Page 33 of Sully

It was a lot.

It wasn’t weird to feel connected to him.

Sully was an imperfect canvas. He couldn’t seem to stop himself from rocking his shoulders or swaying his feet or hips when a song he loved came on. Once, I had to hold back and wait while he belted out a song about believing in a thing called love.

I didn’t even realize how big I was smiling until my cheeks hurt. I immediately decided I needed to add that song to one of my playlists. If for no other reason than to replay that very moment over and over again in my mind.

Was that maybe a smidge pathetic of me? Possibly. But I’d accepted long ago that my fantasy life was always going to be richer than my reality.

And if in my fantasy, Sully rolled over, grabbed me, and pulled me to straddle him, so be it.

And if he…

Sully’s body made a strange, fast jerking motion, dragging me out of my fantasies that were getting increasingly more steamy.

“What—“ I started.

“Your hair,” he said, turning enough to glance back at me, looking a little bashful.

“My hair?” I asked, confused.

“You gotta promise not to tell my brothers, but I can be ticklish as fuck sometimes.”

“Really?” I asked. “Just on your back?”

“And the bottoms of my feet,” he admitted. “But don’t go trying to test that theory. You might get kicked in the face. I freak the fuck out.”

“I would never,” I assured him. “Here,” I said, grabbing the tail of my braid and tucking it under the collar of my shirt. “Problem solved.”

“How’s it looking back there? I fully expect you to take a picture when you’re done. I wanna see the masterpiece.”

“It’s not that great,” I said. Now that I was mostly done, I could see all of the ways that I would do things differently. But that was the nature of coloring in a big picture.

“It’s fantastic.”

“How would you know? You can’t see it,” I said, leaning over him again to start working on the town at the top. I decided to do it in bold, contrasting colors because it would be a little boring otherwise.

“I have complete faith in you.”

“Temper your expectations,” I demanded, my tone light. “And stop squirming.”

I got a little chuckle for that before I steadily got back to work. I even backtracked to try to drag things out a bit.

But, eventually, it was as done as it could be.

And I had to move away.

“Nuh-uh. Picture,” he demanded as he pushed his phone back toward me.

“Okay,” I conceded. “Hold on. I need to get a better view,” I added, moving to stand on the bed, wanting to capture the whole back. “Alright. All done.”

Sully scooted up onto his knees as I retreated to the top of the bed again.

“Okay, Picasso,” he said, shooting me that charming smile again.

“I thought I was Monet.”

“Which one is best?”

---