I stare at the portrait, noting the strokes and style Mr. D uses. I have already known him as Dennis ever since I started to notice his mysterious appearance at my events. He constantly shows up in the corner of wherever I am, but he also disappears like a bubble in the air. I don't know what he is after because he never participates in any of my group activities during my events. Instead, he just hops in during discussions, taunting or pissing me off. The only thing that draws me to him is his being an artist.
"What is it, babe?" asks Ella, disrupting my focus from the portrait. I look back at her. And upon seeing her swelling curves and plump entrance, my relaxing possession instantly springs to life.
"Are you sure you want to continue?" Ella asks again. The crease on my face must have shown my emotion.
"Of course. Who can refuse to this?" I say, poking my prepuce on her labia.
She raises her legs and hangs on it my shoulders, making it easier for me. Wasting no time, I thrust hard into her, making her yelp. She then places her hands at the side of my hips, prompting me to move fast. Getting lost in the moment, I am no longer conscious of time. I no longer mind if I have stayed long enough for Ella to attain pleasure or not. What matters most is that I no longer go limp. And that I see her outward jolts and muscles twitching as she reaches her orgasm.
I change right away into a pair of denim jeans and a polo shirt right after we clean up. Ella wants to do it for herself, but I insist. She's pregnant, and a pregnant tends to go lazy. So, I make sure she doesn't get an infection.
"You haven't told me about it yet," Ella reminds me as I pick up my sling bag. I give her a quick stare, wondering what she means.
"The message you got a while ago."
"It's the attendant I pay to report to me if Mr. D comes over. Mr. D has a new latte art, and that attendant sent it to me." There's no harm in explaining a bit, so I don't have to deny her an explanation.
Ella rises from the bed and places her palms on my shoulders.
"Why do I sense there's something deeper than wanting his designs for your coffee shop?"
"I like his style for my coffee shops. I want to buy the rights."
"Is it because it is Yen on the portrait?"
"Maybe," I answer briefly. I can't tell her why I need to get close to Dennis yet. Her mouth drops open, perhaps wanting to speak, but she holds it back.
I press a quick kiss on her lips, shutting off whatever it is that she wants to say.
"See you soon, dear," I tell her.
"Take care."
Feeling the lacking lines that most sweethearts do when exchanging goodbyes, I pull her close for a tight hug—hoping that in this way, she can feel that I already love her. It's still too early, but I'm already sure of that.
Who can ever resist the feeling? Though I don't usually sleep with her at night, she still wakes up by my side every morning. I don't go to bed with her, but we make love before leaving for training. She runs the household like any wife does except Yen, But only when I can marry her does everything between us become right.
In less than an hour, I'm already at the Jakara Hotel. A piece of romantic music greets my ears as I step into the lobby. I look around, basking in the beautiful feeling the ambiance gives me. Whatever your eyes can see speaks of romance and perfection. Perhaps, it's in the art displayed into their lightings, the pieces of furniture you see around, and the hanging decors everywhere.
I choose a table by the glass wall, and the attendant I pay secretly brings a cup of steaming coffee right away.
"Good morning, sir!" the attendant smiles, running his eyes from me and to the latte art on the cup he brings.
"Good morning, Harold!" I greet him also before taking a look at the new design. It's the same as the one he sent me earlier. "Can I probably talk to him today?"
"I'll try," he says, taking back the tray.
"Thank you."
"I'll tell him you want to talk about the latte art designs."
I nod. Harold leaves right away, avoiding more conversations with me. That's one of the rules we have agreed. That we won't make it obvious that I'm paying him for the task.
It has been several years since I want to talk to Dennis, but he always has a way to outwit my men. Today holds no assurance that I can speak to him as well. But I'll still try.
I open my laptop to review a presentation, but my peripheral vision is alert to my surroundings. I click on a file, but an email notification pops up before it opens.
Mr. D has sent you a photo message!
I open it right away, and Yen's portrait in oil painting greets my eyes. She sits on a chair, her eyes far away. Behind her is an open field, the strong breeze blowing her wavy hair away.
Even on a painting, Yen looks stunning. I haven't seen an angel yet, but Yen looks like how I imagine them to be. Her delicate and beautiful features are well-emphasized, making her look alive and happy in a white canvass.
"I'm going to sell it at a meager price," a voice from behind me takes my eyes away from the portrait.
I turn to see who's speaking, and my heart leaps when it's finally Dennis! This is the first time I can be alone with him.
"How much?" I ask, standing as I wait for him to take the seat across from me.
"500 USD. Life-size, oil on canvas," he replies as he sits down, placing his leg over the other, his arms spreading wide on the top of the backrest.
"Are you sure? I will take it, no matter how much is the cost."
"I have already given my word. If I had known you're willing to pay higher, I would have raised it to 20 000 USD."
"Kim is going to buy it."
"He's not going to kill himself in making money, just to waste on useless paintings."
"Useless?"
"The model is his wife, and he's looking at her every day. Can't he get enough of her?"
I laugh at his lame reasoning. But, perhaps, this man hasn't been in love yet.
"I'll buy some more," I tell him, looking at him in the eyes. They flicker for a second, a little sign that he's happy about my purchase.
"Deal. I'll have them sent to your address."
"Thank you."
"You're interested in my latte art? You already have her paintings."
"It's different."
"Deal."
I stare at the painting on my phone again. On the right lower corner are words in black,
"You're the arrow that pierces my heart, the stone that breaks my soul."