Page 111 of Lotus

Me, Sydney, Alexis, and Athena.

We are watching the fireworks together.

An innate fervency stabs through my heart, choking me. The feelings running rampant in my chest are almost more than I can bear.

Joy and gratitude for the exquisite, thoughtful gift. Melancholy remorse for all the years spent apart, in two separate worlds, lost without each other. Hope for a future I can envision more clearly than any memory stored inside my brain. Intense yearning for a life I never thought would come to be.

And above all, love.

Love for her.

I tear my gaze away from the artwork, finding a wide-eyed Sydney, tearful and anxious, watching me as I process the emotions coursing through my blood.

She swallows, nearly shaking with unease. “God, Oliver, say something…”

My eyes close for a few heartbeats in an effort to prevent my own tears from flowing. “I love it. I love it so much, thank you…” Then I set the canvas down, leaning it against the desk, and pull her into my arms. I hug her, cling to her, cherish her, my fingers twining through her hair while my mouth presses a kiss to her temple. “I won’t leave,” I murmur softly, tightening my hold. “I can’t… I can’t leave you, Syd.”

Her gasp is strained, cracked, a strangled cry of relief. Sydney buries her face into my chest, breathing me in, while her arms link behind my back. “We’ll make it work, I promise. You’re all I need, Oliver,” she whimpers. “You’re all I need.”

We hold each other for a long time, Sydney’s tears seeping through the cotton fabric of my shirt, while my mouth rains a flurry of kisses into her hair. When we pull back, I cup her face, smoothing back her flaxen locks, our eyes tied and tethered. I’m going to attempt to speak something profound, but I find myself distracted by a large smear of paint along her forehead.

A laugh escapes me instead.

Sydney frowns. “What? My hair?”

My grin widens. “No, you’ve got… some paint…” I gesture towards her forehead, and she quickly begins to swipe at it. More laughter floats between us when she smudges the bright crimson into her hairline.

“I’m making it worse, aren’t I?”

“Worse is subjective. I think you make a brilliant canvas.” I lick my thumb, using it to clear the dabs of paint from her skin, causing a sharp breath to release between her lips. I glance at those lips, momentarily distracted, when suddenly, I feel the back of her hand reach out and connect with the side of my face, leaving something cold and slimy in its wake. Her giggles fill me up, the mood turning playful.

“Orange looks good on you. Brings out your eyes,” Sydney teases, smearing the paint down my jaw.

I can’t help but retaliate by reaching around her and dipping two fingers into the paint tray, then coloring her in a vibrant shade of blue. It drips along her hair and neck, pulling a squeal from her throat.

She gives me a good-natured smack against the shoulder, then turns around to exact her revenge. Sydney’s fingers are coated in orange and yellow when she returns, and we face each other with mischief in our eyes.

My insides are alight with a certain kind of giddiness as we stare one another down, our smiles big and bright. “I’m stronger than you,” I tell her.

“I’m faster.” She smears the paint on my neck, dragging her palm down the front of my shirt.

I reach for more paint as she flees, her laughter trailing behind her. My hands are covered in turquoise and purple, mixing into a dark, muddy shade. I catch her quickly, slinking my arms around her middle and pulling her to my chest, running my hands along the front of her body. Sydney laughs harder, her squeaks rising in pitch as she fights my grasp.

She pulls free, and I think she’s going to run from the room.

I think she’s going to bolt.

Instead, she kisses me.

Before I know it, Sydney’s fingers are curled around the front of my t-shirt, yanking my lips to hers, familiar and sweet.

We both groan with equal parts surprise and desire when we collide, hard and swift. Crushing and claiming. I clasp her face between my paint-smeared palms, pulling her even closer, tasting her deeper. Sydney gasps as she weaves her arms around my neck and walks us backwards. I bump into a chair, tipping it over as our tongues battle it out, then reach for the table to steady myself. But all I manage to do is knock the tray of paints to the ground, coating her hardwood floor in rainbow patterns.

I ignore the mess, too far gone, and tug her t-shirt up and over her head, tossing it into the chaos near our feet. I reach around to unclasp her bra, our mouths still connected, while Sydney fingers the button on my jeans. She pulls down the zipper just as her bra is discarded and her breasts are exposed. I break the kiss to meld our foreheads together, my gaze drifting south to watch her push my pants down my waist, boxers following.

Sydney’s gaze settles on my erection. Her eyes widen with dilated pupils, her swollen lips parting with a sharp breath. I pull back only to remove my own shirt before capturing her mouth again.

There is no hesitation. We simply react, we give in, wetake.

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