Page 107 of Sinful Lord

And I’m definitely falling for her.

By sundown on our third full night at the lake house, it almost feels like we’re a real couple—that is, if we both ignore the circumstances that brought us together.

“Do you think the red is too bright?” Melina asks.

I barely hear her through my trance. For the past hour, I’ve been laying half naked on the bed as she tries to salvage the masterpiece we saved from her apartment.

“I’m not the artist,” I tell her, admiring the view. “These decisions are yours to make.”

Melina seems to find comfort in the freedom, but only after momentarily struggling with the breadth of it.

I watch the gears turn behind those pretty hazel eyes as she stares off through the windows. The soft bedroom light practically dances off her naked skin. It doesn’t matter that we’ve already fucked half a dozen times today, the sight of her perky tits already has me pitching a fucking tent.

But I control myself. This is Melina’s time to paint. I’m just grateful she’s allowing me to observe.

“It needs to be a little darker,” she decides, sweeping her brush through the pallet on the table next to the easel I set up for her.

“Haven’t we had enough darkness?” I tease.

That earns me a quick side glance. “I thought these were my decision to make?”

“They are,” I smile. “I’m just thinking out loud.”

“Well, can you do that any quieter?” she smirks. “I’m working.”

All I can do is laugh. Shit. I could get used to this.

As if on cue, I hear the muddled sound of my phone pinging from inside the bedside table.

Immediately, I know what it’s about.

“Fuck, I almost forget,” I mumble to myself, reaching into the drawer.

Sure enough, my phone screen is alight with a reminder notification.

Meeting with slumlord. One hour.

“Fucking hell,” I grumble, ripping aside the covers.

“What’s wrong?” Melina asks, turning form her canvas.

“Keep painting, angel,” I insist. Picking up my clothes from the floor, I start to get dressed. “There’s something I need to take care of.”

“Wait? Wait!”

I’ve hardly even slipped my shirt on when Melina stands up from her stool.

“What is it?”.

Her face is scrunched. Her brow is furrowed. She looks just as confused as I am.

“You said you wouldn’t leave me again,” she whispers.

My heart drops.

I did say that. And I meant it.

So why the hell am I in such a hurry to rush out?