“Don’t tell me you did all this.” I look around, wide-eyed. Marlon has good taste, he always wears nice clothes, but this is something else. This isn’t something a twenty-one year-old could do. Right?
“What, you don’t believe in me?” He shoves me as we make our way into the kitchen. More white furniture, matte black appliances, open space. Then he snorts before I can make a snarky observation. “Of course I didn’t do this. None of it.” He leans against the spacious kitchen island, giving me a perfect view of his muscular body. Fuck, and he’s so beautiful. I could stay here and stare at the way his shoulders look in his sleeveless shirt for hours and not get bored.
“Freddie. Freddie!”
It takes me a moment to find my way back to reality.
Marlon is grinning at me. “Enjoying the view?”He stretches, putting himself on display for me even more, fluid, languid movements making my mouth water.
“Mar,” I breathe. “Fuck.” I move toward him without any conscious thought, wanting to be near him, wanting to hold him so this can all feel real. I sometimes still can’t believe how lucky I am. Marlon could have anyone he wanted. He’s beautiful and smart and considerate and so much more relaxed than the chaos gremlin that lives inside me. And he’smine.
Marlon laughs into the kiss, but makes no effort to rid himself of me. Good. This time, I don’t try to make it anything more; just an exploration of his mouth, telling him without words how happy I am he gave me a chance.
Eventually, he breaks the kiss, though he does it ever so softly. “I could do this all day,” he says with a happy little sigh that makes my intestines sing. “But if we don’t start soon, I don’t see any stripping in our future.”
“You make a compelling argument. But you know we could just skip the painting, take our clothes off, and hire someone else to do the work, right?” I know I agreed to help him, but how can anyone expect me to be productive when he looks like this?
His hands wrap around my waist, keeping me close. I breathe deeply and try to imprint the feeling on my memory. I am so fucking gone for him. I had no idea it could be like this. So easy and so perfect at the same time. It’s almost terrifying.
“Shut up,” he says, eloquently, and stifles my grin with a kiss. “I had all the other walls done, but this is a last minute thing and I figured I could do it myself rather than wait for a painter to come round.”
“Sure. And you needed an expert, so you asked me to help you.” I mock salute him. “I’ve painted a total of two walls before, so this should be easy.”
Marlon sighs. “You know what? Maybe we should call it off. I’ll message my painter guy and ask him to come round when he can.”
“Excuse me?” I didn’t want to paint that dumb wall, but now he’s questioning my capabilities, I’m affronted. “I can do a perfectly good job, thank you very much.”
Marlon still looks doubtful. “It’s all right,” he says with a little shrug. “Really. I can live with a white wall for a couple days longer.”
“No.” My jaw is set. He’s triggered my competitiveness and I amnotgoing to back down from this challenge. “Hand me my brush.”
“You want to paint an entire wall using a brush?” I don't appreciate the note of horror in Marlon’s voice. “How about a paint roller?”
I cross my arms in front of my chest and glare at him, only half joking. “You want me to help you or what?”
The corners of his mouth twitch but he keeps a straight face. Barely. “Sure,” he says, in the dry tone I’ve come to love so much. “I can maybe ask Clara for one of her make-up sponges, too, if it helps.”
Oh, fuck him very much. I glare even more intensely.
Marlon stares back for a second, two—then he giggles.
Shit.
I laugh too. The mental image is just too ludicrous. MaybeIam a bit ludicrous, and maybe—just maybe—I’m not the right person to help with this kind of project. “I’m sorry,” I say, and I almost mean it.
“No, you’re not.” Marlon shoves me, playfully, and I pull him close and tangle my fingers in his short hair.
“No, I’m not.” I don’t feel bad about it, either. It’s a beautiful place, one way or another, and he’s right: keeping the wall white for another week or two won’t kill him. And we can use the time for much better things than painting.
Like admiring how good he looks in his washed-out t-shirt and loose-fitting shorts, his pale skin with only the tiniest bit of a tan. My beautiful English rose.
I probably shouldn’t call him that to his face.
We kiss and I melt against him, losing myself in the touch, in the closeness. Marlon reduces me to a puddle of goo on the inside and he can never know just how much of my heart already belongs to him, or it might scare him away. Instead, I pull myself together and scramble for the usual flirty tone he’s come to expect of me. “You mind getting those brushes anyway? They’re new, right? I’d love to discover all your ticklish spots with them.”
Marlon opens his mouth to argue with me, then pauses and finally closes his mouth again. Oh, shit, he’sinto it. I love it. I can get him all riled up and then have him fuck me with all his pent-up desperation. Fuck yes. It will be so good.
“Okay.”
