She laughed as he bent his knees to study her lips. “How’d you get my eyes to look so accurate and you couldn’t remember my mouth?”
“It’s not that I can’t remember it, Ladybug. I just…” He groaned in his throat. “When I look at your mouth, I want it on me. I’m not thinking about the gentle swell of your upper lip.” His gray eyes twinkled, looking momentarily blue. “Disappointed you didn’t hook up with a poet?
“No,” she answered, trying not to smile. “Poets are too tortured. Artists are much more well-adjusted.”
“Ah, and I hooked up with a wiseass.”
He gripped her chin and tilted her head, still studying her mouth. It unnerved her, in a breathless, anticipatory kind of way.
“You think maybe we could, I don’t know, balance each other out?”
His gaze finally met hers with an intensity that shook her to the soles of her feet. She swallowed the knot in her throat. “Do we have a choice?”
“I don’t.” He released her chin and picked up a clean paintbrush. She watched as he mixed together red and beige on a wooden palette, so much concentration going into the task it felt necessary to remain silent. When he spoke again, his deep, husky tone breaking through the quiet of the bedroom actually startled her. “The first time we met, I thought you were wearing lipstick. But when I kissed you, it stayed on. No type of lipstick could have stayed on through that kiss.” He sucked his bottom lip through his teeth. “They’re pink, your lips. I’ve never seen that shade before, like maybe you just got finished sucking on some candy. Fuck, is that why they make me hot? I can’t look at them without thinking of sucking?”
“I don’t know.” The words came out in a whoosh. She leaned back against the wall to the right of the painting, afraid whatever he said next might finally topple her. “I’m more of a savory girl.
Like, you know, egg sandwiches…” Oh, please, please shut up now.
He dabbed the paintbrush into the paint, amusement tipping the edges of his sensual mouth. “Are you actually flustered, Ladybug? After I’ve made you come in a stairwell, a photo booth, an alleyway—”
“Point made. Just paint my mouth.”
She watched his hand move, leaving a rosy shade of paint on the wall. Every few seconds, his gaze would flash to her mouth and each time felt like a bolt of lightning to her overwhelmed system.
She found herself wanting him to look at her mouth, felt it parting of its own accord, her tongue slipping out to dampen her lips. A pulse beat at the base of her neck and the sound multiplied itself in her ears.
Finally, Bowen stopped looking away, obviously sensing the change in her.
“Can you try not to look so goddamn fuckable for a second while I finish this?
It’s important to me, Sera.”
The frustration in his tone cut through her haze of lust. “Why is it so important?”
With a curse, he dropped the palette and paintbrush, before planting his fists on either side of her head. He brought his face close enough to kiss her, then stopped. “I need something to prove you were here, all right? Are you happy?”
“No.”
His
flinch
sent
her
backtracking. “Being here with you makes me happy, Bowen. But I’m not happy you’re so worried about me leaving.”
He scoffed. “How can I be anything else when you won’t talk to me? When you want to play this no-talking game?”
His head dropped onto her shoulder.
“You’re here and I’m so fucking grateful for that, but I don’t know why or what led to it. If I don’t know those things, how can I make sure I keep doing them?
You’re making me crazy, Sera.”
“I’m sorry. I don’t mean to,” she whispered, shaken by his passionate speech. The events of the night were right on the tip of her tongue. She’d been played, used, by her only remaining family. Her brother, the sibling she’d always looked up to, had been flawed in a way she’d never imagined. Nothing felt concrete except Bowen against her, and she wanted to lose herself in him.
Forget everything, just for one night.
Tomorrow, she’d find a way to trust again and tell him everything, but right now? Her insides felt raw.
She ducked under his arm and picked up the wet paintbrush, making sure enough rose-colored paint coated the end. Then she turned toward the wall and wrote, in giant letters, SERA WAS HERE.
She started to set the brush back down, but changed her mind. Beneath it she continued with, BECAUSE OF BOWEN.
It wouldn’t be enough for him, but she simply didn’t have the words to give him tonight. His eyes were on her and she could feel them boring into her back.
When she couldn’t stand his silence anymore, she turned to face him.
Just in time to be dragged to the floor.
Her gasp of shock was swallowed by his mouth, but it turned into a moan when he settled himself fully on top of her.