Page 143 of Beyond the Stroke

“What do you normally paint?”

“Um, mostly still-life.” It’s a vague response in order to not give away more details.

He turns to me with a mischievous smile on his face. “Would you paint something for me?”

“I don’t know. What do you have in mind?” I ask curiously.

He grips the neck of his hoodie and pulls it off.

Shirtless is pretty much Rory’s natural state of being, but it never gets easier to control my racing heart and sweaty palms at the sight of him. Or to keep myself from wondering what it would be like to lick his nipples.

Maybe that’s why I’d been annoyed he hadn’t woken me last night. I never got to explore him the way I wanted to.

I want to trace his nipples with my tongue. Tease him like he did me. Then slide my hand into his pants and fist his cock.

The thought has my nipples hardening against the soft cotton of my overalls.

Why am I so focused on nipples right now?

Oh, because my husband has the hottest nipples I’ve ever seen.

He steps forward, and I suck in a breath, remembering the thrill of having his hand beneath my dress at breakfast this morning.

“A mermaid, right here.” He points to the space above his heart where his pectoral muscles are bulging, and his nipple is tight.

Call it my nerves, but a laugh breaks loose from my throat and Rory’s smile gets bigger.

“Yeah, I’m thinking of getting another tattoo and want to see what it would look like.”

My eyes roll toward the ceiling. “God, please no.”

“A mermaid with a pink and purple tail and long blonde hair.” He brushes one of the loose strands from my messy bunout of my face. “The wilder the better. And glasses. Don’t forget the glasses.”

I shake my head, but my smile persists because when Rory is smiling at me, I feel at ease.

“Didn’t you know mermaids don’t wear glasses?” I smirk.

“Mine does.” His finger glides along one leg of my glasses before it teases along the shell of my ear. I disguise the quiver his touch causes as simply being chilled by the early evening breeze coming in from the cracked sliding door overlooking the beach.

Mine does.

How can two simple words make my heart race so uncontrollably?

“Fine. I’ll do it if only to prove to you that you should definitely not get a tattoo of a mermaid on your chest.”

“Where do you want me?” he asks.

Everywhere.

I glance around the room to determine where this impromptu art session should take place, but the only place to sit is on the futon.

“Have a seat.” I point to it and Rory follows my direction. Then, I rummage through my paints to see what I have for acrylics.

Finally, with a palette and assortment of paintbrushes in hand, I move to stand between Rory’s legs to start my work. But with the first stroke of my brush, I realize we have a problem.

“The paint is going to run; I need you to lie down.”

“Sure thing.” He removes his hat, then drops to his back, lacing his fingers behind his head. I lean over him to keep working on the mermaid’s tail, but now he’s too far away.

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