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He leans around the corner and grabs the cans of paint, rollers, roller pans, a giant plastic cup thing with a handle and paintbrushes. He pauses after he crouches down to open one of the cans.
"Have you ever painted before?"
My hand flies to my chest, and my mouth drops.
"I'm offended. Of course, I haven't."
He shakes his head.
"I'm kidding. I helped my mom repaint her whole house after her midlife crisis," I tell him.
"Okay, then, do you want to edge or roll?"
"Edge please."
He hands me the small paintbrush, pops the top off of one of the cans. He pours some into the roller pan then into the cup and hands it to me.
"There is a hole in the handle, you can put your brush there when you need to take a break."
"That's handy."
I walk over to start in one corner. I work my way around the bottom of the room then Troy brings me the ladder so I can do the top. He's right behind me with the roller and we get the walls done in no time.
"It's really pretty."
The walls are a light purple/pink almost like a lilac.
"Yeah. The dark cabinets will look good against it,” he says.
"I agree."
We stand there for a few more seconds admiring our handy work. I wrap one arm around my waist and steady my elbow on my fist letting my hand fall to the side forgetting that I am holding a very wet paintbrush.
"Oh gosh. I am so sorry," I tell Troy as he runs his fingertips over the wet paint on his cheek. He shakes his head, and I start backing away.
"Woman." His voice is low and growly.
"I said sorry." I put my hands up in surrender and quickly drop them, hiding the paintbrush behind my back.
Troy leans down and dips the tip of his finger in the can of paint.
"What are you doing?" I ask him.
He starts walking towards me. I laugh as I try to back away but stop when my back hits the wall.
"Shit," I say.
"Looks like you just made an even bigger mess."
He stops a foot away from me then smears the paint across my forehead. Then his hands land on the wall caging me in.
"It's a good color on you," he says.
I pull in a ragged breath while lightly biting my bottom lip.
My eyes look to his hands then back to him. His smile becomes wicked, right before his hands press onto either side of my face. He steps closer to me; the air mingles in the inch between our lips. We stare into each other’s eyes for a few seconds before I nod my head once. His lips crash onto mine, and my paint covered hands weave into his hair. He pushes his body against mine, and I can feel the wet paint seeping through my shirt.
He runs his hands along the sides of my breast to the bottom of my tank top. He lifts it over my head before doing the same with his. He backs us away from the wall and drops to his knees. He pulls my leggings down while placing small kisses down my thighs. I step out of them then he moves us back to the wall. The paint is cold against my shoulders and bum.
