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I should’ve stopped him, should’ve placed my hands on his chest and gently pushed him away, but I didn’t. Couldn’t. I was completely lost in him, lost in the way his tongue entered my mouth, hesitant at first but then with a building confidence and hunger. His hard, lean chest hovered over me, his breathing choppy as his tongue melded with mine, tasting me, and I sighed into the kiss.
The sound seemed to do something to him because he pushed me deeper onto the bed, my back hitting the mattress as his hand went to my knee, then slowly travelled up my outer thigh. Need sizzled hot under my skin as I slid my hand around the back of his neck, my fingers sifting through the short ends of his hair. He seemed to be driven by the same need because he came willingly, settling above me as he continued kissing me in a way that made my insides go a little haywire.
Only a minute ago, we were sitting side by side looking at this art. How on earth were we kissing? And why did it feel so good?
We broke apart, both gasping for air. Shay’s eyes travelled over my face, his breathing ragged as he caressed my cheek, gazing at me like he didn’t believe I was real. My heart fluttered. I was still so caught up in the shock of him kissing me, my brain too scrambled to form a coherent thought. His look was apologetic then, and he sat back. I sat up, too, and he lifted his hands as though to sign something, but then he lowered them and grabbed his phone instead.
Was that okay?
It didn’t take too long for me to read the short question. I brought my eyes to his, my expression sincere. “It was more than okay,” I paused, a blush heating my cheeks before a shy smile tugged at my lips. “I wasn’t expecting that.”
Shay smiled back at me, his eyes on mine for a long moment before they grew heated, his smile transforming into a smoulder as his attention returned to my lips. He tucked a strand of hair behind my ear, his touch careful and soft. My stomach erupted into butterflies once more. He leaned closer, and I thought he was going to kiss me again when suddenly his dad called up the stairs.
“Dinner’s ready!”
Reluctantly, Shay drew back, then stood. I sat there, my brain still trying to adjust to what happened as I watched him pick up the folder of artwork he’d shoved off my lap in his haste to kiss me. I wondered what had come over him. Why he’d seemed so suddenly overcome with passion.
Some of the pages had fallen free, and my gaze caught on a drawing. It was a pencil sketch, not filled in with colour yet. I could only see half of it because it was obscured by other pages, but it was obviously a drawing of someone’s face …
No, surely not.
The one eye and part of the nose I could see were familiar. A little too familiar. Had he drawn a picture of me? Shay finished gathering the papers, and I turned my attention away to ensure he didn’t catch me looking. I focused on fixing my shirt, which had gotten a little rumpled during our kiss, my heart pounding the entire time.
Had Shay really drawn me?
I didn’t know what to do with that information. Artists didn’t draw pictures of just anyone, right? Surely, it meant something. Then I thought about our kiss. He’d laid it on me right before I was about to see the picture. Did that mean he’d only kissed me to distract me from seeing it? Insecurity trickled in because I thought Shay had kissed me because he’d wanted to, but now I wasn’t so sure. I understood he might be self-conscious about the drawing. Had he sketched me because he found me interesting or intriguing in some way, or did he distract me from seeing it because he hadn’t wanted me to come to that kind of incorrect, fanciful conclusion? Perhaps he’d only drawn me because he needed a subject, and I was merely the first person who came to mind.
Feeling confused, I watched as Shay put his folder away in a drawer, then followed him back downstairs to the kitchen. I retook my seat at the table while Shay helped his father with serving everyone, just as he had last week.
“This looks delicious, Eugene,” Stephanie complimented.
The roast lamb, rosemary potatoes and red wine gravy were making my mouth water, and I hadn’t even tasted them yet.
“I’m glad to hear it. Dig in,” Eugene said before turning his attention to me. “Well, Maggie. What did you think of Shay’s art?”
Shay slid into the seat next to mine. I could feel his warmth at my side, could remember the feel of his lips, hungry and firm yet somehow gentle at the same time. I was still on a bit of a high to be honest, even if I was confused over his motivations for kissing me. I was also full of curiosity to see the picture I suspected he’d drawn of me. I’d never enjoyed being photographed, had even said no to Mr Cole when he’d asked if he could paint me some day. So, why was I so flattered and intrigued Shay had drawn me?
