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Don’t go there,some self-preserving part of me says.Keep this focused on sex.
I duck my head and dust kisses along his collarbone. “What if I told you I’m clean and on birth control?”
His breath stills. “I’d say I’m clean too.” He tips my chin up with his finger, forcing me to look him in the eye. “But are you sure you’re comfortable with that?”
“I trust you,” I say. That’s the root of everything, I realize. I trust Gage enough to fake an engagement with him. I trust that even though he can be a demanding asshole at work, he’ll never cross a line we can’t come back from.
I trust him to give me possibly the best sex of my life. And I trust him to keep treating me the same after we sleep together.
Gage nods. “Okay, then,” he says, his voice soft and seductive. He kisses me, and then we’re falling together, our hands memorizing each other. And then he’s rolling us until I’m beneath him, stretched out on the carpet like some kind of luxurious offering. The firelight dances across Gage’s face as he slides into me, and I gasp.
For a second we just stare at each other.
And then we start moving, finding our rhythm together.
His hands find mine, pinning them to the ground beside my head. I can feel his fingers in between mine as I feel his cock thick and hard inside me. The pleasure builds and builds. Then he shifts the angle, and I’m making sounds I’ve never made before as I come long and hard and good, saying his name over and over again.
Itdoessomething to Gage. His thrusts turn wilder, until he tucks his head into my neck, stiffens, and comes in one glorious shudder.
For a long while afterward, we just lie there and hold each other in the flickering firelight. Like we both need time to come back to earth.
* * *
“Why a community art center?”Gage asks.
The power is still out. We’re sprawled in front of the fire, partially dressed, and snacking on all the fancy cheese I found in Gage’s fridge. I’m wearing Gage’s dress shirt, and he’s wearing a pair of sweatpants that dogreatthings for his body. Between the two of us, we’d make one fully dressed person.
“What?” I ask, distracted by his abs.
“You said you wanted to use your fake engagement money to open a community art center. Why not invest in yourself, instead?” He nods to my painting on the walls. “You’re good enough. Why not take the world by storm?”
I smile. That’s such a Gage way of putting it. He saysWhy not take the world by storm?The same way someone else might say,Why not take a vacation?
He’s that fucking confident in his own abilities. I don’t think he knows how sexy that is.
And now he’s casually extending his confidence to include me under his umbrella.
“Maybe. But I’m not interested in having painting be my full-time job,” I say. “If I did that, I’d have to paint every day, whether or not I felt like it. I’d have to follow the market, at least to some extent, and paint things that customers want.”
He takes a swig of his beer. “Don’t you paint every day if you’re teaching art classes?”
“It’s not the same,” I say. “In class, I demonstrate skills or how to do a particular assignment, but I don’t have to sit down and crank out original paintings on demand. Besides, there’s something special about teaching.”
He tilts his head, studying me intently. Like he’s trying to understand me. “You don’t get bored? Teaching the same things over and over?”
“Nope.” I cut a slice of fancy cheese and pop it in my mouth. “Oh my God. This is really,reallygood. Where do you buy this?” I ask, thinking I could make more of an effort with the grocery shopping if it leads to things that taste like this.
“France,” Gage says.
Or not.
“What if you have, like, a really bad art student?” Gage teases. “Someone who absolutely can’t be taught?”
“I can teach anyone,” I say. “More importantly, I can teach them tolikemaking art.”
Gage tries not to look skeptical and completely fails.
I stand up and head down the hall to the closet where I’ve got my art supplies stored.
