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I wrapped my arm around his waist. “You had to see it first, but Jillian weaseled her way in.”
He gave a light chuckle, bending down to kiss the top of my head while my family, and Elliot’s band, came over to look at the painting. It was weird. This felt different than when I was standing at the gallery next to my piece there. This felt more real, more intimate, more . . . alive. The gallery was an amazing experience, but nothing would amount to how I was feeling at this moment—appreciated and seen for what I could do with a paint brush, but most of all, loved.
A few hours later, well after the sun had gone down, Elliot drove the guys back to their hotel and I made my way to the cabin, alone. I knew Elliot would be back faster than it felt, but I wished he was holding my hand as I opened the door, and gently set his painting up against the wall. I placed it so he would see it first thing when he got back.
Leaving the entry light on, I made my way upstairs and got ready for bed, falling into the covers and sinking in, not realizing how tired I was until my head hit the pillow. I could fall asleep in seconds if my mind wasn’t going a million miles an hour. I kept replaying every kiss Elliot had given me. That very first one on my front porch, where his hands and lips were stiff until he finally sank into it all the way up to tonight—surrounded by everyone, but by far the most intimate kiss we’ve shared. When he whispered, “I love it,” I half expected him to say “I love you.”And I would have said it back.
I heard the door open and softly shut. A soft chuckle and the sound of shoes being dropped, then there was the groan of thefloorboard and the creek in each step. Elliot’s silhouette came into view, his arms moving to remove his jacket before he crawled onto the bed. He kissed my shoulder and my neck, my temple, and, finally, my lips. I rolled my shoulders, my fingers finding the hem of his shirt with ease.
“The guys love you,” he whispered, a shake in his voice as my fingers touched his skin.
“Oh yeah?” I kissed his lips.
“Bennett told me I needed to keep you around.”
“Oh really?” I laughed. His lips moved against my collar bone, the warmth of them bringing chills up my spine.
I pulled on his shirt, forcing him to sit up so I could pull it over his head, my fingers instantly finding his abs. He was defined, perfect to touch and feel—to kiss. I sat up, wrapping my arms around his waist as I kissed my way up to his lips. He let out a long sigh before I kissed his lips again wanting every inch of him to be mine.
“Tell me what you want, Jamie,” he said, his voice husky and full of need. He shifted his weight on the bed so he was sitting next to me, his hand moving quickly to remove my pajamas, his lips instantly finding my scar and his hands finding my breasts.
I shuddered under his touch, melting into him.
“Elliot . . .” I let out a soft moan, trying to find the exact words to tell him what I wanted from him. I hadn’t ever asked for it before because I was nervous. Honestly, a part of me was scared, but I knew with Elliot . . . with Elliot it was what I wanted—more than anything.
“I can kiss you here,” he whispered as he kissed my collar bone, gently using his palm to push me down on the mattress. “Or here.” I could feel his smile against my hips as his kisses trailed further and further down my body. “Or here . . . this spot made you jump last time.” He kissed my hips, making me laugh and twitch again. “Tell me, Jamie . . . tell me what you want, and I’ll give it to you.”
I sighed. “Elliot, I . . .”
“Tell me, Jamie. I’m yours in whatever way . . .”
“Elliot,” I said, with a bit more force than intended, but it got him to stop kissing my stomach, and look up at me. I met his eyes as my fingers ran through his hair. I swallowed and finally said aloud, “I want you to make love to me.”
Elliot’s breath stopped as his entire demeanor changed. He gave my scar one final kiss before hovering over me on the bed, his elbows hoisting him up as his fingers found my hair. The air in the room shifted when he kissed me, the same kiss as earlier filled with passion, heat, love. And then, when he took over, we blended in a way we hadn’t before, and I knew . . . I knew, I was madly in love with Elliot Whittaker.
Chapter Thirty-Seven
-Elliot-
Iwoke up the next morning to an empty bed, something I didn’t expect after last night. The way Jamie asked me to make love to her, and then, after she allowed me to do just that . . . I figured I would wake up with her next to me, my arm draped around her, holding her close to me. I pinched my brow when I saw the indented pillow and messy sheets. I sat up and looked around the room, our clothes were still a mess on the floor, even her robe was still on the armchair.
I climbed out of bed, grabbing my sweats to pull on. Rubbing the back of my neck I made my way downstairs, hoping to find Jamie on the couch with a book and coffee mug. Instead I found her in the kitchen. She swayed as she danced to the soft music.Mymusic. She was dancing in the kitchen to my band’s music wearing nothing butmyt-shirt.
The fact that she didn’t turn as I approached told me she was completely into the song as she emptied the coffee grounds. She didn’t hear me coming. I slipped my arms around her waist, causing her to jump slightly and giggle before she leaned her head back against me. I bent down and kissed her neck.
“Did I wake you?” she asked.
“No, you look good in my t-shirt.” I kissed her neck again, only lifting my head to move her hair from her skin.
“I’m pretty sure that’s a song.”
“No, it’s not.”Kiss, kiss.
“Pretty sure it is.” She giggled again. She ran her hands along my arms, bringing herself closer to me—if that was even possible.
“No, I would know. I’m a singer. I know every song on the face of the earth, and I’m one hundred and eighty-nine percent sure that it’s not a song.”
She twisted her body to face me, kissing me fiercely. “Pretty sure it’s a song. Pretty sure it’s by Thomas Rhett. Pretty sure I’ve heard your band cover it before. And I’m pretty sure it plays at my office . . .”
