Page 64 of Wolves & Watercolors
His devious grin sends sparks through me and my stomach clenches. He pauses, wiping at the paint and touching some to the tip of my nose. It’s silly, but somehow I’ve never felt so treasured.
The sweetness melts into heat as I pull his mouth to mine, unable to help myself. I need him. He lowers himself until our bodies press together. The weight of him is a wonderful torture. My knees part on either side of his hips, lining us up in a way that makes me crazy.
I’m burning up, and he is my only relief. His hand sweeps under my shirt, leaving gold fingerprints as he squeezes my waist and brushes over my ribs. Desperate for more, I mimic his movements, sliding my hand under his shirt. Fingers run over distinctly masculine abdomen muscles, finding the side of his ribs where I’ve spied botanical tattoos in those moments he is shirtless. I want to study them, learning every line, but not right now. Right now, I’ll die if we stop kissing.
“I want you, alone and with less clothes,” I murmur, turning my head until my lips brush over his jaw and then the side of his neck. He rocks into me and I gasp. As he repeatsthe movement, I close my teeth over his skin, biting down hard enough I know I’ll leave a mark. His fingers dig into my skin, the pain a beautiful contrast that sharpens to the pleasure of his sweatpants-clad body rubbing against the thin fabric of my loose pants.
“Seriously, we’re out where anyone could see us, and I want to do things to you that shouldn’t be done in public,” I growl, leaning my head back until I can see his glowing gaze.
This seems to pull him back to earth. He blinks, his eyes scanning my heaving chest, shirt pulled up to reveal the edge of my bra, and the way his hips are slotted between mine.
With a deep breath, he backs off me until he sits on my knees. Disappointment pierces me as I push myself up to sit facing him.
His fingers rake through his hair as his eyes drop to my knees.
“I didn’t want to stop,” I protest gently.
His eyes meet mine, and the blue light has faded until his typical stormy gaze stares back at me. “You’re right, we’re out where anyone could see.”
“So let’s go somewhere else.”
He sighs. “I don’t think that’s a good idea.”
The sting of rejection is sharp and my instinct is to hide the pain. Forcing a cheerful smile, I turn back to my painting supplies. “Alright.”
“Can I still watch you paint?” he asks, sounding remorseful. His hand runs up my arm like a tender apology.
Nodding, I gather up the items that were scattered as I flung them aside in my hurry to reach him. He places my canvas back in front of me. As my heart returns to normal, I add water to my palette and resume detailing my painting.
Cedar stays close, his hands on my body. Every so often, he presses a kiss to my shoulder or neck, as if he can’t help himself. It’s not what I want, but it’s still a lovely way to spend the day.
Hours slip by and the painting gains realism. Adding highlights always sparks excitement, and I squeeze Cedar’s hand. He only leaves my side to fetch us lunch. After eating, I go back to work. It will take several days of work to finish the painting, but I want to capture as much of the magic in this moment as I can before it fades.
As afternoon shadows crawl toward us, Cedar squeezes my thigh to get my attention. “It’s going to be dinner time soon. I think we were going to have a campfire tonight. Do you want to go?”
“Yes!” I set my brush down, grinning at him. “That sounds great.”
“Okay.” His returning smile makes my stomach flip. He could ask me to scrub toilets and I would gladly agree when he looks at me like this. Luckily, a campfire sounds fun. I picture cuddling up with him in front of a fire as everyone chats and laughs. Hazel mentioned campfires being her favorite, but with the baby’s arrival, they haven’t happened.
“I can’t wait.”
He kisses my cheek in response.
XI. Campfires
& Kisses
Aurora
The fire is already lit by the time we arrive. My hands rub at my arms to fight off the chill. Cedar steps closer and presses his chest to my back, replacing my hands with his own. His warm palms send tingles up into my shoulders and down my back.
The fit pit behind his cabin has a trio of half-logs surrounding it with a pair of weathered Adirondack chairs tucked between them. Onyx sits perched on one of the logs and pokes at the fire, building it up.
He looks up and grins. “You can come sit by me!”
Cedar’s hand curls around my waist protectively, pulling me tighter against him. A growl rumbles from his throat, warning his brother away.
I’m so surprised, a laugh bursts from me.
