Page 50 of Follow Your Bliss

“Ah!” He pretended to shiver, smiling bigger and sparing me a glance. “I’m reading.”

“What are you reading?”

He chuckled and sat up closer to me, meeting my eyes. “If you must know…” He held his phone toward me with the book cover displayed. Above a photo of someone fingering a blood orange was the title:The Thinking Lover’s Guide to the Pussy.

Fuck me.

My eyes met his, and the son of a bitch unconsciously—subconsciously?—darted his tongue out to lick his lips. Goosebumps rose all over my body, and my basement flooded in a sweet ache. “Goddamn, Deck Daddy. Is it…good?”

He shrugged, his gaze dropping to my mouth as he smiled. “I guess I’ll find out at some point.” He raised his eyebrows at me and went back to reading, biting his thumb and lazily rocking his leg so that I caught flashes of his toned inner thigh.

Smiling like an idiot, I swallowed hard and trained my eyes back on my screen, but all I saw was that lucky blood orange. I deep breathed through the intense need he’d triggered between my legs. Was he…was he reading that book…for me?

“What are you working on?”

It took me a second to hear him above the beating of my heart. “Um…dresses.”

He scooted his chaise close enough that his body heat warmed my skin. “You’re drawing? Oh! You were going to show me Becca’s dresses.”

“Oh yeah.” I opened up Becca’s file and tapped through my layers of discarded ideas to the wedding design she picked. “Will she get pissed if I show you?”

The mischief in his eyes stirred my blood. “She doesn’t have to know.”

I held it out to him, and he took the iPad from me, zooming in at the details at her waist, the design along the hem of the train. “Just beautiful.” He handed it back. “What about bridesmaid dresses? What are you wearing?”

Oh my. The raspy way he said that, and so close to my ear, was a little like phone sex. I really liked phone sex.

I opened another file with my sister as the base. “She had a harder time deciding on the bridesmaids’ dresses, but she went with this one. She loved the way the chiffon drapes off the shoulder. I liked the blush—” I changed the color with a few taps of my stylus. “But she insisted on this deep wine color. It’s more purple than red.”

“Why is Lily the model? Haven’t you drawn yourself? Because you’re gonna rock the hell out of that color. Did you know your eyes look purple sometimes?”

I smiled. “That’s what my mom says.” A few more taps, and I’d loaded the gown on my drawing of myself. “Here I am.”

He zoomed in more on my drawing of me than on the dress. “Beautiful. You could draw professionally.”

“Thanks.”

“How many times have you designed your own wedding dress?” His soft smile made me feel seen, like he knew I was all about the dress even though I wasn’t all about the wedding.

“Too many to count. I keep getting new ideas, and my taste keeps changing. I doubt I’ll ever need one, anyway.”

“Show me?”

His face was near my shoulder, and those brown eyes fluttered up to mine, warm, open, full of…hope? His eyes dropped to my lips again, and mine dropped to his.

With trembling hands, I flipped through all my attempts at drawing myself a wedding dress. “Of course, I started with princess dresses with big bells of tulle for a skirt, and then I went through my romantic phase, with silk chiffon flowers and peplums and a corset top. I love corset tops.”

“Very sexy,” he affirmed.

God, his deep voice could probably unhook my bikini top with a single growl. “And then my lace designs, some sluttier than others. MyLord of the Ringsphase…”Swipe, swipe. “My ‘wedding dresses don’t have to be white phase…’”Swipe, swipe, swipe, swipe.“I made this one for a class. It may be my favorite. I used lace that matches my skin, so the effect is very sexy.”

His mouth was close enough to kiss, and so inviting. He pulled away slightly with a hard swallow. “Do you have any drawings of dresses that you could put side-by-side with the dress itself? Instagram would eat that up.”

“Yeah, I have a few. But not many good pictures of them. They were mostly taken either in my ratty apartment or in the cluttered design studio at school. The only professional photographer I can afford is my sister, because she’s free, but I don’t want her taking the pictures. The last time I talked to her about my work, her mouth said, ‘You’re making such great progress!’ but her eyes said, ‘your little hobby is adorable.’”

“That sucks. I didn’t know she wasn’t supportive. You’re so talented.” He sat up straighter and caught my gaze with his. “You know, a very wise woman once told me that if you get paid doing the thing you love, that doesn’t make it less of a real job.”

I rolled my eyes with a smirk. “Yeah. But it’s kind of like making it as an actress or an artist. It’s really hard, and sometimes you lose hope.”

---