Chapter 30: : Chapter 30

I lean back on the bed in my guest room, my laptop on my lap. I’m supposed to be working, but all I can focus on is Serenity and that look in her eyes as she paints. She’s completely consumed by it, and it’s such a beautiful fucking sight that I can’t tear my eyes off her for more than a few seconds. It doesn’t help that she’s wearing nothing but a loose T-shirt of mine.

She’s working on The Ballerina, but seeing it doesn’t do anything to me anymore. I didn’t even realize that until Ezra seemed distraught at the sight of it. When I look at that painting, all I can think of is Serenity—not Tyra.

I don’t know how she’s done it, how she’s managed to occupy all of my thoughts, but she has. There’s no space for anything but her, and as time passes, I feel less guilty about it. It might be wishful thinking, but I’d like to believe that Tyra would’ve wanted us both to be happy.

“Darling,” I murmur, closing my laptop. I don’t know why I even bother anymore. I can barely get any work done when I’m in the same room as Serenity. We’ve fallen into a routine that I’m enjoying more than I should, and we’ve taken to spending nearly every free second we’ve got together. I’ve begun looking forward to weeks that Ezra isn’t here, and I know she has too. “Come here.”

She glances at me and narrows her eyes in annoyance, but even so, she puts her brush down and joins me, sitting down on the edge of the bed. I love how she always puts me first, even when she’d rather be painting. I wonder if she realizes what that means to me. No one has ever put me first like that. Not even Tyra.

“What is it?” she asks, placing her hand on my thigh.

I smirk at her as I pull my T-shirt over my head, quietly appreciating the way all her irritation melts away as she drinks me in, her eyes roaming over my chest and abs, desire for me rapidly chasing away her desire to paint.

“I have an idea, baby.”

She groans, unable to drag her eyes off my abs. “You’re playing dirty again, I see,” she murmurs, her gaze settling on the charm around my neck for a few seconds.

Trying to distract her while she paints has become one of my favorite hobbies, and I’m not even sure why. Stealing her attention away from something she loves so dearly makes me feel so fucking wanted, it’s surreal. “I want you to paint something on my chest.”

Her eyes widen. “What?”

I grab her hand and make her fingers trail up my abs, until I’ve got her palm pressed flat against my chest, my hand over hers. “Right here. You want to paint, and I want to watch every single expression on your face as you do so, so paint something on me.”

“That’s a terrible idea,” she says, her voice weak. “The paint I use isn’t good for your skin.”

I laugh and shake my head. “Then why have you always got it all over your body? Keeping it on for a few hours won’t hurt me. Please?”

Her eyes roam over my body, and my stomach clenches when she nods. “What do you want me to paint?” she asks as she grabs a few brushes and her paint board.

“Your happiest memory of us,” I tell her as she straddles me.

Her expression softens, and my hands wrap around her waist. I smirk as I push the T-shirt she’s wearing up, and she chuckles as she raises her arms for me, letting me take it off. “I thought you said you wanted me to paint?” she reminds me, her eyes twinkling as I look at her naked body hungrily.

“I do,” I groan, pulling her closer so she’s sitting on my abs. “But I also told you that I wanted to watch you as you do it. So let me look at you—all of you.”

Now she smirks at me as she begins to paint, eliciting a gasp from me. “Is the paint cold?” she asks.

I nod and squeeze her ass. “It’s fine. I’ve got you to keep me warm.”

I watch her as she transforms my chest, cataloging all of her expressions—the way she scrunches her brows and purses her lips in the sexiest way as she tries to focus. The way she tenses her abs when she can’t figure out which color to use, and the way she smiles when everything blends together the way she imagined it. She’s easily the most beautiful woman I’ve ever met, but right here, right now, she’s the prettiest version of herself I’ve ever seen.

Serenity bites on her lip when I trail my hands up, until I’m cupping her breasts, my thumbs stroking her nipples until they harden for me. Her breathing becomes more shallow, but she doesn’t stop painting. I grin as I slide a finger down her ribs and in between her legs, loving the way her breath hitches when I caress the inside of her thighs, taking my time to play with her body, touching every part of her I can reach.

It doesn’t take long for her to get wet, and I groan when she shifts a little on my abs, her wetness spreading over my body. It’s not enough—I want her dripping for me, but I’ve got time.

“Archer,” she warns when I begin to massage her thighs, my thumb just about brushing her clit every once in a while.

“Hmm?” I murmur, loving the way her eyes have become glassy, the way she’s struggling to focus on painting. “Am I distracting you?”

“No,” she retorts, throwing me a sexy little glare before she continues to paint. “Not at all.”

I chuckle as I reach for one of her brand-new paintbrushes and begin to caress her nipples with it, earning myself some beautiful moans. She’s breathing hard, turned on beyond measure, but she won’t stop painting. Her artwork is starting to take shape now, and my heart warms when I realize she’s painting the day I took her to the flower field—it’s my favorite memory of us too. In the weeks since then, I’ve taken her on weekends away every time Ezra’s been gone, showing her every art gallery she’s wanted to see while she accompanies me to try all kinds of food all over the world—but that day in the flower field is still my favorite, and I’m glad it’s hers too.

I smirk as I drag the paintbrush down her stomach, and her eyes flutter closed when it disappears between her legs, caressing her clit. “Archer,” she repeats, her tone pleading now.

“I love the way you moan my name.”

Her eyes lock with mine, and she glares at me as she drops her brush on the bed and reaches behind her, roughly pushing my sweats down. My lips part in surprise when she lifts and repositions herself, one hand on my abs as she lowers herself on top of me, taking all of me.

“Fuck,” I moan, my head falling back as desire rushes through me.

I stare at my girl in disbelief as she picks her brush back up and continues to paint, my cock deep inside her. “Lie still,” she demands, even as she begins to rock on top of me, fucking me with shallow thrusts. “Don’t even dream of coming until I’m done painting.”

“You’re kidding me,” I tell her, my cock already throbbing.

She raises a brow and turns her paint board. “Do I look like I’m joking?”

I laugh—I can’t help it. She’s got me so fucking smitten, and I wouldn’t have it any other way.