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He guided her through the lobby and toward the museum halls. “What if I told you I rented out the museum for the afternoon? It’s ours.”
“What?” Her eyes lit with amazement. He loved all the shades of green when she was happy.
“Just for you. You can take your time and look at every single painting with no one looking over your shoulder. No one rushing you on to the next work. It’s all yours.”
“This is too much. You didn’t have to do that, Tyler.”
He nodded at the guard who unlocked the exhibit for them.
“I know I didn’t. But I wanted to.”
“It’s extravagant. I’m fine looking at the paintings like everyone else. It’s what I’m used to.” She hesitated at the entrance.
“Brooke, enjoy it. This is our day together. Don’t worry about the money. It’s not like I robbed the museum.” He winked.
She giggled involuntarily. “Ok. Fine. I’ll enjoy all the priceless works of art if you insist.”
“I do.”
The guard nodded, leaving them alone inside the recesses of the museum. Tyler wound his fingers through Brooke’s and led her through the first row of paintings. They examined each one, discussing the lines and the colors. Brooke told him what she liked and what she would have used instead, or remarked on how she wished she had come up with a particular color combination.
They strolled, taking in each canvas. Walking through the hushed halls.
Brooke sat in front of one of the ballerina paintings.
“I think this is my favorite,” she whispered. “She’s sad, but I see the control and strength she has.”
Tyler sat next to her. He inhaled the shampoo from her hair as he brushed the strands away from her shoulder. He planted a kiss on her neck.
“I don’t think she looks sad,” he commented. “I think she looks serious.”
Brooke shook her head. “No, she’s sad. Trapped almost.”
He tilted her chin toward him, grazing his lips against her mouth. She tasted like the sweetest honey, especially when he was between her legs.
“Do you still feel trapped?” he asked.
“No,” she whispered. “You freed me.”
He pressed his lips harder to hers, threading his tongue along hers. Twisting and licking. Sucking at her lips.
“You freed yourself, Brooke.”
He moved around to the front of the bench, kneeling between her legs.
“What are you doing?” she whispered.
“Going to make you come in front of this painting. You did say it’s your favorite.” He lowered her to the bench.
“But there are cameras everywhere,” she protested, pointing to the corners of the room.
“I don’t give a fuck.”
He quickly peeled the jeans off her legs.
He ran a palm over the center of her heat, groaning when he felt the wet silkiness of her panties. He tucked a finger under the edge and massaged, nudging her clit until it was hard and peaked.
“Oh, Tyler.” She ran her fingers through his hair.
