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I giggle. “Well, I wasn’t thinking of it in those terms. But when you phrase it like that, I might even order dessert.”
“My little artist, not ordering dessert was never an option,” he says as he cuts into his steak.
“You don’t think I should, I don’t know, take it easy?”
He tilts his head at me. “Why would you do that?”
I let out an aggravated groan. “Come on, that’s just a silly question.”
He narrows his eyes. “I genuinely have no idea what you’re talking about.”
“Look at me.” I wave a hand down at my body. “I’m not exactly what you’d call swimsuit ready, am I?”
“I’d go crazy if I saw you in a swimsuit, so I still have no damn clue what you’re talking about.”
“You really have no problem with my weight?” I ask.
His jaw trembles like he’s about to flip the table in rage. He stares hard at me for a few moments.
“No, my little artist. You are the perfect weight. You’re curvy in all the right places. You drive me wild thinking about how full and round your ass is, those big plump breasts… fuck, everything about you is perfect. Your wide hips are going to make perfect handholds when I ram into you. So no, fucking no, I don’t have a problem with anything about you.”
I blink and a single tear slides down my cheek, making my skin hot, my heart pound heavily in my chest. “Thank you for saying that, Zack. Nobody’s ever said something so supportive about my weight before.”
“Then they’re fucking idiots,” he snarls. “But I can’t be too angry. It means I get to keep your perfect, curvy body for myself.”
I nod as I try to take his words on board, as I try to let them settle deep inside of me where they can beat back all the other emotions that have become my resting state in my life. But if Zack wants me – tall, handsome, rugged – then surely that means I don’t have to stress all the time about the way I look.
Surely that means I can just be, for once.
“Where do you want to take your art, Zoey?” he asks, bringing a piece of steak to his mouth.
“I’m not sure,” I murmur. “I know lots of people have these huge dreams, these specific dreams. But I never have. I do it because I love it. I’d like to make it my job if I could, you know, make a living from it.”
“You’re never going to want for anything,” Zack says firmly. “You belong to me and I’ll always take care of you. But I’ll support you in whatever you choose to do. If you want to make your own income, that’s fine by me. And more than that, the world needs to see your art. You’re honestly so talented.”
“Thank you.” My cheeks redden under the weight of his compliment.
“You said your mom painted?”
I nod. “She was the reason I started. And then after that boating accident… when the coast guard came and rescued us, me, I promised myself that I’d keep her memory alive by painting. I’ve got a whole series of pieces about her, actually. I have been toying with the idea of putting on an exhibit centered around those pieces.”
“So why haven’t you?”
“Duh, Zack. Money.”
He smirks. “Well, you don’t have to worry about that anymore. Start drawing up plans for an exhibit and we’ll set things in motion.”
“Really? You’d do that?”
“You know I’d do anything for you. And like I said, the world needs to see your art.”
I can’t stop the starry smile from spreading across my face, touching every part of me as it gets wider and wider, as it flares warmly and all I can think about is how lucky I am that Zack and I found each other.
But even if I won’t say it aloud – I know he’s tired of hearing it – worry flutters into the moment when I think about later. The D-word rears its head, whispering viciously, disappointment, disappointment, and I can’t help but quiver inside.
Chapter Eighteen
Zack
I can’t keep my hands off her as we ride the elevator back down to my apartment, my heart slamming against my chest and sending waves of desire and need rioting through me. I slide my hand down to her ass and squeeze down, luxuriating in the way she moans and shivers at my touch, her ass feeling insanely warm through the fabric of her skirt.
She gasps and turns to me, looking up at me with that just-Zoey expression, nervousness going to war with her anxiety. If she had any idea how feral she drives me when she looks at me like that, she’d never again doubt how badly I want her, doubt her appearance, doubt anything about herself.
“You excited horny virgin,” I growl. “I can feel how badly you want this. I can feel how much you ache for it.”
