Surrender by Kelly Fox

Author:Kelly Fox
Language: eng
Format: azw3, epub
Published: 2020-03-27T04:00:00+00:00

Jean-Pierre

I follow Jake to his condo so that he can take a quick shower and drive in with me. Scout’s been paying him to update the place on his downtime, and the small kitchen is beautifully appointed, and the floors are nice and new. Like before, the eclectic mix of materials and photographs and pencil drawings piques my interest.

The newer piece above his couch captures my eye as much as it did the first time I saw it. It is a mosaic of magazine pages, and up close the individual cutouts are exquisite and funny and touching pictures of people from all walks of life wearing mostly yellow and or black. From farther away, it is a picture of a large sun swirling in the darkness and beauty of space.

He truly is an artist, and I can’t imagine why he is not spending his time doing this.

I walk down the hallway, following the art into Jake’s room. It had been dark and emotional when I was here last, and I’ll admit… curiosity gets the better of me. All comparisons to street urchins aside, he is a fantastic dresser, and the artistic flair and careful precision with which he puts together his clothing simply cannot be taught. That he does this with an all-black and gray palette is genius.

I pull aside the closet doors, and the half-light reveals only a wall of black, one article of clothing indistinguishable from the next. Fumbling around, I find a switch and flip on the overhead fixture. Breath escapes me, and I am astonished by the textures and fabrics and sheens that pop out at me, all fastidiously hung in a hierarchy of casual to formal. I run my fingers across the pieces of clothing, pausing briefly at a black leather harness tagged with a gray handkerchief. Definitely not vanilla. My pants tighten at the sight of it, my most carefully hidden desires flourishing under the promise of experience.

I swallow and continue perusing the myriad bespoke pieces, though my eyes go back to the harness again and again. Even the store-bought items appear to have been tailored, given extra flourish and distress. When my practiced hands land on fine suit material, I pause. What does he have here?

It’s Dries Von Noton in black-on-black plaid, which means that Tommy sewed this for him personally. I recognize the long, almost duster-length suit jacket, the pants detailed with a pleated skirt panel, and a vest fitted to within an inch of its life. I imagine a very chic party at which he was spying on a dangerous criminal organization, and I start to wonder if he’d consider role play.

“What are you doing?” Jake’s question is careful, and I spin around with the Von Noton in my hands.

“You must, must, must wear this. It is stunning.” My voice cracks on the last word because Jake is wearing only a towel, knotted loosely around his narrow waist. His pale skin is incandescent against a black-and-gray tattoo of a tree that

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