the back wall and stacks of frames piled in one corner. And everywhere is color, splashed on the canvasses, splattered across the drop cloth on the floor, dribbled across her easels and brushes. Even though Sadie herself normally wears softer, more muted colors, she paints in big, bold splashes.
“Would you like to see some of my work? I’m just finishing up a commissioned piece." She gestures to the easel she was sitting in front of. There’s a portrait of a stunning red-haired woman wearing a massive sapphire around her neck. I step forward, looking at the smallest details Sadie has captured from the photograph she’s working from; the glint of light off the jewel, the small silver strands of hair woven through the red, even the tiny birthmark just over the woman’s collarbone.
“It’s amazing, Sadie. Really. I didn’t realize you were so good,” I say to her.
Her face flushes through several shades of pink. “Thank you. Would you like to see more? Something that’s not a paid commission? My work is different then.” She moves to a covered pile of canvasses under the window, a sheet draped across the top. She pulls it off and starts to flip through the works. A gray landscape with a violet sky, a young girl under a tree, abstract works with bright splashes of color. And then the nudes. Young men, stretched across the canvas, cocks resting on muscled thighs, eyes inviting things that I don't want to think about.
I raise my eyebrow at Sadie. Does Dale know about these? Does she do them from pictures or have real-life models?
Sadie obviously sees my expression. “These are from sketches, from a class at the college; living nudes. The models are mostly college students trying to make a few extra dollars.” She tosses the sheet back over them and moves around to her easel, taking the portrait of the red-haired lady and moving it gently to the drying rack.
“You know,” she says, “you’d make a great live model.” She’s wiping her hands on a rag, not looking at me.
I can’t help it, I bust out laughing. “You just want to see me naked.”
Sadie snorts. “I’ve already seen you naked, Carter, and I’m married to a version of you too,” she says cheekily, “Besides, I’m obviously not at a loss for nude male bodies. But really, you’d be great. You’ve got the lines, the great dimensions.”
I smirk at her.
“That’s not what I meant,” she laughs and flings the towel at me. Her eyes are bright. She feels different today, as though fucking her has worn away some of her formality. I guess that's kind of inevitable. No point standing on ceremony when you've sweated all over each other. I feel like I’m getting to see the girl my brother married, as opposed to the version she was prepared to show her brother-in-law. “It’s just that you’ve got the kind of lines we usually look for in an art class model. You should let me paint you. I’ve done one of Dale. Would you like to see?”
“Not so much,” I joke. “It’s not like it’s anything I haven’t seen before.”
Sadie shakes her head.
“You really want to paint me?”
“Like one of my French girls,” she quips.
I guffaw and she grins like she’s happy she made me laugh.
“You sure?” I ask again. I don’t really know where I’m going with this, but it’s not like I’ve got anything else to do today and the prospect of spending more time alone isn’t that appealing. I never thought I’d miss being crammed in living quarters with a load of other noisy dudes, but I find the quiet hard to listen to. My mind fills it with sounds that I wish weren't drilled into my head.
“Absolutely, I love having new subjects to paint.” She moves over to a small sofa and starts to clear drop cloths and empty canvasses off of it. “You can sit here.” She flicks her fingers at the sofa and goes back to her easel, clipping a large sheet of drawing paper to top and fiddling with a tray of pencils.
I round the sofa and stare down at it. I’ve never had any woman ask to draw or paint me before. “What should I do?”
“Just, take off what you’re comfortable with and have a seat,” she says without looking up.
I shrug and shuck off my t-shirt, followed quickly by my jeans. I fold them over, set them on a nearby chair and take a seat on the sofa. It’s velvety and the nap is slightly rough against the backs of my legs. I shift and scratch at the side of my thigh.
“Let’s get started,” Sadie starts brightly, the words choking off slightly as she looks over the easel at me. She clears her throat. “Um, just, lean back some, toss your arm across the back of the sofa. Yes, like that. And, uh, bring up your leg…no the other one. Just, casually sexy is what we’re going for.”
“Like this?” I lean back and throw her a ridiculous, smoldering smile, like the ones sported by the other dudes she's already painted.
She shakes her head but she's smiling. “Little less please. Just, be you.”
“Whatever you say, madam.”
I sit still, listening to the scratch of her charcoal pencils over the paper. She keeps peering around the edge of the paper, her eyes roaming over my body.
I look at where her bare foot is propped on the rung, up her leg and to where her skirt is bunched up over her knees. I remember how it felt to be wrapped in those smooth legs. I remember how it felt to be deep inside her. My cock stirs, not exactly ideal when you’re posing for a sketch.
I don’t know if she notices. We’re quiet, the only sound the scratch of her pencil and the sound of our breathing. I close my eyes and try not to let my mind wander over last night. It was a one-time thing, after all. Just to get her pregnant. Even though it felt natural to be with my brother, sharing a girl again, this is different. Sadie’s not a girl we’re passing the time with. Sadie’s my twin’s wife.
And I’m an outsider.
Finally, the sound of Sadie drawing stops.
“I’m finished,” she says breathlessly.
“Great,” I mutter and get up, quickly slipping on my clothes. I might have had a taste of how things are between her and Dale but that’s all I’m going to get. Being here like this, while Dale is at work, suddenly feels wrong.
I don’t want to feel like I’ve betrayed him. Everything I’ve done is for the good of Dale and Sadie, but this isn’t. This is different.
“Carter,” she calls out when I reach the door. I turn my head slightly, just enough so she knows I’m listening but not enough to look at her. “Thanks for posing for me. You were great.”
I nod once and leave, closing the door quietly behind me.
Whatever happens next, I need to make sure that I keep the boundaries clear in my own mind or the way I’m feeling, things could get really dangerous.