My jaw drops.
It’s a completely different style than mine, but…it’s amazing. He completely opted out of the paint and stuck exclusively to charcoal and colored pencils.
“Teddy!” I gasp. “You didn’t tell me you were an artist too. Is that…is that like a…manga art style?”
“Ah, come on, Dove,” he rubs the back of his neck, “It’s nothin’ compared to wot I’ve seen you do.”
“Don’t,” I shake my head, “because I could never dothat. Being able to draw in an illustrated style is just as impressive as realism. Each one takes different strengths.”
My eyes scan over the image, lingering on the large, amber eyes and little smattering of freckles on the cheeks. My hair is in two space-buns. “You put me in my overalls.” I grin, glancing at him.
“I…yeah. It’s what I imagine you wearin’ when you’re at you’re ‘appiest.” He shrugs.
I walk over to him, wrapping my arms around his waist and looking up at him. “It’s perfect.”
He smiles, leaning down and kissing me. “Let’s see yoursthen, yeah?”
I blanch. No. He painted me all sweet and adorable, and I painted him to look like he’s an omega about to go into heat. “I, um…”
He arches a brow. “Oh, come on, Dove. I’ve seen your paintin’s before…”
Teddy tries to go around to my easel, but I hold him tight. “I…it’s not done.”
At my rising panic, a smirk tilts at his lips. “Dove? Wot did you do?”
“Nothing!” I say quickly—waytoo quickly. Teddy chuckles, walking with ease even as I try to pull him back. “It’s not done yet! Teddy—”
He reaches my canvas.
Fuck.
I let go of him as he stills, his eyes roaming the canvas. The way water droplets glisten on his bare chest. The eyes that are clearly screaming “fuck me now”. If Teddy wasn’t standing right in front of me, witnessing my absolutely lust-filled tribute to him, I might have been proud of the work.
“Dove?” His voice is rough, and then he turns to look at me. “You forgot something.”
I…what?
Embarrassment takes a backseat while my pride as an artist surges forward. “What did I forget?” I frown, peering between him and the canvas.
He bares his teeth in a smile as he lifts his shirt up to reveal his extremely toned torso.
The torso that is absolutelycoveredin tattoos. I swallow, taking in the ink covering his flesh. More monarch butterflies, like the ones on his arms and neck, some flowers, but mostly black, almost tribal-looking designs with splashes of bright color. The green dragon that runs up his right arm extendsto his chest, and before I realize what I’m doing, I’m reaching out and touching it.
Definitelydidn’t put those in the painting.
He hisses through his teeth as my fingers brush against his skin, but when I startle, jumping back, he catches my hand, pulling it back to his abdomen.
“You don’t ‘ave to be ‘fraid to touch me, Dove,” his voice is husky, “I just di’n’t expect it to feel so good.”
I can feel his eyes on me as my hands roam over his skin, and in the next instance, he’s pulling his shirt off completely.
My throat goes dry.
“Do…you have them anywhere else?” I swallow, glancing down at his pants.
Smirking, my alpha unbuttons his trousers, before dropping them to his ankles. Muscular thighs covered in ink greet me, and I find myself in complete awe.
“Those must have hurt,” I murmur, my fingers reaching down to brush over his thighs. I find myself dropping to my knees, inspecting the tattoos on his legs with fascination. It must take a very talented artist to make art look good on a non-traditional canvas.
