The Real Deal

He rolls his eyes. “Seriously.”

“Fine,” I say, like it costs me something. “I wanted to get you naked under the stars. It was all a plot.”

He tickles my waist, and I squirm. “You can’t be serious, can you?”

“It’s difficult for me, admittedly.” I adopt a stern expression. “But I am quite serious. I did want to get you naked. And you denied me. You wouldn’t let me touch you.”

“We’ve been over this,” he says in a deliberately serious tone, like he’s a professor admonishing me.

“You’re so practical,” I say with a mock sigh; then I run a hand through his soft hair. JBF hair. “I took you on the lake because I like you, and because I wanted to be kissed by you under the stars.”

His eyes float closed. “You say those things.…”

My heart skip a beat. “And…?”

He opens his eyes. “And it does something to me.”

Tingles spread into every single molecule in my body. I float. “What are we doing?”

“I don’t know.”

I face him and run my nails over his ink. “I want you to find your constant.”

He shudders, and runs a finger over my bottom lip. “I want you to be kissed under the stars.”

“I want to paint Starry Night on you for real,” I say, nerves threading my voice as I lay bare these confessions. They aren’t just sexual. They speak of so much more. “Then I want you to kiss me all night long till the paint bleeds onto me. Onto my chest. All over my body.”

His eyes blaze, and he stares at me like he wants to devour me. “That’s what I mean. You say these things, April,” he says, and drags a hand roughly through his hair.

“What’s wrong with saying that?”

He breathes out hard. “It’s the sexiest thing anyone’s ever said to me.”

I brush my hand down his arm. “We’d be covered in midnight blue and bright gold.”

“I want to be covered in paint with you,” he murmurs as he threads his hands in my hair.

I drag my nails over his abdomen, dancing them along the waistband of his pants. “I want you to whisper sweet dirty things to me. And then do them.”

“Like kiss you everywhere?” he says, and I tremble, whispering yes. He slides a hand between my legs, pressing a palm against me through the cotton of my shorts. “Lick you,” he murmurs. “Kiss and suck and consume until you’re all over my face.”

“Oh God,” I gasp.

“Let me. Let me now,” he says, and it’s a dirty, dangerous plea.

I find the will to push his hand away. “If you did that to me, I wouldn’t be able to be quiet. I’d scream in pleasure. They’ll all hear.”

He smiles so damn wide and proud.

“Besides, it’s my turn to touch you.” My hand darts out to cover his erection. I press a palm against him, thrilling at how hard he is, how thick he is. He groans so sexily, I think I might come again just from the sound he makes. “I’ve been checking out your package since I met you.” I run my hand over his hard length.

“I know,” he says, thrusting into me.

“It’s that obvious?”

“Yes,” he says with a rasp. “Your eyes drift down constantly.”

I laugh. “I’ve been busted for looking.”

“I won’t bust you for touching.”

“Can I? Touch you?”

“God, please.”

He sounds so needy, and so desperate, and I’m dying to do everything with him. But I don’t want to sleep with him here. I don’t care if everyone is slumbering. I want to be alone, truly alone, when that happens.

I mean if it happens.

I slide my hand down the elastic waistband of his pants, inside his boxer briefs, and I touch him.

I shiver. He shudders.

His lips part, and he moans, and words tumble free from his lips as I stroke him.

Oh God.

Fuck.

Feels so good.

More. Keep doing it.

He makes the sexiest sounds, and I nearly melt. He feels amazing. The skin is so soft, and he’s so hard. He’s pulsing. I stroke and touch, and he thrusts into my hand. His eyes squeeze closed.

“Can you do it faster? Just a little faster,” he says, and the desperation in his voice slinks through me, settling between my legs like a heavy ache.

I speed up, tightening and shuttling my palm faster. My hands are still slick from the lotion. I think it helps. I think it’s all he needs.

“I’m going to come embarrassingly quickly,” he whispers on a broken pant.

I smile like a happy fool. “I want to watch you fall apart.”

He groans, and wraps one hand around my skull, wincing as he rocks into my hand. His breath comes quick, his speech is choppy. “It’s perfect. Keep doing that.”

I’ve no desire to stop. I want him to fall to pieces. I want to watch him when he comes. Soon he groans as quietly as I suspect he can, and my name chases it. It sounds filthy the way he says it.

April. Coming.

And then he’s on my hand, thick and hot, and his breath is in my ear, and his mouth is on my neck. He utters a string of appreciative curse words. His body jerks. His moans don’t stop. His lips spread into a naughty grin. He looks so damn satisfied, and I gloat inside.

He whispers, “You’re getting to be addictive.”

I want him addicted. I want him mine.

I slip out of bed, wash my hands, and return to him, sliding under the cool covers.

A ping zips through the air, startling me. “What was that?”

I turn toward the sound. It comes again, a plink against the windowpane. Theo laughs softly. “Sounds like a squirrel is chucking acorns at the window.”

“Maybe he’s trying to get our attention.”

“Remember that time I threw acorns at the window to get your attention?” he says, tugging me closer, draping an arm around my waist.

“Yes. We had a fight. You wanted to climb through the window and make up with me.”

He presses a kiss on the back of my neck, making me shiver. “I don’t like going to bed angry,” he says in a whisper; then his lips roam across my skin, and the conversation ceases. We don’t talk about what any of this means. I’m not sure I even want to know. In fact, we don’t talk at all. Instead, he spoons me, and I assume this is when we snuggle and doze off. But he runs his hand over my belly. He travels down my skin, slides his fingers between my legs, and finds how much he turned me on.

“So wet and soft and slick.”

I arch against him as his fingers glide over me.

His sounds fill my ear. His moans, his breath, his desire for me. “I can’t stop touching you, April.”

“Don’t stop.”

My breath hitches as he slides his fingers over me. He takes his time, whispering sweet, dirty words as he promised, using his voice. No characters. No pretend. Only Theo.

Love touching you.

You’re so close, aren’t you?

Want you to come again.

I do as he asks, and it’s like an explosion.

A quiet, gorgeous, blissful explosion that I think I could become addicted to as well.

Or maybe I already am, and that’s why I don’t want the family reunion to end. This slice of time with him is like a vacation, but the end is speeding toward us, and time feels like it’s moving even faster.

I want to delay the end of these days here. I want to experience every moment with him before I return to regular life in New York, lugging my paints, waiting and hoping for the big gig.

Now I want so much more than that. That’s the trouble with feeling this way for another person. His happiness matters to me.

For now, though, I want him to have the time of his life while he’s here.

The only question is—how can I make that happen?





Chapter Thirty-one

Theo

The fourth day

As April tends to a few work calls, I head downstairs to see if I can help her family with any prep. I find her father in the kitchen, fighting with a blender as morning sun streams through the large window. He’s mixing up yogurt and fruit, and the damn machine is rattling way too fast for the job.

“Try the frappé setting,” I say.

“That silly one?”

I nod. “It works.”

He switches from blend to frappé, then eyes the glass container. It’s mixing smoothly now. “Thanks. Are you a blender expert?”