She watches me for a few long beats, and I think I’ve ruined the moment—that I’ve broken whatever spell she was under. But soon, she turns back to the canvas, her brush beginning to move again. Slower, but no less deliberate.
I settle into the lounge chairs and just…watch.
I lose track of time, caught in the rhythm of her process. She finally steps back from the canvas and cocks her head, taking in her creation.
“I haven’t painted in eighteen months,” she says, and I’m not sure if it’s a statement or an apology.
“Why now?”
Her lips curve, thoughtful. “I’m not sure.” She drifts closer, closing the space between us. Her oversized shirt swallows whatever she’s wearing beneath it, leaving only the sleek lines of her thighs on display. Before I can process it, she’s climbing onto the lounger, straddling me. My hands find her hips like they are magnets.
“I think I remembered what it feels like to want something just because I want it, not because I’m supposed to.”
She reaches a paint-stained hand out to cup my cheek. Our eyes lock. A beat passes. Then she’s kissing me—slow, deliberate, just like her brushstrokes. My fingers dig into her waist, pulling her down onto my lap. She lets out a little sigh when she makes contact with my erection, which I think has been there since I stepped onto this roof forty-five minutes ago or maybe since I woke with her in my arms that first night.
She smells a little like paint but mostly like lemon cookies, and I want to suck on her neck to see if she tastes that way too. However, I can’t stop kissing her. We didn’t kiss that night in Cal’s bed, and now I regret not knowing for the past three days how perfect her mouth is.
She finally breaks the kiss. Seeing how swollen and flushed her lips are makes a spot behind my ribs ache. But I reach out and thumb the open collar of her shirt instead.
“Is this Mr. Artsy McDouchebag’s shirt?” I smirk, but I want to punch her ex in the face.
“No,” she chuckles, “it’s my dad’s. I’ve used it for years.”
I nudge her back with a grin. “Way to kill the mood—kind of hard to make out with you in the shirt of the guy who taught me how to shave.”
“We can take care of that,” she says, undoing the button and revealing she’s not wearing much under that shirt. A lacy bra that barely contains her breasts and the tiniest pair of denim cut-offs that can still count as shorts.
“Fuck,” I mutter as she lets the shirt drop off her shoulders, and I pull her back to me. I plunge my tongue into her mouth and palm her breasts, unable to keep my hands off them. Her hands roam the contours of my chest and down my abs until she finds the button of my jeans. “Should we go downstairs?” I murmur against her mouth.
She shakes her head. “No. Here is fine.” And my insides drop.
She drags her mouth away from mine and pops the button on my jeans. My erection strains against the fabric of my briefs, and her smile turns devilish as she hooks the elastic with her paint-flecked fingers. My cock springs free like a fucking jack-in-the-box, and an ego-boosting “oh” escapes her lips.
She wraps her delicate fingers around my length, giving me a few firm tugs before shimmying down my body, and my entire life flashes before my eyes.
She looks up at me through her thick lashes and locks eyes with mine before her tongue darts out to lick the drop of pre-cum leaking out of the tip.
“Fuck,” I moan, but I can’t tear my eyes away from Sophie’s mouth. I watch in complete awe as she swirls her tongue over the head like a fucking ice cream cone. Then she licks down the side and drags her tongue flat from the base to the tip. Swirling at the top again before adding her hand, wrapping tightly around my base, and squeezing with the exact perfect amount of pressure.
I swear again as I thread my hand into her hair and fist my grip at the base of her skull. This time, the moan escapesherlips, and she sinks onto me, taking me into her wet, hot mouth.
“Soph,” I grit, arching into her mouth, my grip tightening in her hair, but she is in control. Of the pace, of the pressure, of every sensation as she glides up and down over my shaft. I’m not going to last. “Honey,” I warn, as my stomach muscles clench. But she just moans, her lips vibrating against the sensitive underside. I try to guide her gently back by the hair, but she picks up her pace, bobbing her head with the most delightful slurping sound. “I’m going to…”
“Yes, do it,” she commands before taking me impossibly deep, and I explode against the back of her throat. My body convulses, my hips buck involuntarily, and she takes it all, swallowing me down. Not breaking her pace, her hands massage and squeeze while her perfect mouth takes every last drop.
She looks up at me, her eyes glistening with tears and a wicked smile. I glance over her shoulder at her painting, the fading sun, the golden light catching in her hair. She wipes the corner of her mouth in a way that is somehow both crude and incredibly sexy before climbing up my body to kiss me, deep and intentional.
Something in my chest shifts, and I realize I’m in deep shit.
This was supposed to be simple.
Chapter 14
Sophie
We tumble back into the apartment, all laughter and hands everywhere. I would have stayed on the roof, but Liam couldn’t stand the idea of anyone else seeing me naked when I tried to shimmy out of my shorts on his lap.
“Besides, I’m thirty-one, Soph,” he’d said, still breathless after coming down from his orgasm. “Give an old man a refractory period.”
