Sketch (5 page)

It’s been too long. I’m pissed, I’m horny, and I know her. Nina likes it rough; she likes me to be hard on her. “Then fuck me like you hate me,” I taunt.

Using my height and weight advantage, I let go of her wrist and push my hands past the hem of her shirt and pull it off. I feel her arms go around my neck, her legs around my waist, and I know that I’ve got her.

“Sketch,” she breathes out as I lift her higher against the door, putting her tits eye level with me.

“Move that scrap of lace down, now, my tongue wants to do some exploring” I tell her, watching as shaky fingers go to the top of her bra, pulling the cups down so that her flesh is now bared to me.

I’ve worked out a lot in the past few months, I’ve become stronger, I’ve become a better looking guy and much more confident in my abilities. I don’t do this for her; I do this for me because it gets me off. I love the way she squirms against my dick, I love the way I can feel her heat against me. It’s been a long time, and I feel the wetness leaking from the head of my cock, smearing against the cotton of my boxer briefs. I use my teeth to worry the hard nub of her nipple. I bite roughly, moaning when she presses harder against me.

“Fuck, Sketch.” She’s got her hands in my hair pulling me closer to her flesh.

I widen my stance and support her body with mine as I reach behind my back and grab the fabric of my T-shirt, bringing it over my head, before I throw it on the ground. I need to feel her skin against mine. I allow her to slip into my arms and nearly come as I feel the hard points of her tits against the smooth skin of my chest. There’s something about holding a woman in your arms that gives you much more pleasure than jerking your cock in private.

I have hold of her and walk us over to my desk before sitting her down on legs that I can feel shaking. It takes one sweep of my arm to clear the surface, and I look over at her. “Get those pants off, underwear too, and lean so that your elbows are on the wood, ass in the air,” I tell her as I make quick work of my belt buckle and slide my jeans down just far enough so that my cock has room to breathe.

Nina has done what I asked her, and the ass I’ve always loved so much is staring back at me, up in the air, her own tramp stamp, the one I gave her, visible. I put my index and middle finger into my mouth, twirling my tongue around them. My dick jumps even at that contact.

“Quit messing around, Devin,” she tells me, her head hanging between her shoulders. “I need this as much as you do.”

With my right hand I grab her ass and tilt it up to my liking before I take the fingers of my left hand and plunge them deep into her core. She’s wet. Sopping wet, like I’d hoped she would be. “You love when we fuck angry, don’t you?” I taunt her, moving my hand from her hip to the front of her body, down her stomach, and I find her clit. I strum it as I slide into her, bottoming out with the first thrust. My fingers are smashed in between her and the desk, but I don’t care.

“Shit, Sketch.” She throws her head back, gasping for breath.

“You want it hard?” I grit my teeth as I pull out of her, hoping I don’t come all over her ass. Her pussy has never been hotter, and I’ve never been this hard before. The way she engulfs me is so tight against my heated skin.

“Yes,” she breathes heavily into the air.

I wrap her hair around my hand, and do just that—pound into her harder. My hips piston in and out, and I set a good rhythm as my body works against hers. I plunge in, grasp her hair, and stroke her clit, all in a choreographed dance. The desk is moving against the floor, making the awfulest noise ever, but we don’t stop. My hips speed up and I can feel the end nearing. She’s gasping, I’m moaning. Her juices are coating the head of my cock, and I’m leaking everywhere. Together we’re straining trying to come to the end of this ride, even though neither one of us knows where it’s going to lead us. Her body tightens against mine, and I know she’s there. I lean forward and push my palm against her mouth, coming everywhere as she bites down on my skin there.

“Fuck,” I breathe out. “
Fuck
.” Another wave hits me, and I struggle to withdraw from her body, knowing we’ve made a colossal mess, and not just of bodily fluids.

She’s breathing heavily, and she looks back at me. I feel softer towards her than I did before, and I’m raw; I can’t let her see that. Tears are gathered at her eyes, her eyeliner is smudged, and she’s allowing those tears to streak down her face. She’s allowing me to see her vulnerability. Even though she got hers, I used her, and she knows that.

I clear my throat as I have a seat in my chair.

Neither one of us knows what to say to each other, and I watch as she gathers her clothes, quietly wiping away the tears. She’s drawn into herself just like I’ve drawn into myself. Her voice is shaky. “I think that’s enough for today,” she says to me.

I haven’t bothered to get up, but I know things have changed. “I broke you today the same way you broke me.”

She doesn’t say anything as she leaves, but I can hear her sniffles as she runs down the hallway.

Now, I feel like I can put myself back together.

Nina

I
’m sobbing as
I exit his office, and I pray I don’t see anyone as I make my way out of the building and to my car. Once I’m able to get inside, I lean my head back against the seat and really let the tears fall.

It’s been so long since Sketch and I have been together. I’d wanted it just as bad as he had. Up until a year ago, we’d had a great sex life, but as we both got involved in things that had less to do with each other and more to do with other people, our sex life had disintegrated.

I’d felt something in the minutes we were together. I’d nearly cried when I felt his cock enter my body. It felt like I was whole again—something I hadn’t felt in a long time. I’m working hard on making myself the type of person who doesn’t need a man, but fuck, I need Sketch, and I’m not sure I will ever not need him.

But he was right about something. Right now, I’m broken. I also know that I can be put back together again, somehow.

SKETCH

It’s been three
days since Nina ran out of my office. I haven’t heard from her or seen her; I can’t say I expected to. I lean down and reach into the drawer where I’ve stuck the divorce papers and pull them out. I haven’t even read through these, I have no idea what she’s asked for. That’s what I pay my attorney for. He assured me I’m not getting screwed, and I believe him.

To my right, my phone vibrates, and I see Nina’s name pop up. I’ve got a text message. I clear my throat and grab it, smiling as I read.

I was wondering, do you think I could hang out with you at the shop today? I get off work at 5. I don’t know your schedule, so this is a shot in the dark. I want to try. The divorce isn’t final yet, and I’m willing to come to you.

I don’t have any illusions that this will work, but I’m willing to give her the benefit of the doubt. I did tell her she would have to come to me, and maybe that’s what she’s doing. I don’t expect her to show up, but I text her back anyway.

Sure.

Nothing more, nothing less. When I apprenticed, she spent time with me because we didn’t have any money, and hanging out at the shop meant she was warm in the winter and cool in the summer. I can count on one hand how many times she’s been here to hang out with me.

A part of me is looking forward to it, but another part of me doesn’t know what to think. I’ve never been the type of person to get my hopes up, and I won’t do it now.

*

I’m bent over
my desk, working on a custom piece for a buddy of mine. He’s in a band, and he and his wife had a baby not too long ago. His arms are fully covered in tats, but his back is an open book. His stage name is Reaper, so I’ve got the head of the Grim Reaper at the top, fading down into the fretboard of a guitar. The robe that the reaper wears is open and is sheet music containing the name of his son along with lyrics of a song he and his wife, Harmony, sang together. He contacted me a week ago, and I’ve been dying to work on it. Things aren’t looking perfect, but I know in the end I will get what I want. Harsh, dark lines flowing into artistic beauty. The darkness always ends in beauty…I constantly make sure of that.

There’s a knock at the door, and I look up. Nina stands there, and I can’t hide my surprise.

“Hey.” She offers me a small smile.

I don’t return it, but I put my pencil down. “Hey.”

“Don’t let me interrupt you. I just wanted to come and hang out. Ya know, see exactly what you do while you’re here.”

She has a seat in the chair across from me, and I can’t help it. There are things I need to know.

“Why now? Why not years ago when I opened this place?”

Nina leans forward, her long blonde hair covering half of her face. “Because back then I always assumed you would be around. I thought nothing would tear us apart. Now, I know that’s not the case. You keep telling me you’re doing good here. I want to see it. I want to see what makes you get up and come here with a smile on your face every day.”

I don’t think I can answer that question. She’ll have to watch, she’ll have to put the time in. She will have to learn the dynamics between the artists and the clients, figure out who’s a live grenade and who’s not. Sometimes it’s me, sometimes it’s them. I offer her nothing as I turn my phone on,
Black Friday
blaring through my speakers.

“I’m working on a piece for Reaper right now. Listening to their music helps me,” I offer. “It puts me in their headspace, and it gives me some insight on what makes them tick.”

The name Reaper makes her take notice.

“Reaper? Really?” she asks me, breathing in a deep breath. “Sketch, I didn’t know.”

She sits there for a long time watching me. I try to pretend like it doesn’t unnerve me, but it does. When I’m drawing, or tattooing, I’m vulnerable in a way I never allow myself to be on the daily. I take pride in my work; I love it when someone tells me it’s the best work they’ve ever seen. That, to me, is almost better than burying myself balls deep in my wife.

“I saw it,” she says when I’ve given up hope that she’ll talk.

“Saw what?” I keep my tone level. I don’t want to play games today, I’m genuinely curious.

“Your tats. I went home and searched your hashtag. My God, Devin, you do amazing things,” she tells me.

I glance up and notice there is an emotion on her face that looks almost like pride. It feels good, finally, to get some recognition from her. I shrug. “I take what people give me and do what I feel.”

“Why didn’t you ever share it with me?” she asks, twirling her blonde hair between her fingers. “Why didn’t you show me how good you’ve gotten?”

It’s my turn now. “Why didn’t you ask? If a national magazine was asking for a story, shouldn’t you assume I’m good enough to be there?”

She’s quiet again, but I’m not sorry I said it. When they came to me and asked me to be on the cover, to do a piece for the magazine, I wanted her to be interested. Instead, she’d laughed and said it was cute. I’d never mentioned it again.

“I don’t know how to say I’m sorry.” She bites her bottom lip. “I’ve done things I’m not proud of, and there have been misunderstandings between the two of us, but you can’t keep holding me at fault.”

“There is no fault when I’m only telling you what you’ve told me. I’m repeating your words to you, babe. You wonder how we got here. This is how.”

“How do we get past it?” she asks. “Because I think I want to. I don’t think giving up is the right thing to do.”

I’m quiet for a long time before I pick my pencil back up and start in on the drawing again. “I don’t know.”

The truth, for once, will hopefully set us free.

SKETCH

I
t’s raining, and
I mean pouring down. The streets are saturated with water, and it’s ponding in all the familiar places. That’s why today I’m at the gym. I normally don’t work out here, but sometimes I don’t have the opportunity to run. Besides, after the last few days, my feelings are raw. Punching on this bag is the best release I’ve found. This and running are what have gotten me through the last few months.

“Hit it harder, Devin,” my friend, Trace tells me.

“Scared to,” I pant. “I can’t hurt my hands.”

I’ve hurt them once or twice doing this, when I let all of my emotions go. It helps, every time, but it doesn’t make things perfect. I find that it lets a little more of the anger slip away though, and I sleep better at night. That’s really all I can ask for.

“What’s got you so worked up today?” he asks as he helps me unwrap the protective covering on my knuckles.

Trace has been a friend for a long time. He used to tattoo for me, but left to be a personal trainer. In return, I got his little brother, River, who’s been on vacation for the last three weeks. Thank God that dude comes back tonight. It’s been hell picking up the slack. If things continue to get busy, I’m going to have to expand my team of three to four.