She’s stepped back, one arm folded over her chest, the other holding the tip of a paintbrush between her teeth. She tilts her head one way, then the other, studying the canvas like she’s weighing its worth.
I push up from the floor and come up behind her, wrapping my arms around her waist. I press a kiss to the side of her head, breathing in the floral scent of her shampoo.
“It’s beautiful,” I murmur against her ear.
She leans back into me, her head resting against my chest, and from here I can see the whole thing better. It’s her—painted in deep, layered shades of green, surrounded by abstract lilies that seem to bloom right out of the canvas.
“Thanks,” she says softly. “I thought my mom would like to have it in her room.”
I pull her tighter against me. “She’ll love it,” I promise, kissing her again. “We can take it to her when it’s dry.”
She nods and turns in my arms, looping her hands around my neck.
“What are your paintings, really?” I ask, curious.
She plays it off with a shrug. “Just… silly paintings.”
“I know they’re not,” I tell her, but she just smiles like she’s not ready to give me more, and leans in to kiss me.
Fuck, I could kiss her all day. Her soft lips, the slow sweep of her tongue—it pulls my stomach tight, and my cock’s getting harder by the second. My hands roam over her, gripping her ass and pulling her flush against me.
She breaks the kiss, lips plump, cheeks pink. She looks like sin wrapped in innocence, and it’s mine—at least right now.
She bites her lip and holds her breath, eyes darting away. I narrow mine.
“What?” I ask, suspicion edging my tone.
She hesitates, like she’s fighting herself. “C-can…” Her voice falters, then steadies. “…Can we go sit outside for a minute?”
The way she says it—quiet, careful—puts a weight in my chest. Something’s coming, and I’m not going to like it.
Still, I nod. “Yeah.” I lace my fingers through hers and lead her toward the terrace, the sinking feeling growing heavier with every step.
Outside on his private balcony, it’s warm—sunlight spilling across the wood planks, the faint scent of the ocean drifting in from somewhere beyond the city. The breeze is light enough to ruffle my hair but not enough to steal the heat from the day. Puffy clouds drift lazily overhead, moving slower than my heart is beating.
Jaxon sits back in one of the chairs, lounging like he’s got all the time in the world, while I pace the length of the balcony like a caged animal. My stomach twists tighter every time I glance his way.
He’s watching me—waiting. His knee bounces like it’s trying to burn a hole through the floor.
“Jesus, Cassidy,” he says finally, voice edged with impatience. “You’re killing me.”
“I’m sorry…” My voice cracks, my eyes dart anywhere but him. “I’m just… nervous.”
I bite down on a nail without thinking, and that’s when he starts to rise out of the chair.
“No.” I hold my hand out quickly, stopping him. “I need you sitting.”
His brow furrows. “Christ.”
I suck in a breath. This is it. Now or never. My brain is screaming at me to just spit it out, but my body’s moving before I can think it through. I grab a cushion from the empty chair beside him and set it on the floor in front of him. His eyes narrow slightly, surprise flickering there.
Then I kneel.
My hands find his thighs, fingers splayed against the firm muscle, but I keep my eyes down. If I look at him too soon, I’ll lose my nerve.
His voice drops low, dark, and smooth enough to roll down my spine. “What are we doing, Cricket?”
A shiver races through me. My thumbs trace the seams of his jeans before sliding higher. I’m still staring at my hands, but every inch of me is hyperaware of him—his heat, his size, the weight of his focus pressing into me.
