Page 49 of Of Heartbreak and Harmony
I clench my thighs together, and slowly, painfully slow, he tilts his face up to mine. The look on his face—sex and hunger and primal need—makes my head spin. And then his full lips curve into a smile so devious, my core throbs. When his sharp canines appear, I fist my hands and try not to sway at the mental image that floods my mind. His teeth sinking into my thigh, my hips, my ass. Leaving red bite marks and bruises. Marking me.
As if reading my thoughts, he presses a kiss to my hip bone before nipping at the sensitive skin there. I gasp and reach for him, gripping his shiny black curls on impulse. He laughs, then whispers against my skin in a tone that almost sounds like singing.
“A fire-colored flower...burning in bloom....”
His lips drag over me, his tongue dipping into the band of my underwear once before he finally leans back and gives me space to breathe. To think. I drop my hands from his hair, and he grins up at me.
“You can leave them there,” he says ruefully, putting the paintbrush where his lips just were and continuing his artwork. “Pull a little harder next time. But nottoohard, or we might end up giving these people a show they didn’t ask for.”
My jaw drops and my eyes widen. He barks out a laugh so loud that it elicits one of my own.
“You’re...” I start to say, shaking my head. “You’re...”
“I’m...?”
“You’re not at all how I imagined you’d be.”
He smiles, but he doesn’t look up at me. He keeps his eyes on my stomach as his paintbrush glides over my skin. Thank god. It’s so much easier to form words when I’m not held hostage by his eyes.
“You’ve imagined me, hmm?” The humor in his voice makes me bite my lip and look away. I don’t answer, and he doesn’t stop painting. “I like the thought of you imagining me. Someday you’ll have to elaborate. I want to know how reality measures up to your fantasies.”
I snort out an awkward laugh. “Who said they were fantasies?”
My voice is high-pitched and breathy. A dead giveaway. They weretotallyfantasies. He doesn’t comment on my tone, though. He just shrugs.
“I’ll fantasize about you fantasizing about me, then. It will keep me company when I’m alone on the bus.”
Jesus, the thoughts that spur in my head. Alone—so not with Sav. Alone—not with me, either. Unless this is another subtle invitation?
The retraction of my previous rejection climbs up my throat, but it gets stuck on the tip of my tongue. If he asks me to go back to his bus again, I’ll go without hesitation. I’d go right now if he asks. He doesn’t.
It takes Torren over an hour to finish my body paint. It goes by in minutes. When I’m spinning in front of one of the full-length mirrors, I find myself speechless. He’s transformed me into a living, dancing flame. Even though I’m topless in just a pair of underwear, I don’t feel naked at all.
“Can you take a picture?” I ask him, pointing to my discarded jean shorts. “My phone is in the front pocket.”
“You like it, then?” He bends down and retrieves the phone.
“I love it.”
“Good.” He points the phone at me. “Smile, Firebird.”
He snaps a picture, then types on my phone for a few seconds. I hear the familiar sound of a text being sent, and then he hands my phone back to me.
“What did you just do?” I ask.
“Sent it to myself.”
My lips twitch with excitement. There’s now a thread in my text messages with Torren’s phone number, and I have to resist the urge to pull it up and look at it. It takes all my restraint to click the screen off and not hunt down his number like the obsessed fan that I am.
When I look back at him, he’s pulling his shirt and hat back on, and my brow furrows. I thought I was going to paint him next, and the disappointment that floods me is immediate.
“I’ll walk you back. It’s late.”
He hands me my shirt and bra, then holds my shorts out for me to step into them. The paint has dried, feeling warm and tight on my skin. Like a wet suit, or a second skin made of rubber. I wonder if this is what it would feel like to be a Barbie.
Torren tugs the shorts over the curve of my butt, then drops his hands, leaving them unbuttoned. He nods a thank you to the instructor, and when he turns to leave, I follow.
“Camp or car?” he asks, and I tell him where the tent is, then we fall into silence.
