Painter Of The Night S3 Novels & Stories

Only then do I step away, pull my thong up, smooth my skirt. He’s on his knees, face destroyed, glasses crooked, chin dripping with me. I pat his cheek. “Good boy. Now lock the front and take me to Screen 3.” His hands are shaking so badly he drops the keys twice. Screen 3 is half-full tonight, some indie romance, maybe twenty people scattered throughout. The theater is darker than sin. Only the flickering silver of the screen and the low amber exit signs give any light. Twenty-three people tonight, scattered like loose change down front and middle. We slip into the very back row, far left corner, last two seats. Noah’s hand is slick with sweat around mine; he’s shaking so hard his teeth are

Three days since he left the Pacific Palisades estate in the middle of the night. She told herself it didn't matter. She told herself she was fine. But the truth was much more complicated, and she refused to let the real reason even cross her mind. She stood in front of yet another ruined canvas, staring at the mess she had created. The strokes were rough and uneven, the limbs crooked, the facial expressions completely bland and lifeless. It wasn't salvageable. Nothing she had painted in the last three days was worth keeping. With a heavy sigh, Verity set her brush down and began cleaning up. She wasn't going to waste any more materials on whatever this frustration was doing to her work. She

But I saw how the host paled when they handed her an envelope. They bought it. Full price. No questions. And still… they didn’t leave. --- *Elsewhere, that same night…>>> ——— A private lounge. Lights dimmed. The painting’s image projected on a tablet, glowing softly as the three men circled it. “It’s the Offering,” said the one with curls, pacing. “She painted the scene. Our scene.” “She remembers,” one of them said quietly. “Or she dreams,” the second replied, swirling a dark liquid in his glass. “Either way, the image is forbidden.”

Dark of Night Copyright 2019 Emily Goodwin Chapter One “What do you see when you look at this one?” The doctor holds up a card, showcasing an ink splotch that’s twisted and creepy, with eyes that follow you no matter where you go. I look at it, heart hammering away inside my chest. The mess of ink on the white paper reminds me of the monster that lurks in Nana and Papa’s basement, the one that tried to get Abby and Scott to go downstairs with it.

“I dream of women. A lot.” “That’s scary? Hah. I didn’t think you were that sort of Greek.” “Piss off and die badly, sir,” Porcius shot back. “No, of women in the night, women in the woods.” “I see monsters in the woods. I’ll trade you dreams.” “You wish. No, they come to me a lot, images of an older gal with reddish gray hair, all kinky and long, gotta lil gal with her, ‘bout half her size.”

I forced another laugh, trying to pull away but he held me against him not letting me move away even a bit. He took me to his bedroom, my heartbeat went haywire. I needed another hit, my palms were turning sweaty and had started to tremble. He stopped before a large painting that adorned one of the room's richly wallpapered walls. It depicted a serene landscape. My breath hung suspended as Santino reached for the painting. His fingers danced with a delicate touch along an almost invisible pattern etched into the frame, and I shifted my position slightly, making sure Alessandro could capture every intricate detail. With a barely audible click, the painting swung open, revealing a concealed co

Three days later Brittany's POV I held onto her hand as we continued to walk over to the next painting, our steps halted and my eyes moved forward as I gazed at it in pure admiration. "Do you like it?" She asked softly as I rested my head against her shoulder, finding her presence comforting. "I love it" I replied truthfully "It was painted by Oscar Sanchez, his idea was to capture the beauty in death" she explained confidently and I smiled my eyes never leaving the painting as I admired her mind, she had spent the entire night explaining each painting I had requested her to or looked at for too long.

Colorful and lively. I looked back at my painting. My ruined painting and picked it up. I ignored Daisy as she called after me, as I walked to the back of the hall and opened the window. We were on the third floor with windows lining this hall that allowed perfect light to paint. I threw the painting down, hoping for it to break and vanish away, take away the stains from the one perfect thing that I hadn't made for myself, I hadn't made out of my nightmares. @Gupta

he said “What? Don’t tell me he still wants to have s*x with me this night?” “My God! I thought I would be lucky this night.” . . . T.B.C. This guy worst oh, he still even wants to have s*x with her after all the caring, caring. God help we girls. Like and comment.