Page 196 of Forever Never
“Nice choice,” she said with a sly smile as Neil Young began to sing about harvest moons.
“We danced to this at your sister’s wedding,” he said.
“I know. Crank it loud.”
He did as he was told and watched as she began to sway to the beat. “Good song,” she said again, her body seeming to loosen with every note.
She didn’t reach for a brush immediately. Instead, he watched as she started organizing colors. Pinks, reds, oranges. Cocking her head at the ceiling, she added blue and purple.
He watched in fascination, wishing he could see what she saw. Wished he could be inside her head. Maybe then he’d finally feel close enough to her.
She danced and hummed and swayed to the song as she organized her tools. Brushes, palette knives, jars of cleaner. Her palette was a thin slice of acrylic stained from all the other music, all the other paintings. A rainbow-colored echo of creativity.
Brick watched as Remi dribbled the colors one by one onto the palette and then dragged a long thin brush through the orange and white, swirling until the color got lighter and lighter.
He held his breath as she stretched her arm toward the snowy white canvas. The clean, blank space. With a deft flick of her healed wrist, she swooped a four-inch swatch of tangerine across the white. Just like she’d done with his life, his blank canvas, she added color, layering it, texturing it, turning the void into something more beautiful than he could have imagined.
It was like witnessing a miracle unfold.
His hands fisted on his knees. He wanted to be part of the miracle. Needed to touch her. He rose without making the decision to and closed the distance between them.
It hit him when he saw the painting straight on.
She put the palette down and cocked her head, studying what she’d created so far.
“It’s like the one upstairs.” His voice was hoarse.
She stood there in his t-shirt, looking smug. “Of course it is. It’s the same song. I’m just a lot more talented now.”
She’d painted their song before. She’d remembered dancing with him. Had wanted to commemorate that moment. She’d loved him then and now.
Brick sank to his knees and pulled her to him.
“What are you doing?” she whispered as he pushed the hem of her t-shirt high. He groaned when he realized she hadn’t even bothered putting on underwear.
“Let me love you.”
Swiftly, he hooked her leg over his shoulder and pressed his mouth to her smooth, soft folds.
Her gasp went straight to his dick, which was suddenly as hard as steel. She was already wet.
“You’re ready for me,” he said in wonder, letting his tongue flick out to taste her. “Does painting turn you on?”
Above him, Remi sucked in a breath and shook her head. “You watching me turns me on. It makes me feel…possessed.”
He growled against her sex, and her legs began to shake.
There was nothing in this world that felt more like home to him than Remington Ford’s tight, wet pussy. He slid two fingers into her wet opening and hummed out a prayer of gratitude as he began to tongue her slick folds.
Her flavor was intoxicating. And it belonged only to him. She’d made him a fucking king.
A jagged moan ripped free from her throat, and his cock swelled. He freed himself from his sweatpants with one hand while he worked her hot little cunt with his other. Precome flowed from his crown, dripping onto the drop cloth as he fucked her with his fingers, worked her with his tongue.
“Oh my God.”
Her broken, breathy sob had him fisting his shaft in an iron grip.
She was bucking into his face now, the silky leg over his shoulder angled to open her wider for him. He rewarded her with a third finger, stretching her tight.
