He laughs in disbelief, wrapping a handful of my hair around his fist, forcing me to look up at the mess I’ve already made of the paper. Tears prick my eyes, every sense on high alert. His hands on my waist are red hot, branding his fingerprints into my skin, and suddenly I’m delirious with need, a frantic longing to behisagain. The wordpleaseslips through my lips like a chant.
“Ophelia, baby. You’ve got yourself all worked up.”
One morepleaseslips past my lips, and then he slams his hips forward, one hand on my waist, one on my shoulder to stop me flying into the easel in front of us.
He’s everything,everywhere. The eye of the storm, the calm in the chaos. The pleasure in a lifetime of pain. Neither of us is quiet. I cry out his name, he whispers a brokenthank you, like he’s been drowning for weeks, and he’s just been given a lifeline.
And for the first time since the beginning of the year, I can see land after so long at sea.
Chapter 14
ALEX
If Ophelia wasn’t so worried about Clementine walking in, I’d have kept her in that hall all night.
“One down, eleven letters, first letterM,” I straighten her up to place a kiss between her shoulder blades. She smells like coffee and fireplaces and something so uniquelyher. “An outstanding piece of art, our finest creation.”
“A masterpiece,” she breathes, on a laugh. The paper in front of us is damning evidence of our transgressions, littered with orange and brown handprints, smudges,claw marksfrom Ophelia’s delicate fingers.
It’s priceless.
I divert my eyes from it before I bend her over all over again. I turn her to face me, tucking a wayward copper wave behind her ear. Her freckles are lost in her flush, whisky-brown eyes wide and watery when she breaks the tranquil silence. “I love you.”
“I love you, too.”
I gather all seven drawings, treating the final one with extra care while she quietly dresses behind me. The silence isn’t awkward; it isn’t full of unspoken words and stifling tension like that day in my car. It’s contented and comfortable, like we’re right where we should be.
When I turn, Ophelia is in some sort of long, strappy sundress, green and floral and paired with thick tights and boots. The straps are thin, neckline low. I rub a hand over my mouth, trying to think of something to say that isn’t wholly inappropriate for such a sweet moment. “That’s a new dress.”
My voice sounds strained, cracking on the final word like I’m fourteen years old. She notices, of course, laughing at me like I’m an idiot. Iaman idiot. “It was two pounds from the charity shop.”
She bends to tie her laces, stretching the thin cotton that covers her ass. I almost lose my mind. “It looks good.Youlook good.”
A little smile creeps onto her face, and she swishes it at me, doing half a twirl like she might be starting to see herself the way I see her. Her confidence is recovering, small but steady. It makes my mood buoyant. “Colette picked it out for me.”
I’m going to have to start paying that woman a commission.
She pulls her phone from her pocket and reads a text. “Eike took Colette back to the hotel.”
“Do you want me to drop you off there?” I offer, even though I’ll probably put one of these pastels in my eye if she says yes.
Lucky for my retinas, she shakes her head with a soft smile. “Shall we get dinner? I’m fifteen minutes from hangry.”
Shit.Ophelia when hangry is a force to be reckoned with. “Better go get pasta before you start punching members of the public, then.”
“It’s when the car smashing starts that you really need to worry.”
I tame my hair and smooth out my shirt, trying to retain just a modicum of discretion for Ophelia’s sake, even though there’s no universe in which Clementine didn’t hear her not-very-politely asking me to fuck her faster about five minutes ago.
But Ophelia seems convinced we can maintain our innocent facade, so when I tug open the door and find our brightly dressed host in the hallway, seemingly battling it out with my girlfriend for who can blush the hardest, I fight to keep the ridiculous grin off my face.
Tucking the drawings under my arm, I give her my most charming smile—the press conference smile—and toss a forty-pound tip on the side table in the hallway. “Fantastic event, Clementine. Thankssomuch.”And sorry for fucking the model.
“You guys have a good sleep … sleep together … night together … have a good night,” she chokes out, all hot and flustered. Ophelia manages a mangledthanks very much, and I think my lip might actually be bleeding from my pathetic attempt to bite back my smile.
God, I’ve missed her.
THE FIRST THREErestaurants I stopped at were full, and the fourth offered me a table in return for a social media post about how good the food is. Then Ophelia’s mood slipped from ebullient into hangry. She was annoyed at the rain, annoyed at her bra straps, annoyed at the traffic.
