Page 63 of Wolves & Watercolors
It’s so easy to reach behind me and cup my fingers at the back of his neck. As I turn my head and tip my face, he lowers to meet me and our mouths connect. His chest is heated by the sun and it scorches my bare arm.
He kisses my mouth and then my nose and forehead. A happy sigh escapes me, and I turn back to admire my work while leaning into his hold.
“It’ll take way longer to add all the color, but the bones are there.”
“Do you need me back out there?”
He’s so sweet, I squeeze his wrist affectionately. “No, I don’t need a reference anymore, and I have a picture as back-up. But I appreciate your willingness to strip down and get furry for me.”
I feel his laugh more than hear it. It vibrates through me, warming me from my chest to my toes.
“Can I do anything to help?”
“Just keep me company.”
Cedar proves an excellent assistant as I lay out all the colors. He fetches me water, washes my first set of brushes, and identifies the names of several flowers when I ask.
“You’re spoiling me,” I murmur.
His response is a kiss to the edge of my jaw. Ignoring him, I dip my favorite round brush into cadmium yellow and transfer it to an empty rectangle. Adding a scoop of phthalo green, I swirl and blend until I have the perfect leaf color. I build up the plants around Cedar’s wolf with short dabs of my brush.
“I could watch you paint all day,” Cedar whispers.
“You’re welcome to,” I quip back, smiling to myself as I dilute my olive green and wash it over the garden beds surrounding wolf Cedar’s golden shape.
“Why did you want to do this in the garden?” he asks over my shoulder.
My sigh is contented. “Seems like the place for you. Don’t you think?”
Another kiss on my neck elicits my own version of a growl. “I’m trying to paint here. You’re making it very difficult. Here, help me move into the shade. I’m going to get sunburned otherwise.”
Cedar chuckles at my scowl as we carry everything to the corner of the garden. I settle with my canvas across my thighs and leaning on my knees, my back against the trunk. Cedar’s arm slings over my shoulders as he watches me work.
He is endlessly patient as I work deeper desaturated shadows into the edges of the artwork. Finally it’s time for my favorite part and the most time consuming - details.
Mixing more green into my olive tone, I roll my thin brush into it and lazily drag it up from the garden beds to add natural looking stems. Feeling particularly pleased with myself, I sweep my hand over and nick Cedar, leaving a streak of green across the side of his hand. He rotates his wrist, looking at the color.
“I thought you wanted to work,” he purrs.
“Maybe I’m ready for a break.”
He’s careful as he grasps my painting by the back frame and sets it across the closest garden bed. I shove my palette aside with clumsy movements. A streak of gold wipes across my wrist. Before I can clean it off, calloused hands frame my face and seize my attention.
I’ll never grow tired of his intense expression when he looks like he wants to devour me. My heart picks up and my thighs squeeze together. Slowly, savoring the moment, he draws me toward him. I can feel green paint transfer from his hand to my jaw, but I don’t care.
As if his wolf is waiting under the surface, his eyes light from within until they flare with supernatural magic. His breathing is shallow as his fingers lace into my hair.
My legs uncurl as I move to my knees, hands braced on his thighs. I want to kiss him, but this suspended moment is delicious tension and desire. Reaching up, I touch the pad of my finger to his bottom lip. He nips me, and I gasp at the sharp edge to his teeth. It should be scary, but heat thrums through me. I’m vibrating, desperate to move.
Just before I combust, he closes the distance and kisses me. These aren't the languorous kisses from the day we worked on controlling my magic. It’s more than enjoying each other, more than his desire to please me.
There is something claiming to the way he dominates my mouth, kissing me deeply and controlling my movements witha light grip across my throat. I may be above him, but in this moment, he owns me.
My hips wiggle, seeking pressure and friction. One of his hands runs down my back and over the curve of my ass.
In one swift movement, he rolls me over and cradles my head as my back hits the grass. My breathing stutters, every piece of me quaking as he braces an arm over me and looks down. Messy golden hair frames his rapturous expression.
Trying to anchor myself, I hook my fingers over the back of his neck, scratching my nails against his scalp. His eyes close, and he turns his head to kiss my inner arm. With slow kisses and soft bites, he works lower. I shiver at the sensation, ending in a giggle as gold paint wipes across his cheek.
