Page 138 of The Right Kind of Wrong

Monroe shattered; she reached up and dragged Blake down into an unbelievably messy kiss, panting into her mouth and capturing Blake’s own moan as she fell over the edge right behind her.

Her orgasm didn’t stop, rocketing through her like a detonation that kept rippling outward, so intense that she felt lightheaded.

She sucked in a ragged breath, pulling Blake against her, their bodies melting together as Monroe came down.

Stroking down Blake’s back, she fell against the sofa cushions, entirely spent.

When Monroe could finally speak again, she asked, “Come to Austin with us next weekend?”

Blake stilled in her arms, and, for a second, Monroe worried that she was going to get up. Instead, to her own genuine surprise, relief flooded through her when Blake snuggled in closer. “With you and Maisie?” she asked against Monroe’s chest.

“Obviously it would need to be very PG. Maisie and I can share a bed, and you can have the other. But yes, we’d love to have you with us.” Monroe’s heart stuttered nervously as she waited for the answer.

Blake tilted her chin upward so that she could plant a soft kiss on Monroe’s lips. “I’d love that.”

Maybe it was a bad idea, but cradling Blake in her arms, Monroe was willing to take that risk.

CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

“Aunt Monroe makes art,” Maisie explained proudly as they walked down the street on Saturday in the late afternoon.

And yeah, she really fucking did.

They’d finished up the first day at the startup, located in a hip neighborhood in East Austin. While Monroe had gotten started, Blake had taken Maisie out exploring. They’d brought Monroe lunch, and then they’d hung out in the ridiculous—if Blake had to say so—office while Monroe had continued working.

The foosball table, beanbag chairs, and video game system had kept Maisie easily occupied for the couple of hours they’d spent with Monroe as she finished drawing an incredible freehand design across the front wall, getting far enough that, by the time they’d left, an outline of the final image had taken shape.

Tomorrow, Monroe would be painting, filling in the large, bold shapes—which included the company’s name and logo, some marketplace for hard-to-find and extremely cool items—with color and depth.

Monroe had explained her vision to Blake this morning as she’d started drawing on the walls.

Blake was fascinated by Monroe’s mind. How she developed a vision for her pieces and then began to execute on them so quickly.

There was no agonizing. No uncertainty. No wondering how it would be perceived by others.

From ideation to execution, it had only been a few weeks.

And when it came to her art, Monroe was confident in a way that made everything in Blake stand at attention. Much the same as when she and Monroe were having sex.

Blake, conversely, had once taken six months to pick out a new sofa.

This past week, she had watched Monroe poring over sketches while they’d lain in bed, tweaking the final design ahead of their trip.

She’d never seemed stressed about it. She’d simply worked and reworked the designs, humming quietly to herself, a sketch pad balanced on her thighs.

Blake wasn’t proud of it, but more than once, she’d thrown that pad off the bed and slid on top of Monroe.

Who knew that art could be so sexy?

They hadn’t labeled what they were doing, exactly, but Blake didn’t care.

Especially not as Maisie slid her hand into Blake’s and tugged her forward.

She heard Monroe’s soft laugh and turned back to watch her mouth curve into a smile. “Hope you can keep up,” Monroe called from behind them, as Maisie pulled Blake down the street.

Blake was a goner for that smile. Especially when Monroe’s dimple popped out, which only happened when she was truly happy about something.

Blake was happy, too.