Complementary Colors

Thank you to Adriana Ruud for your help with the English to Spanish translations, Varian Krylov, Louis Stevens, and Annabel Joseph for beta reading this MS.

Thank you Sharon Stogner for your content edits and Jason Bradly for your final edits.

Larry and Rachel Howell for putting up with me. James Tuck Jr. for always being tough when I couldn’t and never doubting me, when it was all I could do.

Also a very special thank you to all the reviewers who review my stories. Know that even when a rating isn’t favorable, I still appreciate you giving your time and talent to writing up a review. Your insight has on more than one occasion, taught me something about my writing. Thank you for that.

To the reader:

There are too many of you to name, but I want you to know I have read all your emails, responded, and appreciate every word you send. I could never give you the appreciation you deserve. All I can try and do to show how much you mean is to keep writing books you will enjoy. I will do my best not to let you down.

And last, but definitely not least in my line of “thank yous” is, Edie Marshal who has endured great suffering for the sake of saving others.

I owe you my life.

Thank you.

While the story within these pages is 100% fiction, the mental illnesses represented are not. Millions of Americans suffer from mental illness. What’s more upsetting is the stigma surrounding mental illness keeps so many of them from seeking out treatment and the lack of resources keeps those who do look for help, from being able to afford it.

Mental illness affects people of all ages, races, religions, and financial status. And millions of those people will die because the only way they think they can escape the pain is to take their own life. Many victims of suicide are Veterans and those in the LGBT community.

Because so many people can benefit from having resources in a time of crisis, a minimum of 10% of sales from each book will go to the American Foundation for Suicide Prevention. With every thousand copies sold I will add an additional 1% until I reach 25% of all monies made.

This donation will be done in the memory of all those who have been lost to suicide.

Friends.

Family.

Total strangers.

For more information about the American Foundations for Suicide Prevention please visit,
http://www.afsp.org

And no matter what you think, someone out there cares.

I knew he didn’t belong the moment I saw him.

He wasn’t cut by money or shaped by political interests, and the rental he wore was a bad joke in the ocean of Versace suits and Chanel ball gowns, fitting him tight across the shoulders and short in the arms. A belt held up his pants, and the waves of extra fabric did nothing to accentuate the ass I knew was just as perfect as the rest of him.

I drank my champagne while the stranger picked his way through the clumps of people gathered in front of the hideous paintings I had on display.

“Paris darling, Mr. Darcy was asking you about one of your works.” Julia put her hand on my arm. I ignored my sister and Mr. Darcy. Whatever it was he wanted say to me, I’d heard it before;
Mind blowing, so unique, see the passion, the fire
, and my favorite,
it speaks to me
.

Bullshit.

Only one person could see the dirty secret hidden within the lines, the color, the violence.

Me.

I handed Julia my empty glass.

She tightened her grip on my arm. “These people came a long way to meet you.”

They always came a long way to meet me. Even if it was a block away.

“Bathroom,” I said. Julia frowned. I think she knew I was lying but didn’t want to call me out on it in front of her friends. I peeled away her fingers. “If you don’t mind, of course.” I slipped into the crowd.

Julia would give Mr. Darcy and his flavor-of-the-year wife some excuse on my behalf. Then she’d slay them with her silver tongue, and by the end of the night, they’d write a check for some ungodly amount and buy a piece of hell I’d spewed out into the world.

They’d hang it in their country home or put it in their yacht. They’d smile and laugh and remain deaf to the confession screaming to be told.

Heat from the track lighting pressed down on my shoulders. Greetings cast out by guests floated in shades of black and gray.

I followed the stranger’s trail of color all the way to the back of the gallery. He disappeared around a partition and through a door. I checked to see if anyone was watching before I went in.

Cold fluorescents replaced track lighting, and the hum of the ventilation system snuffed out a burst of laughter. There were only two doors in the maintenance hall, besides the one that shut behind me.

A deep mechanical sound chugged from behind the one left open. I slipped inside and turned the knob so I could control the catch.

The man crouched beside an opening in one of the large metal units. Even on his knees, I could tell he was about my height, but his shoulders were wide and his limbs were thick.

I hoped that trait didn’t stop at his legs and arms.

After a few minutes, he seemed satisfied and replaced the panel. When he stood, I had a brief glimpse of the curve of his ass when his slacks tightened.

He turned and dropped the tools he held. His hip hit the metal hull of the unit, and it boomed.

“Jesus Christ. You scared the shit out of me.”

A five o’clock shadow dusted his jaw, hardening his features enough to make him look dangerous. And there was already no doubt left in my mind that he could kill me if he wanted to.

He wiped his hands with a rag from his pocket. Scars crossed the knuckles of his callused fingers. The thought of his rough grip on my body left me hard.

“I replaced the coil.” The sound of his voice wrapped me in red, and tied me up with gold. “That should relieve some of the strain on the unit. It’s pretty old, though.” He put his tools into a toolbox. “You might want to consider replacing it.”

I engaged the lock on the door.

He followed me with his eyes as I made a half circle around him. His physical appearance didn’t make him alluring. It was how he carried himself. Like a man who was one with the world and not above it. I grazed a look up and down his body.

“I’ll send you a bill.” He reached for his toolbox.

I got in the way, trapping him against air conditioning unit.

“Is there something else you ne—” He cleared his throat. “Need?”

“Are you afraid of me?”

He pulled himself to his full height. “Do I have a reason to be?”

“That depends.”

“On what?”

“On how much the idea of fucking me appeals to you.” I tilted my head in a way that made my bangs slide over one eye. Like the smile I gave him, it was something I’d perfected.

I massaged his cock through the material of his slacks. The heavy bulge swelled beyond my palm and fingers.

“So,” I said. “Are you afraid?”

The black of his pupils swallowed the pale green of his eyes.

“I take that as a no.” I undid his belt, the button on his pants, and pulled down the zipper.

His boxer briefs trapped the thick length of his dick against his thigh. I set it free and kneeled. The faint scent of cologne mixed with the headier flavor of musk made my mouth water.

The man watched me with a cautious gaze.

“I’m not going to bite you. Unless, of course, you want me to.” I swiped my tongue across the plum-sized head, collecting a bitter tear from the tip.

His nostrils flared.

I did it again, taking the time to tease the slit.

He parted his lips, and his eyelids fluttered closed.

I traced the glans, then chased the movement with a light scrape of teeth.

A shudder ran up his body, and he dropped his head back.

I took him as deep as I could. He grabbed the back of my head and thrust his hips. Just as quickly, he jerked his hands away.

I put them back. When he didn’t close his grip, I squeezed his wrists. The man wound his fingers in my bangs, and I tugged on his thighs.

There was only a moment of hesitation before his body took over and he fucked my mouth, stretching my jaw so wide it threatened to lock. Tears ran down my cheeks, and black spots danced before my eyes. The impact to the back of my throat ached. I welcomed the sense of suffocation because it made things real for me.

“Fucking hell.” He huffed out desperate breath after desperate breath. “Don’t stop, whatever you do, please…” I rolled his balls with my fingers. He rewarded me with a string of incoherent words. His grip tightened, and a rush of bitter fluid filled my mouth. I couldn’t swallow fast enough.

When he stepped back, cum poured over my lips and dripped down my chin.

There were shadows in his pale green eyes. “Why?”

I stood. “Do I need a reason?” I wiped the cum from my chin and sucked my fingers clean one at a time. Then I pulled him down until our lips met and plunged my tongue into his mouth. His attempt to keep up with my hunger was ill coordinated, and the kiss turned sloppy and wet.

“Come home with me.” With the way he watched me, I knew he would. “Is there a back way out?”

I wasn’t in the mood to deal with Julia’s drama. I was in the mood to be fucked.

“Yeah.” He fixed his clothes. “The other room has an exit to the alley in the back.”

Outside, the sickly scent of rotting garbage and wet asphalt clung to the damp air. I dragged the stranger to the line of cabs parked along the curb. If I took the limo, the driver would tattle on me to Julia. She wrote the checks so she was the only one he was loyal to.

I opened the door, and he yanked me around. The handle pulled out of my grip, and the door was slammed shut by the weight of my body. The kiss he delivered was just as sloppy as before, but there was determination now. He was infected with my madness. It infected every man I took to my bed. The fever always disappeared by morning, but until then, I made the best of it.