Florence hums and tilts her head, examining the work, the images blended into the background that you can’t make out unless you’re really looking. “I don’t think you should start from scratch,” she says, eventually.
I risk moving closer to her, sliding my hands onto her hips under my sweatshirt, and pressing into her back, looking at the same unfinished canvas she is. “Why’s that, Pix?”
“Because I think it’s important to show, to communicate that feeling of helplessness, of hopelessness. I think you should finish them, but not how you’d originally planned. Don’t keep them all hopeless.” I feel her shoulders bob in a shrug against my chest. “Instead show how hope can bloom. How love can break through the dark. People need to see that.”
It's such a simple concept. Beautiful and clear.
“Is that what’s happening, Pix? Is our love breaking through the dark?”
She sighs and turns in my embrace, wrapping her arms around my waist and nestling into my chest. “I don’t know, Court. I want it to. I want love to conquer all, but…”
“But Forsythe is a stubborn bastard.”
She huffs a small laugh. “God, he really is.” There's a moment of silence, a beautiful quiet lull where we just hold each other, breathing in each other’s scents. And then she says in a small voice like she’s telling me a secret, “I want this to work, Court. I really do. I want you and I want them. But I can’t be your secret. You understand, don’t you?”
“I do.” It's on the tip of my tongue to promise her that won’t be the case. That we’ll find a way to convince Forsythe thathis duty to his family isn’t bloody everything, but the last time I promised her something like that—that we wouldn’t send her home later that fateful day—I was immediately made a liar of. I won’t do that again.
“I don’t know what else I can do to convince him…”
“Nothing, Pix. There’s nothing you can do to convince him. He knows how you feel. He knows what’s at stake. He needs to figure out the rest on his own.”
My lips press into the crown of her head and stay there, breathing in her hibiscus and citrus scent. “Thank you,” she murmurs eventually, little fingers digging into the muscles on either side of my spine. “For bringing me here. For trusting me with this. Your safe space.”
“Anything for you, Pixie. This space is as much yours as it is mine now.”
An amused snort puffs out of her as she pulls back to peer up at me. “Something tells me the queen would have a problem with that. I’m not exactly welcome in her palace.”
I frown and look around realizing she’s right. This room has been mine and only mine for years, my sanctuary. But if Florence isn’t welcome, it can’t be that anymore. “Hmm, I’ll have to move it then.”
I can tell she’s going to argue, maybe suggest I wait until we know for sure which way this is going to go, I don’t give her that chance. “Don’t do that, Pix. No matter what Forsythe decides, I’m choosing you. You’re the only omega I want. The only one I need. And if you aren’t welcome here then it’s not a place I have any inclination to be. I’m going to move my studio to someplace youwillbe free to visit, because it’s whatIneed.”
She blinks up at me for a moment, and then tears fill her bottom lashes, making my heart clench. “Fuck, Pix. I didn’t mean to make you cry. Please don’t. Guts me every time.”
She doesn’t respond, just pushes up to her toes and wraps her arms around my neck. A breath later her mouth is on mine and my hands are in her hair. Her tongue darts along my lips, seeking entrance I’m all too happy to give.
I groan when our tongues touch, when her taste swells and clings. One hand moves down, hoists her up and against me. Those slim dancer’s legs of hers wind around my hips and she tightens her arms.
We kiss the entire time. Eager, seeking, finding each other again after over a month apart.
It's all I can do to not throw her on the ground and rut into her like a savage.
I’m not certain she’s ready for that, even as her mouthwatering perfume blooms in the air around us, even as her nails dig into my skin, marking me up, and she makes these sweet little noises into my mouth.
I need her like I need my next breath, but I’m not going to take advantage of this gift. I’m not going to push for more than she’s willing to give. And while I love the idea of making her come in my studio, having her perfume soak into the space, into the canvases, into the paint and the drop cloths and the walls, this isn’t going to be my studio for much longer.
I meant it when I said I’d move it to a place she’s welcome.
Also, we’re in the palace.
I’m not sure it’s safe to spend the kind of time I want to with my omega here.
“Court,” she murmurs, pulling away from my lips, but nuzzling my nose with hers. “Pretty boy, you’re thinking so loud.”
“Well, no one’s ever accused me of that before,” I quip back with my best sexy smirk. I expect her to laugh, or at the very least smile, but instead she pulls away, face serious as she traces the tips of her fingers over my temple down my jaw.
“Don’t do that, Courtland.”
“Do what, Pix?”
