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“Of your beautifully skilled hand putting my imperfections on display? Absolutely.”
Langston stepped closer, his face just inches away from hers. “You are perfection, Lisa. Don’t ever forget that.”
Her cheeks heated up, and Lisa was lost in his gaze. He was something special, and a part of her wanted to stay with him all night.
Langston stepped away and picked up his brush, and with little effort, he swept it across the canvas, creating a masterpiece of color, emotion, and beauty.
They both settled into silence, Lisa nervously watching the man in front of the canvas as he worked his magic. He painted in a way that was electrifying, his strokes and movements so free and easy that it was almost as if he was a part of the painting himself.
An hour passed, then two, and Lisa felt her nerves and insecurities slowly fading. In their place was a sense of admiration and awe, as she knew Langston’s mind-blowing artistry would come to life on the canvas.
He angled his head, his gaze staring at her as his hand flicked and stroked, adding to the art.
“Hmmmm.” A smile cornered his mouth, and he dropped the brush to his side. “Finished.”
Langston stepped aside and allowed Lisa to see the artwork. She rushed to him, and her mouth dropped in surprise as she saw a perfect portrait of herself. It was breathtaking—the emotions and details were all there. Tears began to form in her eyes as she saw a piece of her soul on the canvas.
She turned to him. “Is this what you see when you look at me?”
Langston’s brows dipped. “It’s not only what I see. It’s you. Perfection.”
Lisa’s eyes watered as she glanced between him and the painting.
“I hope those are happy tears,mi amour.”
Laughter spilled from her, and he drew her close, wrapping her arms around her waist as they stared at the portrait together.
“Will you hang it up here or take it home with you?”
Langston gently brushed away the tears that had spilled down her cheeks. “It’s yours,” he said. “Take it home and keep it with you always.”
“I would love that.”
He turned her and kissed her forehead, down the bridge of her nose, then her lips.
His kiss was gentle yet full of passion, and she felt herself responding to his tongue’s succulent deep pulls.
“Mmmmmm.” Her body welled with heat, and her nipples hardened.
“Lisa...”
“Yes, Langston?”
“We should leave.”
“Are you sure? Why?”
“Because I might fuck you against the window, and you owe me a surprise.”
Sultry laughter filled the air as she tossed her head back. “Damn, and here I thought I’d almost gotten over on you.”
He laughed in return, and they pecked each other’s mouths before Lisa twirled. “Okay. We’ll go, but don’t forget my painting.”
He chuckled. “I got you.”
Eight
Langston
