2. Chapter Two

Chapter Two

T he tantalizing scent of bacon summoned Pixie from her room.

Last night she'd planned on staying up late due to getting fucked and filled and teased at the club until she couldn't take anymore. Instead, she'd spent hours with Eva, drinking boba and talking about everything from favorite music—classical and Europop, thank you—to what high school stereotypes they'd been. Eva had been valedictorian, shocker, and Pixie had been the art kid. And when they'd gotten home, a restlessness percolated through her veins she knew not to ignore.

So she'd escaped to her studio room, brought out her paints, and took to the canvas.

The colors and shapes had poured out of her on the blank space, all trying to capture imprints of the experience. Despite their focus on the superficial, she'd felt an ease around Eva that was rare. The woman's clear dominant streak had Pixie looking in her direction from the moment they'd met, but she didn't get overbearing. Simply playful in a sarcastic yet serious way.

Splashes of fingers digging into the earth, strong arms on a canvas. Yet storms lingered in the background, heady and full, bruises from the past and future. It was all cyclical.

The piece was a long way from being finished, but she'd lost track of the hours, completely sunken into the zone of creation, something that had been elusive lately.

The wake-up this morning, however, was a rough one. Whoever romanticized the whole artist experience of all euphoria had never experienced the full-body aches the day after from hunching over a canvas for hours. Sure, during was great, but afterward, she paid the consequences.

Pixie peeled herself out of bed, following the lure of bacon.

When her hand landed on the doorknob, her nose wrinkled. She had done a shit job of cleaning herself up. Navy blue and brown streaks stained her fingers.

But bacon.

She stepped out of her room and trudged down the hallway. The hardwood was cold under her bare feet, but she couldn't stop now. When she emerged into the main area, her gaze landed on the culprit.

Eva stood at the stove, preparing the bacon, which sizzled and popped in the skillet. However, Pixie's gaze wasn't on that—no, it glued to the pajama set she wore. The sage-green pants were high-waisted but cut off right at the curves of her ass, and the matching lace camisole showcased her perky nipples, those handful of tits mouthwatering. With her auburn waves pulled back and coiled into a tight bun, not a wisp out of place, and her sharp features, she looked like a sexy librarian or disciplinarian.

Ungh. Her kryptonite.

When Eva glanced at her, Pixie lifted her hand in greeting, trying to smother the loud thump, thump, thump of her heart.

"Hungry?" she asked. "I brewed coffee and figured you might want some breakfast, so I made extra."

"Does a bear shit in the wind?"

Eva snorted. "Probably not the wind but definitely the woods."

"No Micah?"

"Nah, he stayed over at his boyfriend's house."

Despite her casual tone, Pixie had seen a hesitation in her dark eyes yesterday, the sort of heaviness she recognized. They might've kept the topics easy, but it was clear as daylight that Eva hurt over more than the Abrams parents' refusal to accept their queer kids. The backlash of Eva coming out as bi had been the shove for Micah to cut his folks loose too. However, despite Pixie's curiosity with Eva, she'd never been one to push. It wasn't in her nature.

"Were you up late?" Eva asked, her stare intensifying as she scanned her over.

Pixie looked down to follow. Shit, she wore an oversized Red Hot Chili Peppers tee—nothing else. A blush heated her cheeks, and her skin prickled, especially her bare thighs and pussy. Thank fuck she hadn't just bolted out of bed naked, but she'd been trying to sleep with a shirt on at least ever since she started living with Micah.

"Uh, yeah, working on a new piece." Pixie scratched her nape. It'd be too obvious if she returned to her room, so she'd have to suffer through breakfast, fully aware she wasn't wearing panties around this gorgeous woman. Her pussy tingled at the thought, which wasn't helping at all, and just like that, wetness bloomed between her thighs .

"Take a seat," Eva said. "I'll bring over your food."

Pixie bit back the urge to step in and help and lowered herself onto the couch, since she and Micah ate at the coffee table. She always had a pile of blankets nearby, so she placed one over her lap, but the slickness between her thighs hadn't vanished. In fact, it only increased because Eva would be coming over here and sitting next to her at any moment.

Eva placed a plate in front of her, and the neat way she'd arranged the bacon, eggs, and toast looked like art. This woman seemed precise in everything she did, so different from Pixie's chaos.

"Let me grab the coffee." Eva set her plate on the coffee table as well. Before Pixie could protest, she'd swept off to the kitchen. A few moments later, Eva sat beside her with two steaming mugs of coffee in front of her. The most scorching sight Pixie had seen in both regards. Hot coffee, even hotter woman.

Pixie picked up her cup of coffee. "Thank you." Gratitude settled deep in her bones. Truth be told, she'd done so much taking care of her mom in her early years that she was shit at tending to her own needs. Some of the Doms at Whipped would call her out on missing meals or forgetting to schedule basic appointments, but they all had their own lives. Getting looked after like this? Her skin prickled, but whether from a rush or discomfort, she wasn't sure.

She took a sip of the coffee and let out a low moan. Creamy and sweet, just the way she liked it. When she glanced up, Eva's eyes were on hers, the dark gaze heady and potent, the sort of look she wanted to sink to her knees for. To present herself for submission. Her pussy grew even slicker.

Micah had said no. He was going through enough, and she shouldn't be giving eyes to his older sister. But damn, why the hell was Eva so hot? Stern, but not in a too-intimidating way, with a sharp sarcasm she enjoyed.

As much as Pixie adored and trusted the Doms at Whipped, none of them were the perfect match in terms of what she was searching for. Fin probably came the closest, since they had a penchant for teasing, but fuck, Pixie just wanted a dominant to make her squirm until she was wet and blushing and to turn her inside out while injecting order into her chaos. While she enjoyed a little impact play, it had never been her primary kink. No, what made her sing was praise and humiliation.

Maybe it was Eva's deadly smile, her low, throaty tone, or the hint of self-deprecation in her humor, but something about her fascinated Pixie.

And a large part of her longed to see what sort of Domme Eva could be.

Eva sipped her black coffee, her pert lips looking lush and inviting. Pixie shifted in her seat. Thank fuck she had a blanket over her lap, even if she ran the risk of leaving an imprint on the couch cushion. Her cheeks heated.

"Did I get the proportions right?" Eva lifted her coffee.

Pixie's heart stuttered at the attention—not only that Eva gave her currently but had paid in noticing how she took her coffee. "Perfect," she murmured, the word coming out reverent. She couldn't help the way her gaze lingered on the curve of Eva's breasts, perfectly highlighted in her sage-green camisole. Those muscular thighs were on clear display with how tiny her shorts were, all that smooth, tanned skin looking lickable. Fuck, Pixie would love to plant herself between the woman's thighs and eat her out for an entire afternoon.

Maybe it was sometimes escapism, but getting lost in bliss beat her recent headspace.

"Have you gotten to explore the city?" she burst out, needing to divert her thoughts before she veered into doom and gloom territory. "Come to a bridge, you should cross it, right? "

Eva frowned. "What are you talking about?"

"The old saying about exploring shit, right?" Pixie said, clutching her coffee tight. As much as she wanted to eat the food in front of her, she hesitated to break up the beauty of the display because symmetry.

Eva's lips quirked. "I'm pretty sure the expression is cross that bridge when you come to it."

She wrinkled her nose. "Well, that doesn't make sense."

Eva snorted. "To answer your question, no, I haven't gotten to explore the city much. I've been hanging with Micah as much as possible, but I guess I should check out some of the sights before I head back to Reno."

Leaving. Eva was leaving. The reminder splashed cold water over her. No point in getting curious about Eva Abrams, because she wouldn't be staying in the area after next week. Pixie didn't need to search hard for casual partners. She usually played with the crew who worked at Whipped and a few others in the scene who she trusted.

Still, she wanted to capture a few more seconds with her. The inspiration that had bloomed in her last night had been a drop of water to her desert, and finding those connections was rare. Even if their time together amounted to nothing but a few more paintings, they were more than Pixie had produced in the past six months.

Whenever she started to feel too insular, like she banged against plexiglass while dozens of people passed her by, her creativity took a crippling blow. While she had graphic design work to fall back on, her big money came from her stylized art pieces that sold in shows.

"What's the top thing you want to see?" Pixie asked. "Golden Gate Bridge? Alcatraz? Fisherman's Wharf?"

Eva wrinkled her nose. "None of that. And you don't need to worry about my sightseeing. I'm sure I'll get around the city before I leave, but I came here to spend time with Micah. "

Pixie pursed her lips. Eva was telling the truth. She'd witnessed the care between the two of them, a snarky sort of sibling relationship she envied as an only child—however, it wasn't the whole truth. The way her gaze darkened was suspect. What was she hiding?

Apparently, they both had their secrets.

"Eat your food," Eva said, pointing to Pixie's plate. Her own plate was already clean, probably witchcraft, and she was halfway through her coffee. "I'm going to take a shower, and I better see an empty plate when I'm done."

"Okay, Mommy," Pixie teased, even though that wasn't so much her kink.

Eva arched one of those expressive brows. "I prefer Mistress."

Heat rushed through Pixie, a scorching torrent lighting up her whole body.

"Okay, Mistress," she said, but when those words left her lips, no teasing remained. Just a whole lot of neediness that made her body flush hot and her pussy even wetter. Forgetting her underwear had definitely been a mistake, but even panties wouldn't have been able to contain much of this.

Eva's gaze sparked with fire, and Pixie was burning, burning, burning under her scrutiny. If the woman said the word, she'd be flat on her back with her legs spread before she could blink.

"Make sure you eat," was all Eva said, a dark amusement to her words before she turned and headed in the direction of the bathroom. Pixie clutched a pillow to her chest as she watched Eva's swaying ass, not the slightest bit ashamed.

Her phone buzzed on the coffee table. Damn, she hadn't remembered to plug it in. A whopping 10 percent battery left.

She recognized the number: Francis, an art dealer friend.

"Hey, what's going on?"

"There's an opportunity I wanted to talk to you about." Francis launched straight into business. He was like that—hyper and a little intense—which she didn't mind most of the time. However, now, feeling hungover from the painting outpouring last night, she still wasn't firing on all cylinders. Plus, she was horny.

"Hmm?" She shifted to try to avoid the wetness between her legs and just how turned on the brief interaction with Eva had left her.

"There's an artist-in-residence vacancy at the Portland Museum of Art." The excitement poured off him, even through the phone line. "And I wanted to put your name into the running if you were interested."

Pixie's heart thudded harder.

Opportunities like this didn't come often. She knew that.

A year ago, she wouldn't have considered it. She'd been so settled in San Francisco, within an hour's drive of her mom, enmeshed with a tight-knit group of friends, and she'd felt like she'd finally found where she needed to be.

However, lately, her mom wanted her to swing by more, which led to a tug of war in her mind—trying to stay in her presence while getting vaulted to the past. And everyone at Whipped seemed to be deep in their own lives. Sure, she went to the munches and Play Nights, but the constant stream of communication had dried up. She'd been through this cycle with different groups of friends, whether it was her high school crew or her college friends who had drifted apart.

She always ended up alone, not knowing how to claw her way back into a community.

Maybe because she'd never had one growing up.

However, the distance had settled in again, and her muse was drying up; both things that weren't sustainable. And the urge to bolt reared in a big way .

"I'm interested."

Even as she said the words, guilt thudded through her veins. This had been the closest community she'd found, but she couldn't bear to see it crash around her like so many before had. Besides, she wasn't swearing a commitment to a future move, just putting feelers out there.

And if she got the resident position?

She'd cross that river when she burned it.