A broken heart leads to sensual dark magic. An erotic short.
“How do you want me, Leo?”
Did his voice have to sound so soft and seductive, knowingly infused with suggestive nuance now that he’d declared his love dead? Leo could hate him now. But that might spoil the art.
He approached and arranged the beautiful form to his liking, the knee bent, the arm draped just so over the angle of the joint. “Just like that. Lean your head back.” He smoothed his hand deliberately over the long curls and snagged a few strands of hair.
“Ouch!” his subject complained.
“Sorry. My hands are rough. Yes. Perfect.” Leo turned away and pocketed the strands of hair he’d pulled in the breast pocket of his shirt, next to his heart.
The excitement of new creation took over as Leo’s hand sketched a quick outline on the canvas with soft ley lines of a human skeleton; the lacework of nerve endings hashed in hasty feathers of lead tracing.
He opened the small lacquered box: his own brand of magic carried in oils and pigments. Leo crushed a tube of red in his hands, scarlet against pale skin, and let his fingers glide upon the canvas to fill in with purposeful strokes the musculature that lay over the bones of neck and shoulder.
On the dais, his subject squirmed.
Elisabeth “E.M.” Hamill is a nurse by day, unabashed geek, chocoholic, sci fi and fantasy novelist by nights, weekends, and wherever she can steal quality time with her laptop.
She lives with her family, a dog, and a cat in the wilds of eastern suburban Kansas, where they fend off flying monkey attacks and prep for the zombie apocalypse.