Page 37 of Four Times Taken

On the walk, I'd told Eric that painting and conversation would be a great way to spend the evening. He'd been eager to please, finding an event close by that offered painting and wine nights. I didn't object. He still didn't know about my drug dependency when he suggested it. He found out though, when Matt decided to grab a case of beers to take back to the house, and Ethan freaked out, telling him he couldn't buy it because it would be insensitive.

The conversation about my situation was brought up. Eric didn't say anything, except to scrap the paint and wine night. That was another reason I wanted to cancel tonight. I thought his lack of a response had been because of judgment or disappointment in me for turning to the same thing I loathed my parents for.

But the setup in my backyard said something different. String lights created a backdrop against two canvases, one table with paint supplies and another with snacks. No alcohol for either of us. Two stools I'm sure he must have bought along with the tables because I've never seen them before, awaited us. The casualness with which they all spent money was still mind boggling for me.

A soft blanket with pillows was laid out on the grass. My smile burned through my cheeks. He cared. My eyes stung.

And he's also a little cheeky. "What's that for?" I grinned at the blanket.

"Stargazing." He creased his brows at me.

"Stargazing," I repeated. "Is that all it's for?"

"Yes. What else do you think it's for?" He smirked before feigning a gasp. "Lily Thornbread! You've got a dirty mind." He winked.

"I didn't say anything," I reminded him, hurrying toward my stool and reaching for the paintbrush and paint like it's Christmas, and I've just unwrapped the best gift of all.

Immediately, I got to work, already having my muse. Eric, on the other hand, sat and stared at the canvas.

"What are you going to paint?" I asked.

"A picture of you, of course." He reached for his paintbrush and dipped it into the paint on his palette.

"What a coincidence." I smiled. "I'm painting a picture of you too," I purred.

"Ooh, are you? Do you need me to pose for you? I can do nude for a price." He leaned over to kiss my cheek.

"Oh, a price? Is that right? In that case, I'll use my imagination and my recollection." I glanced at him, taking him in, my cheeks heating from the memories of this morning. He chuckled as he focused on the canvas before him a little too much, almost ignoring me. Less than five minutes later, he told me he's done and showed me the worst painting I've ever seen.

"There she is. The prettiest woman I know. My masterpiece." He revealed it with pride, and I spit laughing at the sharp, pointy nose, the too-round eyes, and the triangular-like chin.

"Is that what I look like to you?" I asked. I've taken some pictures of myself I'd rather hide from the world, but I have to say, that's the worst photo of 'me' I've ever seen.

"You don't like it?" he asked, looking from me back to the canvas as if trying to convince himself he had done a pretty good job.

I couldn't break the bad news to him. "I love it. I'll keep it framed in my room." Rolling my neck to ease the tension in my shoulders, I caught him looking at my movements.

"I'm not the artist here." He got up from the stool and stretched. "I'll leave the art to you," he said. "In the meantime, I'll be your humble servant." He moved to stand behind me and surprised me with the most glorious massage. The knots broke away as tingles ran through my spine almost instantly.

I moaned in response.

"Keep doing that, and I might have to pull you away from that canvas," he leaned down to grumble in my ear.

"No. Don't stop. It feels so good," I said. I rolled my neck again, my lids fluttering shut as I did.

"Lily," he groaned, but he didn't stop. I was happy he didn't because this was almost better than sex. With each knot that got released, an uncontrollable moan erupted from my lips. "Fuck, Lily," he muttered behind me, nuzzling into my neck.

I was' caught up in an endorphin tsunami. The soul-healing brush of the stroke against the cotton canvas brought satisfaction to my ears. The bone-rippling rush that moved through me at the pressure of his fingers. His breath on my neck, the coconut and citrus scent of his hair as it flickered over my cheek, the scrape of his beard sending tingles through to my nether regions, sounding the alarm for the rest of my body to follow suit. I didn't know what I wanted to do more, finish this painting while he massaged me or lean into the embrace of his masculinity and give myself over to him.

He managed self-control for both of us, keeping his hands on my back and shoulders, despite his soft groans behind me when I sighed and moaned. If he were to rake his hands across my breasts, I'd give him control of my body. Yet, I was' filled with gratitude as he continued to make this date about me and provide much-needed relief to my accumulated tension over the past five years. His single-minded focus on helping me relax, and the pleasure he received from doing it.

His likeness took form on the canvas before me as I painted him the way I saw him in this moment, a light in the darkness. A second chance. The one who got away, but who came back to me. This was new for me, this head in the clouds, romantic sort of vibe. But he made it easy. When his hands moved to my lower back, I threw my head back in complete and utter bliss, gasping as my body opened up, and my nerves breathed for the first time.

"Wow," I panted. It was' better than any high I'd had before. My eyes flew open to see him smiling at me before dropping a kiss on my forehead.

"You haven't seen anything yet." He pulled away, leaving me loose and noodle-like as he took up position at my feet.

"What are you doing?" I asked, my voice husky when I stared down into his glassy eyes.

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