Page 40 of The Painter and His Poet

“Because I’m a coward,” I whisper, dropping my gaze.

He makes a noise in his throat, and I force myself to look up at him again. “Sterling, I wish…”

“If your relationship with your mother was different, and you didn’t have to fear that she would try and ruin something between us, would you have stayed until morning? Would you have wanted to explore something with me?” he asks, pushing up from the table and taking a couple of steps towards me.

“It doesn’t matter now,” I say, shaking my head, glancing away so as not to see the hunger in his gaze, worse still, thehope.

“It matters to me, Harlow,” he counters, reaching for me.

I back up again, my back hitting the door as his warm hand cups my arm sending tremors throughout my body. “Don’t.”

“I have thought about you every second of every day. Every night since we met, I searched for you in all the nightclubs and bars across New York City.”

“Please, Sterling. Don’t make this any harder than it already is. This is our parents’ wedding day,” I whisper.

“I don’t give a fuck about them. I care aboutus.”

“There is no us. There can’t ever be an us. You have to know that,” I plead.

“I know that I can’t look at you without wanting to kiss you. I know that it’s been fucking torture these past few months not knowing if I’d ever see you again. I know that when I heard you singing just now, despite my anger and shock, all I wanted was to yell that I’d finally found you,” he says vehemently, his hand reaching up to cup my face as he steps closer, the heat of his body penetrating mine.

“How can we be together now? It’s an impossibility.”

“Nothing is impossible when it comes to us.”

“Please don’t do this,” I beg as his fingers slide across my cheek and dig into my hair.

“You have plagued my thoughts, Harlow. That night meant something to me.Youmean something to me.”

“We barely know each other,” I counter, pressing my hands against his chest in an attempt to keep some distance between us. His heart thunders beneath my palms, matching the frantic beat of my own.

“And now we have the chance to do exactly that.”

“But we’re family now,” I protest.

“By marriage only,” he insists, but I hear the note of desperation in his voice, as though he’s trying to convince himself that it doesn’t matter, as much as he’s trying to convince me.

“We can’t,” I whimper, but he leans in, his nose brushing mine gently.

“Tell me you don’t want this,” he whispers roughly. “Tell me you’re not as affected by me as I’m affected by you. Tell me right now, and I will walk away. Tell me, Harlow.”

But I don’t.I can’t.

Closing the last few inches between us, he presses the length of his body against mine, and I can feel the swell of his cock hardening against my stomach. I let out another whimper, every part of me wanting to fall into his arms, to kiss him, to explore this undeniable attraction, this fierce lust, this violent connection that has snapped back to life in his presence.

He brushes his lips against mine, so softly, so reverently, that my fingers curl into his shirt, holding on instead of pushing him away. “This is wrong.”

“It doesn’t feel wrong to me,” he replies, pressing a kiss against the corner of my mouth. “Fuck, Harlow, can’t youfeelthat?”

And I do feel it, my body reacting before my mind can even catch up as Sterling’s tongue pushes past my lips and sweeps into my mouth in a desperate, toe-curling kiss.

And that’s all it takes.

We fall into each other.

Teeth clashing, fingers grasping, chests heaving.

It’s as though the last few months apart were just an insignificant moment in time, as though we’re not at our parents wedding, and aren’t two people very recently bound together by their marriage. I’m vaguely aware of the desperate moans emanating from my chest as his hand grips my hip and he rocks against me.

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