Page 78 of Rush

“Okay,” I say, agreeing.

“And, in a few weeks, Ari, we’re telling your dad.”

“A few weeks,” I agree even though I don’t think it’s nearly enough time for me to figure out how to handle my dad. I haven’t even spoken to him since our fight, except for that text.

Ignore and pretend shit isn’t happening—that’s how me and my dad coexist.

“I just don’t want anyone to come between us,” I say quietly.

He sits up, putting us chest-to-chest, one hand curling around the nape of my neck, holding me. “No one—and I mean, no fucking one, not even your dad—will come between us. I’m crazy about you, babe. That ain’t gonna change.”

“I’m crazy about you, too,” I whisper.

“Glad to hear it.” He kisses me deep and hard, his hand fisting into my hair.

I feel his erection press into my belly.

“Round two already?” I raise a brow.

“Definitely…” A kiss. “Ari?”

“Mmhmm.”

“You know that yoga you do?”

“Yep.”

“That means you’re pretty flexible, right?”

“Uh-huh. Why?”

A grin spreads across his gorgeous face. “Because we’re about to get adventurous as fuck. Hold on tight, babe.”

I awake with Ares’s warm, hard body wrapped around mine, making me smile.

My body is deliciously sore in the way it only can be from sex.

Especially amazing sex. Some of the things Ares did to me last night…the positions…my cheeks blush at the memories.

Ares really knows what he’s doing in bed. I maxed out at five orgasms by the time he was done with me.

Five!

I hadn’t even known that was possible.

Apparently, with him, it is.

It’s still dark out, so I check the time on my cell. Four sixteen.

I carefully disentangle myself from Ares, making sure not to wake him. I grab a nightshirt from my drawer, pulling it on, and then make a quick trip to the bathroom. Then, I go into the kitchen and get myself a glass of water, leaning my hip against the counter while I take a sip.

I have this permanent smile on my face and a warm glow in my chest, and it’s all because of that man sleeping in my bed.

I wander through my living room and over to the window, looking outside. The street is quiet. Not a soul around.

Then, I do something that I haven’t done in a while.

I take a seat on the stool in front of my easel. I put my glass of water down on the table, and I pick up a brush.