Devon Hartford - Painless

At the last second, Christos dodged right and ran toward the front doors. He was outside quicker than a cheetah.

“Come back here!” I shouted as I ran after him, right on his heels.

My breath pumped in a steady rhythm under the covers of darkness. The movement of my body and the liquid feeling of my limbs consumed my focus.

Christos was only a few paces ahead as we ran along the dark streets outside the Manos house toward the trailhead nearby. I meant, our house. Where we both lived.

I still managed to find time to run three days a week, despite all the craziness in my life over the last several months, and was in good shape. But Christos stayed several steps ahead no matter how fast I went. Despite all the drinking he’d been doing, he was still an amazing athlete who put me to shame. I could tell he could leave me in the dust if he wanted to, but he didn’t. He teased me with the proverbial carrot on a stick. In this case, it was a hunk of man meat on the stick. Or should I say his man meat on a stick. Either way, I wasn’t letting him or his stick get away.

When we reached the trailhead, he bounded up the slope like a weightless gazelle. Now he really did leave me in the dust, but I pumped my legs hard to keep up.

My heart pounded and my lungs burned when I reached the top of the trail. Christos stood at the edge of the small clearing, taking in the view. I took note of Spiridon’s old wooden bench, the one where Christos and I had kissed many moons ago under the stars. I think it had been the first time I’d ever been topless outside in my entire life.

I’d shared so many wonderful firsts with Christos since we’d met. And I hoped that we would share thousands more over our lifetimes.

This clearing was also the place where Christos had first sketched a picture of me, the caricature showing me as a painter with the inscription, “World Famous Master Artist Samantha Smith. You can totally do it!” I still had that picture. Christos had bought a frame for it and it hung next to my drawing table in our studio.

Our studio.

This clearing was the place that Christos had said that only his family ever visited. I had been such a bitch that day. I’d wrongly accused him of bringing all his girlfriends up here to get their pants off and screw them. I’d been too dense and too angry to realize he was already calling me his family when he barely knew me.

Wow, how prophetic that had been.

And of course, this clearing was the place I had mocked Christos and told him his nude paintings were just trashy trophies of all the women he’d had sex with. I’d said that his paintings were an invasion of the women’s privacy, nothing more than exploitation porn on fancy canvases. Funny. That’s exactly what my mom had said when she saw Christos’ studio during Spring Break.

“That’s not art,” Mom had said, “That’s pornography. I hope you would never consider debasing yourself by deigning to strip for Christos. I should hope I’ve taught you better than that.”

I chuckled softly to myself as my mom’s words echoed in my head.

“What’s so funny?” Christos asked.

“I was just remembering what my mom said about your nude portraits when she was visiting.”

Christos smiled and nodded. “It seems to me she sounded a lot like you did back when we met.”

“Like mother, like daughter,” I sighed.

“We don’t have to do the nude portrait if you don’t want to, agápi mou . It’s totally up to you.”

“Thank you, Christos. But I don’t want to be like my mom anymore. It’s time for me to finally leave all that behind. I’m my own woman now.”

“Yes you are, agápi mou . You are all woman.” His eyes flashed darkly in the silver blue moonlight. “And that’s the woman I want to paint.”

“All you want to do is paint me?” I teased.

He tore his shirt over his head and tossed it on the bench. The heavy shadows on his face and muscled body from the moonlight made him look savage. The jagged lines of the tattoos on his rugged shoulders enhanced his dangerous appearance. His abs were sharp and rigid. I could imagine being chased through a forest by this awesome specimen of manhood a million years ago. I would gladly have let him ravage me.

“I’ll do anything you want,” he growled.

“Anything?” I whispered.

“Anything,” he hissed.

“Take me,” I said seductively.

He stalked toward me, crouched low. His eyes burned from under his brows. He looked ready to snarl like a beast.

I started to shiver with anticipation and a little bit of fear. The flames in his eyes were more intense than I’d ever seen them before. They were the blue fire at the core of the flame, the darkest, hottest part of him.

He stopped inches away from me and dug his fists into my long sleeve T shirt at the collar. His fingers knotted into the cotton. The muscles of his naked chest bulged and his shoulders knotted. Roped tendons and coiled veins popped on his forearms. His eyes held mine. I was mesmerized by his masculine power.

There was a sharp tearing sound as the savage man holding me in his fisted grip tore my shirt open. His lips peeled back over his teeth as cotton ripped and popped, splitting my shirt right down the middle. Hot passion glowed in his eyes as he forced the tattered shirt down my arms, binding my arms. I was at his mercy and I didn’t want to be any other place in the universe at that moment. I was his to have.

He tore my shirt open the rest of the way, freeing my arms. A month ago, I might have covered my bra and breasts with my arms out of shyness. Instead, I shrugged off the remnants of my tattered T shirt and stood proud while I thrust my chest at my man.

He stared at my breasts, devouring them with his hungry gaze. They were his. I reached behind me and unhooked my bra, letting it fall. He caught it before it touched the ground like an expert hunter and tossed it onto the bench like a slingshot. It landed on his shirt like an arrow hitting the bullseye.

The cool night air tightened my nipples into rigid buds.

I felt his manly desire washing over me. That desire was for me. For my womanhood. Mine, and mine alone. In that moment, I understood. My perfect man was all man. His lust had driven him to seek out the finest specimen of womanhood he could find. And he had found me. He had chosen me out of all other women to be his woman. Because I drove him wild, I ignited his passion, I made him crazy. I turned him into a desperate caveman. And now, I would be his cavewoman.

With his hard hands he cupped my breasts delicately. He kneaded them gently, worshipping them and treasuring them because he knew they were a woman’s tools for sustaining newborn life. Without my womanly breasts, his young offspring could never survive. For all his animalistic strength, his masculinity was nothing but a brief moment in history without my womanhood to carry his seed into eternity, passing our life force on and on to future generations.

Heat burned between my legs.

He squatted down and threw his arms around my hips, lifting me up like I weighed nothing. He held me high in the air with his powerful arms like a primitive idol, then lowered me so that my stomach slid down his chest. His hair tickled my skin until he squeezed my breasts against his face. As he nuzzled my chest and inhaled my scent deeply into his lungs, I coiled my arms around the back of his head, pulling him into me. He groaned as his nose skimmed across one breast and his tongue followed, licking up from the swollen curve at the bottom and tripping across the knotted nipple.

Wetness rained down inside me.

He worked my breasts over with intense attention, licking, sucking, twisting, squeezing. Primal pleasure waved out from my chest as my legs squeezed around his waist. I buried my nose in his thick hair as I dug and twisted my fingers into his thick locks. I inhaled the erotic smell seeping from his pores. The scent of his naked desire arrowed into my brain and sent spears of ecstasy down my spine. The muscles deep inside me throbbed with need.