By Michael Croban
He was the master of his craft. He used her body as a canvas, so he painted on her skin with violent strokes of lust.
She wanted a nuanced lover, a master of chiaroscuro. She wanted a Vermeer or a Rembrandt; instead, she ended up with the madness of Picasso, and to her own surprise, she loved it.
When she woke up, he was looking at her silently. “I have to go,” he whispered.
She nodded and gave him the money.
“Until the next time.” He smiled and left.
“Until…” she muttered to herself.
Love? Why did it feel like surrender?
Wow, I wasn’t expecting this at all. Nicely written.
Nicely written!
Yes, this has a surprise ending–and is very well written. A real Winner! Good job, Michael.
Thank you
Good thing it wasn’t a Jackson Pollack!. jerry
Hahah that’s true
Fabulous writing, Michael!
Thank you!