Page 87 of Taylor

Taylor was home and ready for Alice to be in his arms. They’d gotten in this morning, and they had a rest day. He was ready to spend that rest day with Alice. She had a meeting in the morning, but then she was coming right over. He’d been pacing, waiting for her. His arms ached to hold her softness to him.

A soft knock sounded on his door. The way he almost ran to the door should embarrass him, but he was so far beyond that. His sock feet slid on the hardwood as he got to the door. He steadied himself before pulling the door open wide.

The sight of her almost took his breath away. Her hair was pulled up, showing the colorful peekaboo layer. She had on dress covered in little strawberries that cinched right underneath her perfect fucking tits, a yellow cardigan, and pink Chuck Taylors.

She was perfect.

“Hey, sunshine,” he said before taking her overnight bag and what appeared to be a canvas.

He set them down next to her and pulled her into his arms.

“Fuck, I’ve missed this,” he said, breathing her in.

“Me too,” she said, snaking her arms around his waist and holding him close.

They stood still, just holding each other for a long moment, but he was in no hurry to end that moment anytime soon.

Finally, he pulled back enough to kiss her.

“I have a surprise for you...” she said, breaking the kiss.

“You do?”

“I hope you like it.”

She sounded almost nervous. Didn’t she know he would love anything that came from her?

“Go sit on the couch,” she said, gesturing into the living room.

He tilted his head and cocked his eyebrow at her but followed her instructions.

“Close your eyes,” she called out as he sat.

He closed his eyes as she shuffled around and settled in front of him.

“I hope you like it... Open your eyes.”

When he opened them, Alice was clutching a canvas with an uneasy look. Although his eyes didn’t stay on the expression long because holy fuck. She was holding one of the hottest things he’d ever seen in his life.

It was a painting of them. It was an image of the night they’d covered each other in their statements of love and safety and longing. He was standing behind her, cupping her breasts, while she took the picture. Even though the painting stopped at their waist, he knew what was underneath that bathroom counter. She had captured her beauty and her luscious body.

But what he found even more moving was the look on their faces as they gazed into each other’s eyes. He remembered this moment like it was seconds ago. The utter adoration he’d hadfor her was written all over his face. What he found surprising was that look was on hers. She was looking at him with the same adoring gaze.

“Well?”

He peered at her with the same expression he had in the painting. A thousand words ran through his head, but none would form on his tongue. He was so overwhelmed with emotion.

Finally, he was able to pull his eyes away from the painting to the beautiful woman in front of him holding the canvas. How it was possible she didn’t know just how incredible it was a mystery to him.

“Alice . . . this is beautiful.”

“I know it’s not much... You did so much, and I?—”

He stood, took the canvas from her, and rested it against the coffee table. Cupping her face, he demanded her attention. “Alice. That is the most thoughtful, beautiful, special gift I’ve ever been given.”

Then he kissed her. He kissed her like he was a soldier headed for war, like she was a rain cloud and he was the desert, like he was a starving man and she was the motherfucking bread of life. That’s how he felt. How he’d gone his whole life without Alice Wagner was a mystery to him. He never wanted to know life without her.

She hummed as she opened to him, and he was lost in her.

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