Page 145 of Beyond the Stroke

Right?

Rory’s magnetic smile makes it easy to forget and for once, I want to keep playing along. To soak up as much of this man before he realizes there’s more downside than benefit to me being his fake wife.

“Easy fix,” I say, hopping off his lap to grab more paint from my basket. When I’m back in place, to work on adding in Edgar, Rory settles back into the pillows with his hands behind his head. His abs contract, displaying all eight of his distinct abdominal muscles, and with the shifting of our bodies, his joggers are now hanging obscenely low on his trim waist. Those V muscles on each side of his pelvis expertly defined and leading to the thick ridge beneath that I’m trying to pretend doesn’t have me wired and wanting.

I want to writeminein paint across his chest. That’s the tattoo he should get.

“If your parents didn’t want you to pursue art, how did you keep painting?” he asks.

I glance up to find him studying me.

Now I’m feeling silly because I’m over here ogling him and he’s trying to have a serious conversation. That’s the power of Rory Shields, sexy and genuine…it’s a deadly combination.

“I kept it a secret. I set up a little studio in my closet. Never talked about it or showed them pieces I was working on.” My paintbrush hovers over his chest as I recall the memory. “Then, I came home one day, and everything was cleared out.”

“Summer.” Rory exhales my name, heavy with sympathy. Normally I would hate for someone to see my weaknesses, but I’m starting to realize that showing him this side of myself, the vulnerable side, isn’t as scary as I’d thought. It feels good to be seen by someone. No, scratch that. It feelswonderfulto be seen by Rory.

“You setting up this studio for me is the first real one I’ve had. My van was too small to keep anything set up permanently. So, this is the first time I’ve been able to have my art out in the open. To play and create without looking over my shoulder.”

“I’m so sorry that you couldn’t chase your dreams. I can’t imagine what that felt like. I don’t know what my life would be like without swimming. It’s been my foundation. The only thing I’ve known. My parents, although they can be heavy handed and try to control my personal life, they’ve still been mostly supportive throughout my career.”

I lean back and examine my work.

“Now it’s complete.”

Rory smiles and everything in my body turns to mush.

“If you’re trying to convince me not to get this tattoo then you played it all wrong.”

I lean forward, then lower my face to his chest, blowing a puff of air at the fresh paint. I watch as goosebumps spread across his torso. With my hips forward, and the way our bodies align, I feel every thick inch of him against my center.

Now, I’m shamelessly grinding my center over Rory’s hard cock because I can’t fucking help it when I’m near this man.My husband.

“Did I?” The innocence in my voice is in complete contrast to the sinful way I’m practically dry humping him.

“Yeah.” He grins, his eyes dropping to the space between our chests.

The front of my overalls hangs open between us and I know he can see straight down them. Especially when he licks his lips, then slowly lifts his eyes back to my face.

Easing his hands out from behind his head, his warm palms encircle my waist before slowly moving upward until they dip inside my overalls. His fingertips wrap to the back of my ribcage, while his thumb teases inside the front. The anticipation of his thumb grazing the underside of my breast is torture. And when he does, it’s a whisper of touch, nothing like the firm stroke I’m desperate for.

But then his hand is gone and I almost whimper at the loss.

“I like that you have no bra on. Does the material rub your nipples?”

I nod. “And if you could see the wet spot between my legs, you’d know I have no panties on, either.”

“Fuck, Summer.” He grips my hips, halting my movement before he lets out a pained groan. “I’m a minute away from coming in my shorts.”

“Please don’t. I want to make you come with my mouth.”

“Not helping.” He lets out a strained chuckle, but then he glances around and his lips curl up in a wicked grin.

“Do you have a new brush? One that hasn’t been used before?”

“Are you going to paint me?” I ask. I’m hoping now isn’t the time that he decides to explore his artistic side.

“No, I’m not an artist. I’m going to play with you, then make you come.” He grins wickedly. “Now hand me that paintbrush.”

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