The Portrait: Chapter 2

Alexander was a dick. Not that Eric would ever say such a thing to his face—at least not willingly. Not if he wanted to keep his balls. Plus, he also was a dick Eric loved with every part of his being.
 
Eric struggled against the thick black cords banding his arms behind his back. His knees chaffed anew as he attempted to balance himself. The key word was “attempt.” The driver, Tony, was another dick given how he was swinging through Capital Beltway traffic—likely on purpose knowing Eric was likely bound and struggling to stay upright before Alexander in the back of the limo.
 
Alexander’s gaze moved to Eric, giving him the full clarity of his ice blue eyes that nearly pierced his soul. “Eric, watch her, not me.” The man’s smooth voice did little to soothe the aching flagpole between Eric’s legs.
 
Eric obeyed and shifted his focus to Rebecca, whose creamy, bare ass faced him. The smattering of freckles across her lower back taunted him as her head bobbed up and down doing exactly what Eric wanted to be doing. Should be doing.
 
Curse him for letting Rebecca go up to Alexander’s office without him. She was always getting him into trouble. All he’d said on the way to the car was “playing without me again?” What else can they expect given the flush of her skin, the wet at the crotch of her yoga pants.
 
The floor underneath him shifted, and Eric nearly pitched over–again.
 
Alexander chuckled, shifted in his seat, probably to shove himself further down Rebecca’s throat. “I rather enjoy your reaction to her. What she’s doing right now.” His eyes drifted down to Eric’s c*ck—painful and bobbing with every pothole Tony had to be aiming for at this point.
 
Eric lifted his gaze to Alexander. “What can I do for you?”
 
“You’re doing it. Drinking this whole scene in. Desiring me—and Rebecca.”
 
It was impossible for him to be any other way. This powerful man had chosen him—allowed him into his world and his heart.
 
Alexander sat further back in the seat, put his hand on her head to still her movements. “Rebecca, love, take a breather. Sit up here next to me.”
 
Rebecca sat back on her heels and then scrambled to sit next to him. The little vixen spread her legs wide so now Eric gotten a load of both her goods and Alexander’s, which still stood at attention. A part of the man Eric realized he probably wasn’t going to get to touch for a while.
 
Alexander’s sadistic side had been a surprise when the three of them had gotten together formally. But for every cruel punishment he doled out, the rewards were far greater. Eric would know, getting to sleep in the man’s bed nearly every night with the woman. Lord, let him be generous tonight.
 
Alexander’s hand drifted over Rebecca’s thigh, then his fingers played with her until her head fell back and she panted. “Eric, I’m thinking of having Rebecca’s portrait done. I want your expert opinion.”
 
“On?”
 
“The artist.” His lips inched up into a half smile. “And the angle.”
 
What the devil was he talking about? “She’s perfect at every angle.” He didn’t hide his crankiness. Maybe he’d earn a punishment. Anything to end this torture of being shut out of the action.
 
Alexander’s fingers quickened, and Rebecca’s eyes lighted on him, mascara-stained cheeks glistening in the light coming through the tinted glass.
 
“Yes, but I think this pose, with her legs spread, her head thrown back, might be what I’m seeking. Who do you know who could capture such beauty?”
 
The vixen chewed on her bottom lip and groaned. She fought to not come. “Please,” she choked out.
 
“No.” Alexander’s middle finger continued to draw lazy circles between her legs.
 
They were both at Alexander’s mercy. Always had been. And he doled out mercy like a narcotic–carefully measured and infrequent.
 
Alexander’s hands stilled. “Keep them open, Rebecca.”
 
She panted, her stormy gray eyes fixed on Alexander. A gentle affection flickered in the ice blue of his for a second.
 
He turned to Eric. “You need to get closer, Eric. To really give me your fine art opinion.”
 
He inched closer, as best he could given his arms were unavailable. When the limo lurched, Alexander’s hand shot out. His fingers wrapped around Eric’s bicep, steadying him. Their gaze locked for one brief second, enough for the intoxicating spell of belonging to him gushing through his veins.
 
“Sit back.” Alexander released his hold, and Eric resettled onto his ankles. The man encircled him in a kind of awkward hug but he soon realized Alexander was merely reaching to untie his bindings.
 
“I want you…” A yank of the cord released tension in his shoulders. “…to tell me…” The cords slithered against his skin as the knots were undone. “…how you would paint Rebecca like this…”
 
The cords fell to the floor, and Eric massaged his hands, brought the blood flow back to the surface. Alexander always did bind him tight, as if Eric might get away? Fat chance.
 
“No painting could adequately depict Rebecca.” He’d know having handled many estate sales with the finest private collections available. Van Goghs. Rembrandts. Warhols. “She is more than a moment in time.”
 
Alexander’s eyes danced, and a fresh course of gratitude coursed through his veins—this time because he’d pleased the man with his answer. Eric was so easy, wasn’t he? From gratitude to irritation back to gratitude in a nanosecond? Eliciting such a response was Alexander’s special gift.
 
Alexander reached into his jacket pocket and drew out a simple paintbrush—one might find in a child’s watercolor set. He held it up. “Show me the moment you’d like to capture.” He handed it to him.
 
The small wood brush was thin, almost disappearing between his fingers. He ran a fingertip over the soft bristles at the end—not synthetic as he suspected but of a fine sable. His nostrils filled with the oil paint of his old studio—a trick of his mind, of course. He hadn’t picked up a brush in years.
 
Alexander brought his arm to the back of the bench seat. His fingers, once inside Rebecca, played with the back of her neck. “Show me.”
 
Show him? It wasn’t like Alexander to give a vague instruction, so Eric would have to chance a move. If it wasn’t what Alexander allowed and earned him a punishment, so be it. His agony at watching the two people he loved most in the world touching each other, loving one another without him couldn’t be topped.
 
Eric placed his hand on Rebecca’s knee and brought the paintbrush to her inner thigh.
 
“First,” Eric said. “I’d start with her silhouette.” The brush was light in his hand but her leg quivered at the contact. It was intoxicating, this ability to make another person shake and moan. He almost understood Alexander’s need to be in control of it, though he himself didn’t.
 
He dragged the brush through all the wetness coating her inner thigh. “It’s important to get the perspective right.”
 
“I might move to her breasts next.” He brought the brush up to her chest, circled each nipple once with the paint brush end. Her back arched into the touch, and his c*ck, ever the dutiful partner, bobbed as if demanding a role.
 
He was gratified to see Alexander’s erection showed no signs of abating, either.
 
“I’d want to spend a great deal of time here.” He brought the brush to her p*ssy, swirled the end along her crease. Ran it up and down a few times until Rebecca was huffing out long moans.
 
He kept an eye on Alexander’s movements, his reactions from under his lashes. The need for his approval always ran under the surface of his skin, twenty-four seven. But at times like this, he burned for the man’s acceptance, so Eric would know he wasn’t dreaming. He really was here.
 
Rebecca’s breath hitched anew, the leather squeaking as she clutched at the bench. Her scent, rich and heady, in the small enclosed space made his head spin a little.
 
Then, the colors began to form in his mind—mostly golds and greens, colors he’d always associated with Rebecca. It’d been a long while since he’d allowed his imagination to run free like this. When did he stop painting? Years ago? Longer? Time didn’t operate the same in Alexander’s world.
 
He continued to lazily draw imaginary lines of color, now mixing in blues and yellow in his mind’s eye—along Rebecca’s thighs, belly, p*ssy. A dream-like quality settled over him—as if he wasn’t here, yet he was.
 
Alexander shifted on the seat bench, breaking into his fog. He’d grabbed a fistful of her hair. “Make her come like this, Eric. And, Rebecca, don’t hold back.”
 
Permission granted, he yanked her leg further open so her seam opened to him. He swirled and circled the brush right where she wanted. A bright yellow and orange sun bursting out of his mind’s eyes mixed with the glistening pink. She was truly a sunset now, perched next to Alexander.
 
She released almost immediately—a reckless, beautiful release that had her clutching at Alexander’s arm with one hand and the back of the limo bench with the other as her hips bucked upward.
 
The colors that danced in his consciousness soon shifted from the bright reds and oranges to something quieter, like the steel gray of a lake with a light blue in the sky overhead. He blinked hard, brought the brush down to settle against his knee. He was still rock hard but something inside him loosened.
 
Alexander’s icy blue eyes filled his vision. “Well done.”
 
He blinked up at the man. His vocal chords had long ago stopped working.
 
Alexander took the paintbrush from his fingers, flicked it to the floor  “I’d like you to get started tomorrow. I will watch you work…” He ran a fingertip down the side of Rebecca’s breast. “…as Rebecca poses.”
 
He then grasped Eric’s hand, molded his fingers circle around Alexander’s erection. “And once it’s done we will have a celebration. All three of us.”