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AndIcan’t wait to experience what life has in store for us.
Epilogue
Devon
Sixmonths later
Imove my fingers over the frets of my guitar, playing around with a new melody that popped into my head last night afterI’dfinished making love toShae.I’dbeen lying there in our big bed, withShaecurled up next to me, her head on my chest, while notes danced through my head.
Notwanting to disturb her, or leave the warm cocoon we were in,Ihadn’t gotten up to write them down.I’djust played the tune over and over again in my mind.Ithad made me smile.Ithad made me think of her.
NowI’msitting in her art room, in our new apartment, watching her gorgeous ass, wrapped in a cute little skirt, sway to the music spilling from my guitar strings as she paints.Thisis one of my favorite things to do whenI’mrelaxing at home.SittingwithShaewhile she creates something beautiful on a blank canvas.Shelikes it too.Sayslistening to me play soothes her and lets her creativity flow.Ormaybe she’s just saying that to make me feel better about my need to be close to her.Eitherway,I’mnot complaining.
Thepainting she’s working on at the moment is a bright, vivid piece, with swirls of color strobing through darker shadows.Shewon’t tell me what her inspiration is, but whenIlook at it, it gives me the feeling of being up on stage performing.Theheat, the bright lights, the intense energy from the crowd.Maybeshe’s basing it on one of our live performances, maybe not.Butthat’s what it makes me think of.
Myfingers have stilled on the strings and the pause in the music makesShaelook over her shoulder at me.
“Fingersgetting tired already?”Herlips curve up. “AndhereIwas thinking you had all this stamina.”
“Getthat sexy ass of yours over here andI’llshow you stamina,”Isay.Idon’t expect her to do it, since when she’s in the zone with her painting, it can be hard to drag her away.Butshe raises her brows, lays her brush down on the palette next to her and comes to me.
Iswear,I’llnever get used to that expression on her face when she looks at me.Love, desire, joy—it’s fucking everything.
Shestops in front of me, takes my guitar from my hands, and places it carefully on the ground next to me.Thenshe climbs onto my lap, straddling me like she did all those months ago.Onthe night whenI’dfirst given into the draw between us.
Iput my hands on her thighs the wayIdid then, and my dick jumps to attention when she gives a subtle little roll of her hips.
“You’reasking for trouble now,”Igrowl, and she laughs, bending down to press her lips to mine.Thekiss starts out sweet, but it never lasts that way.Notwith us.Assoon as the taste of her sinks into me,Ialways go a little crazy.Maybeit’s becauseIspent all those years pushing aside my feelings for her, that nowIhave no resistance.Idon’t know, and honestly,Idon’t care.
We’reall hands and mouths asIstrip off her tank top and she tugs myT-shirt up and over my head.ThenI’mfumbling with the button of my jeans and she’s giggling against my lips asItry to lift my hips and push the denim over them while trying to keep her on top of me.
Shestops laughing whenIpull her panties to the side though.Herlips part, eyes going slightly hazy asItouch her, getting her ready for me.Itdoesn’t take long beforeI’minside her, claiming her, making her mine all over again.
I’dlike to sayIdisprove her about the stamina thing, but that would be a lie.Still,Imake sure she’s shuddering around me beforeIlet myself go.I’llmake it up to her tonight.
Withone arm wrapped around her waist and the other around her hips,Istand, holding her against me, then turn to place her gently down in the chair. “Waitthere a second.”
Asshe sits there looking up at me with that soft smile she looks beautifully tousled and freshly fucked and ifIwas any kind of artist, that’s the only pictureIwould ever want to paint.
Igo to the bathroom attached to this room and grab a towel to clean her up.Notsure she’ll want to go back to painting with everythingIjust gave her leaking out of her.Althoughthe primal part of me that always seems to come out around her doesn’t have a problem with that thought at all.
“Whatare you smiling about,” she asks, asIkneel in front of her.
“Youdon’t want to know.”Ilook up and smirk at the quizzical expression on her face, which quickly turns suspicious.Laughing,Ifinish cleaning her up, then tug her panties back over her, pressing a kiss to the lace that’s now covering her.
“HowamIsupposed to keep painting after that?” she fake moans, holding out her hand for me to pull her upright.
Assoon as she is,Iwrap my arms around her and kiss her again. “Ifyou’ve lost your motivation for the day,Ican think of some other options for passing the time.”
Shepushes against my chest. “Asmuch asI’dlike to explore those optionsIneed to get this painting done ifIwant to hand it in early for assessment.There’sno wayI’mgoing to miss watching you guys playCoachella.”
Ireluctantly let her go. “Whoseidea was it for you to go art school again?”Igrumble.
Butshe just laughs at me, pats me on the chest and walks back over to her easel.Sheknows how proudIam of her for making the decision to apply to school.Shegot accepted into all three that she put in for but decided to go toCalArts.It’snot cheap, well, not for most people.Iwanted to pay for her, but surprise, surprise, she wanted to pay her own way.Inthe end, we compromised.Shestill looks after my email and schedule, keeps me organized and on track, andIpay for her schooling.Imay have strong-armed her a little on that, butIwould give any amount of money to have her here with me and going to the school she wants to go to.Italso meansIdon’t have to share her time with another employer, and she can travel to see us play whenI’mout of town and she doesn’t have classes.Callme selfish, but that’s worth way more than the cost of her tuition.
SinceI’mnot playing my guitar anymore,Shaestarts humming to herself, dancing to her own music as her brush sweeps over the canvas.Andit’s then, for no particular reason thatIcan put my finger on, thatIknowIneed to do it.Now.Rightthis minute.
I’mnot sure where this sense of urgency is coming from, butIdon’t question it.Leavingthe room,Ihead straight to our bedroom and rummage around in my bedside drawer.Myheart starts drumming in my chest the minute my fingers close around the robin’s-egg-blue box.TheoneI’dcome home fromNewYorkwith just over a month ago after me and the other guys had made a whirlwind visit to film segments for a couple of late-night shows.
