Hawk

 

My ex-wife, Lisa had never given me any indication that she was psychotic. She was always happy—always joking about this or that, always giving me gifts and leaving me notes on how she loved me. For God’s sake, when she wrote the letter O, she put a smiley face in the center.

Lisa, the Black Widow, had been the first woman I dated in college. I’d met her through Brett. They’d been part of a private club—odd pre-law students that met on the weekends and tried to break down gory unsolved true crimes. At the time, I didn’t think she’d started killing. My investigators had never discovered any victims in her past although there’d been some unexplained instances with her pets dying. Nonetheless, the college years were when she elevated her interest in murder.

We started dating. Two years later, we graduated and moved in together. Another year and I proposed with my grandmother’s wedding ring. I believed that I was lucky to have found her. Not one time we argued. There was never a heated moment. My friends envied the ease of our relationship.

It had been too easy. Too fake. And I would’ve noticed, if I’d really paid attention.

And then men started dying around me.

And I never knew it was all due to her until the end.

Who would? How many people would assume that their lover was a psychopath? Who would ever think that the person they kissed at night had just been stabbing their friend to death?

Stop thinking about it.

Breathing, I returned my mind back to my bedroom.

If you’re going to think about something, think about Yaz.

Several days had passed since talking to Yaz.

There was only this one morning where I’d gone outside to find inspiration. I held my camera and snapped images of the dawning sun and the chocolate brown pelicans, diving twenty feet above the waters and scoring the area of fresh fish. I’d even caught a white pelican with its ten-foot wingspan and long yellow beak herding fish into an ever-narrowing circle.

I’d marveled at those winged-hunters, but then I’d caught sight of my own prey.

Yaz.

Cindy, Yaz, and other female guests had strolled outside, right as the sun hit the sky. They all wore yoga clothes, but Yaz’s pants fit her the best. It made me want to pull the thin fabric away and fuck her hard right on the sand.

I held my camera mid-air, unable to focus on anything but her.

Yaz waved at me and I forced myself to nod back.

And then Cindy started her yoga class and my erection came as Yaz got on all fours, sticking that fat ass up into the air.

 Damn it.

She’d had me hot for her, so fucking hot I could barely think or snap a damn picture. And as Yaz shifted in and out of lovely flexible positions, all I could think about was her being naked under me.

My skin warmed.

Look away. Damn it.

Determined to get her out of my head, I left the beach and went to the garden around the back of my house, telling myself that my cock would go down. I did my best to calm myself, inhaling the ocean breeze, but I couldn’t get the daze of horniness out of me. And that morning when I smelled the island, I swore even nature was flirting with me.

Jesus. I feel like I’m going through puberty again.

Sex pulsed all around. I stared at the sand. Someone or something had dug holes in the garden. There were all these moist holes around my feet. Wet and tight.

Get it together.

My cock remained hard as a rock. So, I gave up with the garden and returned to the beach where Yaz shifted into another position. Her hands and feet were on the ground, but her plump ass was high in the air.

That would be perfect in my bedroom.

How good would it be to slip my cock between those thighs and feel her wet sex hugging it? I would’ve done and paid anything to stuff my cock into her in that moment. I could see it all in my head. Even her on her knees, licking my length, nuzzling my balls, sperm busting out the tip, spilling and spurting. Thick, hot white liquid, dripping down her pretty face.

So horny, I could think of nothing else but ripping her pants down, taking her in front of the whole goddamn yoga class, driving my cock deep into her, and clenching my ass in and out as I shoved and thrusted.

And from that moment, the days passed on, trance-like and pregnant. Sexual magic thickened in the air whenever I saw her.

Last night, I slept for a few hours and then woke up with one thought.

Mom used to say that art had the power to reshape reality. She’d home-schooled us. Painting wasn’t a cool activity in our house, it was life. We created because it was just like eating food and drinking water. Mom said our spirits needed it. In many ways, she was just as much a hippy as Yaz.

I should paint Yaz. That’ll fix this. Don’t fuck her. Paint her.

Mom thought art was the solution for everything. Feel bad? Draw something. Life’s disrupted and dark? Write about it. Want to kill somebody because they did you wrong? Put it in a song and sing yourself to sleep.

But why didn’t Mom say that after Lisa?

Maybe it was because Mom had been just as much of a mess as me. In fact, my whole family had grown dark. We’d all loved Lisa and she’d made us sick and contagiously depressed.

Could I heal from this? Some wounds could be too deep. Too impossible to survive.

By the end of the week, madness came over me. I rose from bed and rushed to my studio, taking off all my clothes. Maybe it was Yaz’s talk of ceremonies. There was a beauty in that idea of doing something symbolic to heal. It was crazy, of course, but what was the true definition of crazy? I’d seen enough insanity in these past months of court to realize that the whole world was insane.

If I get her on the canvas, then this horny haze will go away.

Sometimes, when I painted, I barely slept or ate. The colors represented my slumber. The easel was my nourishment.

This will work.

Naked, I stood around the room, rocked my head to the music that filled the space, and painted Yaz.

On a wild and rugged electric guitar, my brother River sang, “I want to fuck your soul, dive deep until we lose control.”

 Yaz smiled at me from the canvas. Granted, my brush did her no justice. I needed her in front of me. All I could do was put down all the lovely details that I’d thought about recently as I closed my eyes.

Since seeing her again, she’d seeped into my head and refused to let go.

Red paint dripped from the tip of my brush as I held it in my hand. I wanted to paint away the madness, but the dark feeling inside me hadn’t left, it rose and thickened.

If anything, I belonged to expressionism art. I liked my paintings to evoke emotion. The relationship between colors helped bring the canvas to life. Contrast mattered. The difference in tones and shades mattered. A picture painted with cool blue tones differed from the same image done in warm reds. Both triggered diverse emotions. Yellow appeared much brighter next to violet than white, and There was something about the darkness that made other things appear bright.

Color ended where another began and was defined by the tones around it.

I wish life was that simple. I wish a person was defined by the others around him.

If that was reality, I would’ve surrounded myself with Yaz.

I stared at her eyes on the canvas and was left wanting more, knowing that I needed to paint her while she was in front of me, not from images in my mind.

River continued to sing, “Every part of you I want to penetrate.”

I spent several seconds forming her lush lips and the sexy curve of her chin, but still it wasn’t enough. I could play with the composition and light as well as toy with color, but in the end, a living model provided the true energy.

I needed Yaz naked in front of me.

“With you, I’m a beast,” River groaned over the song. “I’m a primate.”

Yaz flashed in my head—her smile, scent, voice. How beautiful it would be to make her come?

“I’m a thief in the night!” River screamed as the drums came in. “I’m a creature fucking your insides!”

The more I painted her, the more my cock went stiff in my pants.

“The closer to you, the closer to death, the closer to God. Then, I lose my breath.” River roared over the heavy bass. “I want to fuck your soul, dive deep, until we both lose control.”

River would’ve been happy to see me dancing and painting to his song. If Brett saw I was out of bed, he’d probably lose his mind with joy. He’d brought a few women around the house, asking them if they wanted to model for me, on three separate occasions. All three women had said yes, but I’d said no. They’d been pretty, but none were the one. The right model. A perfect muse became the very source of an artist’s expression. And I’d found no one to fit that place.

I’d explained this very fact to Brett.

He laughed. “Bullshit. You just want to paint and fuck Yaz and she won’t let you.”

“Yaz would be perfect. Her look is unique. The blood red hair and the chocolate skin. The curves. Those beautiful eyes.”

“Jesus. It’s like we’re fucking kids again. Are you going to follow her around the Keys like you used to?”

“Things are different.” I flexed the muscles on my chest just to speak his douche bag language. “I follow no one.”

“Yeah. Yeah. You’re a stud.” He laughed some more. “This vacation is going to be interesting. How long will we be here?”

“A few months at least. I don’t know.”

“Months? Before, I couldn’t even get you away for a day. Now, it’s months.” He shook his head. “So, basically, we’re staying as long as Yaz is here.”

I shrugged.

“Good. You’re finally on the Yaz hunt. Now I can really take a vacation. All my work paid off.”

I eyed him. “What work?”

“Don’t worry about that.”

The studio door opened. I figured it was Brett, but it ended up being one of his chicks. She’d barged in on me before, and I’d nicely asked her to leave.

“Every part of you I want to penetrate—”

I turned the song off and set the paintbrush down. “Brett’s room is in the other direction.”

She didn’t turn around and leave like I hoped she would. She shook her head. “You’re naked again?”

“And you’re barging in again?” I reached for my jeans, put them on, and rushed to put on my shirt.

I barely took off my clothes due to the ribbons of damaged flesh decorating my abs. The area was a mad woman’s canvas of sick artistic pleasure. During those two days of torture, Lisa had painted on me with hooks and knives, a lighter, and even her own teeth. She’d even cut a smiley faced O near my heart.

What the hell does this chick want?

Brett’s fuck buddy glanced at my stomach and her face twitched at the scars. “What happened to you?”

“I bumped into a door.” I pulled the shirt down.

“It looks like a dog chewed at your stomach.”

I zipped up my jeans. “What do you need?”

“Do you remember my name?” She sashayed further into the studio.

In the past week since we’d been here, Brett brought a new female home every night. But this one was his day girl—the only woman he hung around with when the sun was out. And this one had left a big impression among the staff as she moaned all afternoon from my brother’s bedroom, and never wore clothes when she grabbed food from the kitchen.

Thankfully, she has clothes on now.

Not a bad body, this evening her white dress clung to big breasts and slim hips. She shouldn’t have been in that color. She was too dirty for that shade. 

I crossed my arms around my chest. “Your name is Olivia.”

She clapped. “Thank you. That’s not hard, right? Your brother can’t seem to remember my name.”

“Maybe you should wear a name tag.”

“Funny.” She began to walk over to me.

Sighing, I held up my hands. “Please, take off your shoes.”

“Oh, that’s right.” She huffed, went back out to the doorway, slipped her heels off, and came back in. “I don’t get why we need to be barefoot in here.”

“I’m trying to make this my sacred space. When bare skin meets the earth, a connection is formed, and energy ripens into creative form.”

“Damn.” She giggled. “That’s deep.”

“I read it somewhere and memorized it. The real reason is that I don’t like dirt in here.”

She studied all the blank canvases leaning against the wall. “So, you’re an artist?”

“No, it’s a hobby.”

“This studio is pretty impressive for it to just be a hobby.”

I shrugged again. “Are you looking for Brett?”

“No, he’s sleeping.” She frowned. “He goes right to sleep after we—”

I held my hand up, not wanting any more details. “Do you need something from me?”

“Yeah. I need a pen. Brett wants me to write these stupid letters. I don’t get it.”

I pointed to a table on the right. “The pens are over there.”

Olivia grabbed two pens and then walked to the unfinished painting of Yaz. “She looks familiar. I think I’ve seen her on the beach. Not too many black girls with red dreadlocks, right?”

I gave her no response.

She turned to my way. “Will you paint me?”

“No.”

“What?” Shock hit her face. “Why not?”

“I have a model.”

“You can’t have two models?”

“No.” I gestured behind me. “Brett is in his room. You should go in there or go home.”

She rolled her eyes. “I was just being friendly.”

“I’m not the friendly type.”

“I see.” She stomped off.

When she left, I made sure the door was locked.

Something about Olivia rubbed me the wrong way. I couldn’t put my finger on it, but after my ex, I’d learned to trust my intuition. If a woman gave me a dark feeling, I moved on to someone else and didn’t over-rationalize why.

Fuck. Now this Olivia broke me out of my concentration.

An unfinished Yaz gazed back at me, begging me to complete her.

This isn’t enough. I need the real thing in front of me.

I walked over to the window.

Damn. The sky is beautiful today.

A pale blue sky hovered over. The clouds glowed in many colors—burning oranges, dots of lavender, striking violets. Darkness lay off in the distance, threatening to bring a storm with it. Already the trees swayed back and forth with a wind that had picked up its pace.

I scanned the beach and spotted Yaz talking with some of her sister’s guests pointing off to the uninhabited mangrove out-islands a few miles away. And then, she gestured off into another direction known for its snorkeling and deep-sea diving.

I couldn’t move away. I stayed by the window and continued to watch her, not ready to leave that view yet. Yaz was wearing jeans and a simple black shirt with words on the front. I read them and chuckled.

“Introverts Unite! We’re here. We’re uncomfortable and want to go home!”

Although her jeans and shirt were loose-fitting, she still couldn’t hide that amazing body. Her breasts were lush melons, but not fake or over-emphasized with tiny clothes. They barely hid as they stretched the t-shirt a little, taunting me with a little jiggle as she walked over to another group and pointed toward the waters. Those hips curved just right.

What does she look like naked? I wonder if she would skinny-dip with me again?

The image of that tight little sex came to mind. I bet it was barely touched, if not at all. Yaz didn’t look like she had many lovers. I doubt she’d ever been with a real man. If she had, she wouldn’t be here. Any man would’ve held onto her.

If she was mine, she wouldn’t be here by herself.

Fire blazed in my chest. This wasn’t the sort of feeling I enjoyed, this sort of fascination to learn everything about a woman. This burning hunger to want to dissect her, grab her and open her mind up, letting her contents spill all over the floor—the heartbreak and trauma, the anguish and bad memories. Let it all fall around me and use it to paint.

Fuck. What am I talking about?

 Frozen, I stood right there like an idiot. Why couldn’t I move? My erection pressed against my jeans. The tip swelled so bad I wanted to grab it and stroke the need away.

She would be a lovely distraction from the nightmares.

Yaz was the answer. Already, I painted her face in my canvas. Already, I whispered her name on my lips and tasted how sweet it would sound. Already, I wondered if someone had touched her, and how I could teach her so many things. Already, upon just looking at her, the spark ignited in my chest and my fingers itched to create something amazing—something as amazing as her eyes.

On the beach, she left the group of people and walked toward my house’s direction.

Seconds later, she looked up at my window, smiled, and waved. I wondered if she felt me watching or had she been glancing at my house all day, wondering what I was doing? My cock threatened to come out of my pants. Thank God, I had some control of him or she would’ve been in my house, on the floor, pants down, and my face buried between those thighs.

I waved back.

She blew me a kiss.

I pretended to catch it as I whispered to myself, “Careful, Cherry Bomb, I really want to fuck you.”

I bet no one’s ever showed you the right way to make love. How good it can feel. I bet any guy you’ve been with was immature and unskilled. Fuck. I want to show you.

My eyes picked up every distinct shade of color that made her so breathtaking. I’d already decided which paints I would put on my palette to capture her. And I would capture her—on paint and even... in other ways. My body was this constant drumming of hunger.

If I could just get her image on the canvas, maybe I would gain control.

I have to talk to her. There’s no other option. She has to model for me.

Off in the distance, her sister Cindy yelled her name. Yaz shook her head, headed back to the bed and breakfast, and escaped out of my view.

She’ll just model for me. Nothing else. It’ll be fine.

Now on a mission, I showered and threw on some clothes. I had to approach this situation with a subtle gentleness. I knew damn well that I wanted her in front of me and naked. Painting would be the start, but my hands had to touch that soft flesh, my lips had to taste her. I couldn’t rush this, but I couldn’t let this go on for too long. Time brought emotions and love. We could never take it there.

How do I figure Yaz out? How do I get her to say yes?

Hours later, I found myself in the island’s local bookstore.

“Words Forgotten” was the top book spot in the area. Many came from three hours away to experience its quirky decor and amazing treats. It was known not only for its impressive architecture of marble ceilings and statuesque pillars, but rather for its narrow hallways jam-packed with books upon books. Besides the plush carpet, novels covered every single inch of space. Many dangled from the ceiling. There must’ve been thousands of them.

People packed the place. Any time I visited the island I served as a regular and had my own seat near the café section. A signed picture of me shaking hands with the owner hung on the wall near images of others.

Today was the first time I noticed a picture of Yaz near the middle room. The image was old and had been taken when she’d had a book signing here.

One of her books should be here.

It took barely five minutes to find a shelf with her works.

There you go.

I held Yaz’s first book in my hands like she stood right in front of me. As a secret bibliophile, for me, choosing the right book was like choosing a lover. One had to take their time and caress each new cover. But I already knew this book would be good. It would be a secret look into her world, her sexual thoughts.

What turns her on?

Curiosity burned in my fingertips. I wanted to open the book and devour every page. Even more, I wanted to open her like this book.

The clerk came up to me, an old man with a receding hairline. “Do you need any help?”

“No.” I didn’t know why but I hid the novel behind my back. “I’m fine. I know what I want.”

“O–kay.” He glanced at the shelf where I’d taken Yaz’s book as if trying to figure out what I was hiding. “If you need help, just let me know.”

I’ve been staring at the damn book for a good twenty minutes. He probably thinks I’m crazy.

Just as I was about to head to the clerk, Yaz’s beautiful voice interrupted my thoughts. “You don’t have to buy that. I can send you a copy.”

Yaz?

I turned around.

Damn.

Our gazes met. Although I towered over her, she made a strong presence in front of me. Energy buzzed around her.

Why does she do this to me?

She captivated me, piercing brown eyes and waves of red locks that fell to her waist. I could’ve spent all day just painting those strands alone. They had a spicy hue. Her skin looked soft. I already knew the colors I would use to get her glow just right on the canvas.

Gorgeous.

She smiled. “You must be quite a lady’s man back in NY.”

“Why do you say that?”

“Every time you look at me I feel like the most beautiful woman in the world.”

I trailed my thumb along the outline of her book, wishing my fingers were touching her skin. “You are the most beautiful woman in the world.”

She curved her sexy lips into a smile. “Yes, you’re definitely a lady’s man. Do you have miles of women waiting to give you their heart?”

“No, but I’m never alone unless I want to be.”

“Interesting. And you want to be alone?”

“Not in this moment.” I inhaled her sweet fragrance. “Are you following me?”

“I haven’t taken up stalking yet.” She gestured to a shelf near us. “I have to buy a book for my sister. I burned one of her copies on the beach the night I met you.”

“I remember.”

“I promised to get her a new one.” She grabbed a big novel and waved it at me. “See. I’m not following you.”

“Too bad. I was hoping you were stalking me.”

“Nope. However, you’re definitely stalking me.”  Yaz grabbed her book from my hands and placed it back on the shelf. “You don’t need to buy this. I’ll send you a copy of this book, when I go back to LA.”

Worry hit me. “When are you going back?”

“No time soon, but eventually I should go back.”

“Why?”

She thought about my question and then shook her head. “Yeah...I don’t know why. Maybe I don’t need to go back. It’s just my life... oh never mind. It doesn’t matter.”

I took her book back off the shelf. There was no way I was leaving without it. She glared at me as it sat in my hands.

“LA is a big place,” I said. “Could you see yourself back here in Key West living the sleepy life?”

“Yeah. I can. I actually love the slow pace and the beach breeze.” She reached for her book. “I said I will give you a copy.”

I moved the book out of her reach. “I want to read it now.”

Her expression went neutral.

“What?” I raised my eyebrows. “You don’t want me to read it?”

“It would be weird.”

I fake frowned, dramatizing sadness. “You never spend any time with me. Maybe if you visited I wouldn’t need to find something to read.”

She rolled her eyes. “Oh, stop it. I’ve seen women going in and out of your house this past week. Half-naked and very loud women, by the way. I thought you had higher standards, Mr. Hawk.”

“Jealous?”

“Of course not. Why would I be?”

“Yeah.” I smiled. “Why would you be?”

She grinned. “Just my humble opinion.”

“My brother brought them around, so I could get inspired to paint them.”

“Were you inspired?”

“No. I had no time for them.”

She smiled. “Too bad.”

“Yeah. You look really sad about that.” I placed her book behind me. “I want you to model for me.”

A nervous laugh left her lips. “I thought we settled that I’m a punk ass when it comes to getting naked.”

“Since when, Cherry Bomb? You don’t take chances anymore? Have some fun.” I slipped my gaze along her body.

She had a slim waist and an hour glass shape. She wasn’t slender like a dancer. There were curves on that beautifully shaped body. She had lush hips and thick thighs that made me want to explore her. Already, I’d begun drawing her naked in my mind, tracing the lines of her curves, wondering how magical she would appear on my canvas.

 “Once you model for me and see how beautiful I view you, you’ll wonder why you took so long.” I gripped her book tighter. “You’re captivating.”

Her face looked shocked as she murmured, “Thank you.”

“Model for me.”

She sighed.

“You’ve been thinking about saying yes? Right?” I hoped it was true. “How about this? You won’t be completely nude, but you would have a small amount of clothes. Your skin is so beautiful. I want to paint it as much as possible.”

“I’ve never modeled for anyone before.”

“Good. Then, you’ll have even more fun.”

She bit her bottom lip and then said, “Define a small amount of clothes.”

My heart grew excited.

“It’s just laying down in a pose with something flattering draped over you. We can pick a comfortable position and how much you’re covered.” I tried something else. “Listen. It would be one thing if I just needed any woman to pose for me. But this is different. Since seeing you again, I’ve had this urge to paint you. I haven’t had this feeling in years.”

She quirked her eyebrows. “Are you serious?”

“Yes.”

“Hmmm.” For whatever reason, that got her attention. “So, you were stuck? You had a painter’s form of writer’s block?”

“Exactly.”

She shifted her weight to her other foot.

“You can’t overthink this, Yaz. You just should go for it. Where’s the girl with the crazy afro, that made me sneak out of my house in the middle of the night to chase mermaids?”

She giggled. “We almost caught one, until Cindy found us.”

I leaned forward. “Remember when we used to skinny-dip?”

“Yes, it was the first time I’d ever seen an erection. It was only two seconds, before you ran away.”

“Low blow, Yaz. It was my first time having one.”

“You were so embarrassed you wouldn’t come out for a week.”

“I wasn’t like you as a kid. You would tear off your clothes and run in the water. I was big. I wasn’t comfortable with my body and... being around you naked.”

“Hmmm. And now I’m the uncomfortable one and you’re Mr. Confident.”

“Yes, and modeling for me will bring back that confidence that you should already have because trust me, Yaz, you have nothing to be nervous about.”

She blew out a long breath. “Okay. I’ll model for you without exposing my whole body. That’s cool?”

“Yes.”

“What will we cover me in?”

“Don’t worry about it. I’ll think of something.”

At that statement, dirty visions twisted in my head. I studied her some more, imagining her playing a major role in my nasty visions. My length stiffened in my pants and I had to calm myself down.

She disrupted my thoughts. “What would be the time commitment?”

“At least three sessions, each lasting three hours. If that’s too much, I can change it. We could start tomorrow.”

She tapped her finger against the shelf next to her. “That sounds good. What should I bring?”

“All you need to bring is yourself. No makeup or jewelry. I just want you in your natural state. Exquisite and intoxicating.”

She widened her eyes.

“Painting is only a hobby,” I continued, “but I take it seriously. It keeps my mind clear. Trust me. There will be nothing but respect.”

“Okay.”

“And it’s not like I’ve never seen you naked.”

“Must you keep reminding me?”

I licked his lips. “I’m hoping I can remind you enough, so you’ll be comfortable again to tear off your clothes like you used to.”

“Things are different now.”

“How?” I held out my hands. “Back in the day, I was a cool kid that you could be yourself around. You didn’t worry about your body or my hurting you.”

“I just wanted to have fun and swim.”

“But now the games have changed?” I leaned my head to the side. “I’m not the cool kid anymore, I’m a sex God?”

She giggled. “Focus, Hawk. Do you want me to pose for you or do you want to skinny-dip?”

“Both.”

“Well, I’m only agreeing to posing.”

“And I’ll take that for now.” I extended my hand. “Thank you, Yaz. I can’t wait.”

She shook my hand and warmth shot from her fingertips.

Damn.

I licked my lips and walked off with the book.

She called after me, “Bring my book back over here.”

“No way. New York Times said it was a great beach read.”

“They did not.”

“Well, I’m saying it.” I headed to the cashier and left her behind me. Anticipation bubbled all through my body. It had been a long time since I’d been excited about tomorrow. Usually, my head remained drowning in morbid yesterdays.