29
Hazel
After lunch I went to the Mast Brothers' chocolate factory center to paint. I would never admit it to Archer, but it was a little creepy being there by myself.
I painted the rest of that afternoon. The rendering was really coming together. I had the base of the buildings done. Now I was adding in the landscaping, trees, and making sure the glass looked nice. I wanted the whole rendering to have a sharp but ethereal feel, like a Vermeer painting, where the light was so perfect.
I didn't notice Archer until he was right behind me.
"Crap!" I yelled, jostling the canvas. Archer grabbed it and me. I laughed.
"I was actually trying not to startle you, believe it or not," Archer said.
I had worn a skirt that day to try and catch some of the breeze, and I smoothed it down.
"So this is the painting," Archer said, studying the canvas. "It seriously looks good."
I felt a rush of pride. "So pizza rolls and you eating me out until your jaw locks are in my future?"
"I did promise," he said, his voice dangerously low. His hand released its grip on my waist and pressed between my legs. I whimpered. He wrapped an arm around me. His other hand slid under my skirt. He tipped my head back and kissed me deeply.
"We shouldn't do this here," I gasped.
"No rooftop finger painting sessions?" Archer asked.
I bit my lip.
"Keep biting your lip like that," he whispered, "and I'm going to fuck you right here on this rooftop."
I shivered. I really was horny if I was starting to think rooftop sex was a perfectly fine and dandy idea.
No rooftop sex, Hazel. Bad, bad idea.
I packed up the easel and my supplies. "I wish more people wanted this style of painting," I said.
"There's a buyer for everything," Archer said as he picked up the case and wrapped a hand around my waist, guiding me to the stairwell.
"I'm not so sure."
"You should talk to Josie about marketing," he said. "Or Chloe."
Right, Chloe.
"I don't need an escort," I said crossly as Archer grabbed my bike and rolled it to his car.
"Of course you do. Because when the escaped felon comes and kidnaps you, everyone's going to be like, 'Who was she last seen with?' And then other people are going to be like, 'Archer,' and then I'll never be able to sleep in my own pantry again."
"Your own pantry?" I asked.
Archer kissed my cheek. It was barely a brush, but I wanted to strip all my clothes off and throw myself at him. My panties were wet and hot as I fidgeted in the passenger seat of his car. I half wanted him to pull over, park the car, and show me his finger painting skills firsthand.
Soon we were pulling up in front of my building. I watched like a creep as Archer set my bike on the curb and carried my easel inside.
"Upstairs?" he asked, half turning toward me, one foot on the staircase.
"Yes, please," I said, my voice catching in my throat.
Then he was standing in front of me in my studio. It was one thing to paint someone, but to have him there, standing in front of me, knowing he wanted me, was another.
