Page 15 of Wet Paint

“The sky,” I said, admiring the darker shades of blue in the distance, while in the front, they were lighter.

“Reminds you of something?” he asked, watching me instead of his painting.

I nodded. “Yes, I just don’t know of what.”

Then it hit me. I turned my head to look at my unfinished painting. The ocean. The water I painted in dark blues, almost blacks. But the colors weren’t exactly what reminded me of Will’s painting. It was the way he painted it. The way he moved the brush across the canvas. It was painted in a similar style as mine.

“I was inspired by your work.”

I looked at him, my eyes wide again. “But…you’re my teacher. Everything I learned…everything I’m capable of doing is because of you.”

“That’s not true.” He leaned against the table and crossed his arms. “You’re talented, and you have been all your life. You didn’t know me when you were little. When you started painting and decided that’s what you wanted to do later in life. You have a gift, Ivy. I’ve noticed the first time you did a painting in class.”

He smiled and looked at my painting. “Unlike everyone else, you kept staring at the white canvas, your mind working hard to figure out what to do with it. It took you thirty minutes before you moved on to the colors, carefully picking them out. Even the brushes. You didn’t go for the new and unused ones. You picked older brushes, knowing the effect they’d have on an empty canvas. You envisioned what you wanted it to look like before you even made a single mark. That’s not something you can teach.”

I felt my face grow warm. Not from embarrassment. More like…being seen. And not just by anyone. Byhim.

“You remember all that?” I asked.

“Of course I do.” His tone was matter of fact, not trying to flatter me. “It was the first time in a long time I got excited about teaching again.”

That made me pause. “Because of me?”

He shrugged lightly, like he hadn’t meant to say it out loud, but didn’t regret it either. “Yeah. You cared in a way I hadn’t seen in a while. Not just about the grade or what I thought. You actually cared about the process. About getting it right.”

I looked back at the painting, suddenly unsure what to say. It felt weirdly intimate now, like we weren’t talking about art anymore. Not just.

“You know,” I said after a moment, “that day in class…I was terrified.”

Will raised an eyebrow. “Really? You didn’t look it.”

“I was,” I said, laughing softly. “I thought everyone would think I was too slow. That I didn’t belong in the program.”

“Well, they were wrong,” he said. “And you were wrong, too. You belonged more than anyone.”

We stood in silence for a second.

“I don’t know what this is going to turn into,” I said quietly. “Us. This. But I like it.”

“Me too.”

He took a step toward me, and I met him halfway. It all came naturally. We kissed, and I felt every hesitation and every worry melt away as I pressed myself closer to him. He ran his hands into my hair, his fingers pulling gently at the roots, and I moaned, feeling my knees go weak. This time he didn’t stop. Didn’t break away. His hands traveled down my back, and he grabbed my hips and lifted me onto the table.

I wrapped my legs around his waist and pulled him into me. His mouth moved from my lips and trailed down my neck, kissing, biting, and sucking. I gasped, feeling him hard againstmy thigh. My hands were on him, everywhere. In his hair, on his neck, running down his chest.

“Fuck, Ivy,” he groaned, sounding desperate. “You have no idea how much I want you.”

I smiled against his skin, feeling bold. “Show me,” I whispered, wanting him just as much.

He let out a breathless laugh and tugged at my shirt, pulling it over my head and tossing it onto the floor. He paused for a moment and looked at me, his eyes dark. “God, you’re perfect,” he said, tracing the edge of my bra with his fingers.

I shivered and reached for his sweater, sliding my hands under it and feeling his warm skin. “Take this off,” I said, tugging at the fabric.

He obeyed, the sweater joining my shirt on the ground. I couldn’t stop staring at his body. At his hard chest, and those perfectly shaped abs. I took in his arms next, and my panties were instantly wet. He definitely worked out, and probably never skipped arm-day.

God, those veins…

He pulled me closer, and his hands were everywhere again. On my waist, feeling the curve of my ass, sliding up my back to unclasp my bra. He pulled it off and closed his mouth around my nipple, sucking gently, his tongue flicking over it. I moaned, pleasure shooting through my body.

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