Page 100 of The Art of Being Merry
And then there’s Dax freaking Nicholas, upstaging every plan. In the best possible way.
Thanks to the snow, like he promised, he took them sledding with their new snow pants. Neither one complained about how cold it was or about walking back up the hill to whiz down it again and again. And then one more time.
He’s got the boys super excited for the holiday breakfast, the Nicholas family Christmas Eve Eve dinner, and of course, the parade, plus he somehow snagged us an invite to the B and B for Christmas Eve, much to Beckett’s chagrin. And we can’t forget the Christmas holiday. He asked them how we usually celebrate, forwhich they couldn’t give him an answer. Right, because the last two Christmases have been shit shows courtesy of Willa and me. The ones before that, Jace is too little to remember, and while I’m sure Atlas must remember something of what we used to do, he’s making it seem like he doesn’t. Probably because I scarred him for life.
At least Atlas stopped asking if we were going to North Carolina. I hadn’t told them yet, keeping it in my pocket in case they gave me trouble about not being here. Now that I don’t have to, thank goodness for all the distractions here in Winterberry he wants to partake in. It’s my saving grace.
My parents aren’t happy with me, but that’s nothing new. Not that they’d get on a plane to come here. Willa offered to pay for their tickets and host them, but they turned her down. Well, Mom did. Dad would have been on board if Mom had agreed. I’m trying not to let her shame me into feeling guilty about it. They’re not invalids. They’re perfectly capable of traveling by planeif they want to see us. We’ll see them in January, which isn’t ideal for them, but it’s too bad. I’ll also have to return to finalize the divorce, but those are future problems.
My current situation is more pleasant.
My head rests on Dax’s chest, listening to his heartbeat. My fingers trace the tattoo on the side of his abdomen. “Is this your only ink?”
“So far, yeah.”
I pick up my head to see him better. His chin is stubblier today since he hasn’t shaved in a couple of days. My thighs enjoyed the beard burn, something I didn’t think I’d like so much. With Dax, I’m learning there’s so much I’ve missed out on.
“I’ve got body markers. Can I doodle on you?”
“As if you have to ask.” He’s such a fan of my art, no matter the medium or canvas. I love it.
“Cool. Let me get them.”
I sprint out of bed and into the basement for the markers, running quickly since I’m naked and it’s cold outside of our cocoon. My personal life might be a mess, but my professional life stays somewhat organized, which means I know exactly wherethe markers are. Back in the bedroom, I throw on Dax’s T-shirt from the floor.
“I don’t even get to admire your body as you use mine as your canvas, huh?”
“No, because it’s freezing. And you got enough of a show today.”
“It’s never enough,” he mutters, bringing a small smile to my face. He’s never shy with compliments about my body, my personality, me in general. Genuine compliments, sometimes leaving his mouth with no time to process them. It’s been less than two weeks, but it’s refreshing to have a man worship me, make me feel good about myself, for my sake only, expecting nothing in return. “Maybe be quick with your arting so I can coerce one more orgasm out of you before it’s time to get the boys from the bus.”
I falter in my steps at his comment. The mouth on this man.
“You can’t rush an artist at work. If I’ve missed teaching you that, consider this the lesson.”
I climb onto the bed, straddling his abdomen. If I wanted to use his body for my pleasure, all I’d have to do was grind my bare pussy against him. It wouldn’t take long. Seems I’m always in the mood when we’re naked.
And sometimes when we’re not. Which is becoming a problem I haven’t yet found a way to solve.
“No peeking until I’m done.”
“Got it, Picassa.”
We don’t have an unlimited amount of time, so I draw quickly, my name in black script and a tiny clementine below it with a green leaf. It’s a bit of a joke, to give myself a rise of what it would be like to have my name branded on a man’s skin. Assessing my work, it’s more than a rise. It’s overwhelming, powerful, intoxicating. Even if it’s not real, no one else knows it’s not.
For a minute, I imagine what a life with Dax could look like. Lazy mornings, family dinners, late nights in front of a fire, kissing him when he leaves for work, not having to say goodbye at the end of the night. I could easily fall into a routine with him, build a life with him and the boys, be in love with a man who is devoted to me and my kids.
Maybe it’s a pipe dream. He could decide at any point that this life isn’t for him, that being a bachelor, having a different rotation of women on the regular, is more fitting for him. It would suck, but I’d pick myself up again, start over fresh, pretend it doesn’t hurt to see him at Nicholas family functions.
“Hey. Why the sad face?” Dax’s distressed question draws me back to reality.
I tamp down the possibility of that happening, living in the present, focusing on the now. I clap my hands. “Okay, done.” I crawl off his body, immediately missing the feel of him underneath me.
Dax sits up and grabs his phone from the nightstand. He opens up the camera app, turning it to selfie mode so he can see my handiwork. His lips rapidly quirk into a smirk, and his heated gaze meets mine. “Proud of yourself, are you?”
I shrug. “I didn’t have much time to think of something more complicated. Another time.”
“Sure thing.” I can’t tell if he’s serious or not, but it doesn’t matter.
