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“That’s not your fault,” I said, clinging when he tried to pull away.
“You weren’t there.”
I cradled his face. “I know that you told. You weren’t silent. The problem was you weren’t heard. And even if you hadn’t spoken up, it still wouldn’t be your fault.”
His kiss was welcome, and he apparently needed it as much as I did. Words became touch. Emotions were sensations. Clothing wasn’t wanted. I pulled off my dress and he didn’t wait for me to unsnap my bodysuit. He tore through the lace and lifted me up only to lay us down on a drop cloth, while undoing his jeans.
“One day I’m going to paint you with my come.” He growled out the words like a hungry bear.
“I dare you to do it now.”
There wasn’t softness in our coupling. He pushed in with a punishing thrust I welcomed. I wanted to feel his pain and absorb it. I wanted to offer him absolution and a way to forgive himself. I’d be his vessel if that was what it took. But I knew scars that deep didn’t heal so easily.
Every time with him, fast or slow, I came. This time was no different. When the aftershocks stilled, he pulled out and came all over me like paint strokes. It was warm, and I drew circles around my nipples as he lay panting next to me.
“Will you paint this?” I asked.
“Probably—in my head at least.”
“You’re going to get through this.”
He took my hand and kissed my knuckles. “I will, even if I have to without you.”
“I’m not signing it,” I protested.
“You did agree to twenty-four hours, right?”
I knew where he was going and I didn’t like it. “That doesn’t mean—”
“Yes or no. Are you going to back out on your word?”
“Connor?”
“I’m Connor now?”
“I can’t introduce my husband to my parents as Striker. I mean, I could, but they would grill you a million years to find out why you would use that kind of name.” I laughed to myself.
“Well, I won’t be your husband because you will sign that paper. That’s part of the bet you agreed to.”
“Fine, I will,” I grumbled.
“Good girl,” he said and got to his feet.
“Where are you going?”
“To get something to clean you up, and I need to check your bottom.”
My bottom felt fine. He was halfway across the room when I muttered, “I kind of want to leave it, since that’s all I’ll have left.”
His hearing was excellent. “You’ll have my heart.”
I couldn’t breathe for a second. He hadn’t said he loved me, but damn if that wasn’t close enough. I closed my eyes and let him clean me. I turned over, and he ruled me okay.
“It didn’t hurt as much as I thought it would,” I admitted.
“I didn’t use a bullwhip, as it was your first time.”
“Something else we should talk about,” I said.
“What’s that?” he asked, sounding amused.
“Eliza. I know all about your Hip-Pussy-Ass rules, so I just have one question.” I held in a laugh as he laughed at me. “Is she still your therapist? Because I’m not okay with that.”
“No.” He quickly sobered. “I met her in college. She was working on her doctorate and worked in the counselor’s office. She was easy to talk to. I opened up and shared a little of what my problem was.”
“What’s that? Never mind, go on.”
“I wasn’t able to have normal sex with a woman. I hated to be touched. She showed me a way to test the waters to see if controlling the situation would help. It did.”
I frowned but said, “I guess I have to be nice to her next time. But you know she wants you back.”
“I know. She hasn’t been my therapist since I let her talk me into crossing that line. That was a mistake. I’ve told her it was never happening again.”
“Good boy,” I said with a wink and loved listening to the chuckle coming through his chest. That and his heartbeat as I tucked into his side and curled next to him.
“How did you get into painting?” I asked.
“I’m not sure when it started, maybe when I picked up my first crayon,” he mused. “Over time I felt compelled to get the images out of my head. Drawing them was the best way.”
I tried not to picture the things he could have drawn from his past. “Do you sketch too?” I asked, as all I’d seen were paintings.
“I do. A lot actually.” I had a lot of questions, but he beat me to the punch. “What about you? What made you study art?”
I was surprised, I didn’t get this question a lot from the guys I’d dated. Hans had never asked. “A trip to the Louvre. I remember seeing the Mona Lisa as a child and thinking, is that it? It’s such a small painting considering it’s big reputation.”
