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I don’t need to explain it to him. Without a word, he thrusts again, this time even faster than before. His movements are completely unhinged, and I know that right now it’s all about him.
I thrust back at him, matching the motion of his body, and then I feel a violent spasm taking over his cock. It pulses viciously for a second or two, and then it simply comes inside of me.
“Fuck,” he groans, drawling out the word as he stops moving, his cock buried all the way to the hilt. I stop moving as well, my eyes closed as I feel the spasms of his cock.
We remain like that, frozen in time, for what seems like an eternity – but when he finally stops coming and pulls his cock out of me, I’m almost sad that it’s over.
“Blake,” I say his name almost as if I wanted to hear the sound of my voice, eager to prove that this isn’t a dream. We sit on the touch together, my head resting on his chest, and I close my eyes as I try to catch my breath.
Softly, he rests one hand on top of my head and laces his free arm on my waist. Holding me close, he keeps me pressed against his naked body as we both enjoy the silence, our bodies still exhausted.
There’s no use denying it…I’m falling for Blake, and I’m falling hard.
I’m trying to tell myself that’s not the case, but deep down I might be lying to myself. The way I feel right now – this closeness, this security –, it all points to something deeper than just physical attraction.
Oh, it’s even silly to be talking about physical attraction now…that’s already a given. But knowing the way Blake sees me, looking through his eyes…that goes beyond the physical.
Maybe I should run.
After Dale, I can’t give my heart to anyone. Even if it’s to a man like Blake, a man that sees the real me. I just can’t do it. Sure, there’s this connection we have, but that makes this all the more dangerous. When Dale cheated on me, he left a vacant spot in my life. But if I surrender to Blake and he leaves…there’ll be a hole in my heart that no one will ever mend.
But now’s not the time to think of that.
Now I just want to…feel close to him.
Chapter 26
Blake
Nothing can dampen my mood today, not even the rain I hear belting against my windows. The wind is grabbing the shutters and rattling them, threatening them, but they don’t give in.
Storms have been raging all day.
Nothing wrong with a good storm, storms in my opinion leave the world washed and refreshed. The air has a clean smell to it and world does look washed. Except for my windows. Rain tends to leave them looking a little streaked.
I make a mental note to organize a window cleaner in the next few days, along with getting a new cleaner.
Much to my disappointment, my cleaning lady informed me yesterday that she’s leaving.
Camilla’s great. And I introduced Camilla to Katherine because I know the two will get along really well and most important of all, Katherine would not be jealous of Camilla.
It’s not that my housekeeper wasn’t attractive. She is, and probably more so back in her day. At fifty-four, she’s still a stunner, just not someone I would be getting involved with. But now, she’s leaving. She’d said something about her daughter needing her to babysit.
I put domestic thoughts aside. Camilla will still be here for another month. Maybe she’ll be able to help me get a replacement.
I stroll into my studio to look at my collection of new paintings and I smile. I like them, no, I love them. They are better than anything I have created before. Ever.
Part of me wants to call Katherine and get her to come and look at them. I really would want her to be the first person to see them, but that would go against my plan.
I’ve come up with a special way to thank her. I owe her a lot, after all. I know she would not agree and she probably does not even realize how huge a role she’s been playing in my creative genius coming back to life.
Before I make the call, I grab a pen and paper to make a list. I walk from painting to painting, jotting down possible titles, background notes and random twirls and doodles.
Sometimes I think well in pictures and not so well in words.
Words. It strikes me as almost an omen how right we are for each other. Katherine, a writer and me, an artist. We are meant to be together.
After I’ve completed my list, I gather the works of art carefully and gingerly. I handle my pictures the way a mother cradles her baby. In a way, they are my babies.
