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"Hmm." He continues to study me as I fork some bacon into my mouth.
"How come you were home yesterday?"
"Zoey called me. She’s been trying to reach you the past three days. When you didn’t answer your phone, she got worried and called me. Followed closely by Mrs. Harmon, who told me you hadn’t collected your food trays for over twenty-four hours."
My cheeks heat. "I’m sorry I bothered you."
"Your health is the most important thing in the world to me, Raven."
A weird embarrassment steals through me. Probably because I’m remembering how I hadn’t been able to fall asleep until I suckled his cock.
"You have nothing to be ashamed of," he rumbles. Damn, is he reading my thoughts now? I continue to eat without meeting his gaze. He cups my cheek with his big hand, and I have no choice but to meet his eyes. There’s a softness to his features. The tenderness in his touch turns my pulse into a vibrating top. This...this fondness in his voice, this affection in the way his skin clings to mine, this devotion in his eyes, this... This is everything. This is better than how I anticipated it could be between us.
This... Is this true love? Is this how it feels to be with your soulmate? This meeting of the minds, of feeling in tune with him, of knowing I don’t have to speak for him to read my thoughts. Of being confident that he knows what I need before I do. Of owning me without saying a word. Is this...
Is this true dominance—when he anticipates my needs and makes sure I have what I need without my realizing I ever required it? If this is it, then it feels all-consuming, overpowering, all-desiring. It feels dizzying and exhilarating. I want to jump into his arms and kiss him and have him kiss me back. My head spins, and yet, he continues to gaze into my eyes like I’m the only woman in the world for him.
This... is what I was missing. This is what I was looking for, and now that I have it... I realize it’s even better than what the poets wrote about. I yearned for it. I have it. I need time to get used to it.
So, instead of throwing my arms around him, I look away. "Quentin"—I swallow—"I… I need to get my paintings shipped for the showing."
His forehead furrows, then a knowing glint comes into his eyes. “I know a diversion when I see one, baby,” he says in a gentle voice.
I flush again. “It’s not—” I begin to speak then stop myself. If we want to make this relationship work, I need to be honest. “You’re right. It is a diversion. I... You can be overwhelming, Q, and I’m processing everything that’s happened between us, while also trying to get my paintings done in time.” I set down my fork. “I just... am trying to figure things out in my head, you know?”
His features soften. The lines radiating out from his eyes deepen and his lips curve slightly. He reaches over and takes my hand, “Take all the time you need, I’m not going anywhere.”
51
Vivian
My husband surprised me again. He’s been so patient, so understanding, it’s hard to reconcile this tender side of him with the dominant, macho, alpha he is. I realize, I might have misjudged him. There are more facets to Q than I appreciated. After he asked—no, begged me not to ask him to stay away, and I agreed, he’s been sleeping in our bed the last few nights. But he hasn’t touched me, except to spoon me.
I woke up when he slipped into bed last night, then sighed in contentment when he pulled me into his arms. And I woke with the evidence of his arousal stabbing into the small of my back. I knew he was awake, and for a few seconds, I was sure he was going to make love to me. But he pushed my hair aside, kissed the curve of my shoulder, wished me a good day, and got out of bed. He bathed and left me with another kiss on my forehead.
Oh, my God, I felt so desired. I felt his restraint, and that turned me on even more. In a daze, I made it to my studio to find he’d left me a cappuccino in an insulated tumbler. I almost burst into tears with his thoughtfulness, then indulged myself by sipping the cappuccino slowly.
Why does it feel like our relationship has evolved? That he’s even more in tune with my desires? It makes me feel cherished, but also… Nervous? I place the tumbler aside, then walk over to my easel to survey the last painting I created. This is the final one I need for the show.
It’s also the only one that isn’t Quentin-themed. An abstract in blue and black, with wing-shaped shadows hidden between the layers of colors, it’s the darkest painting I’ve ever created, and the most personal. I wasn’t sure what it was meant to be, only that I felt compelled to splash colors onto the canvas. Now that it’s done, I can see it in perspective. I know what it is. I don’t want to sell this one, but I committed to the gallery owner to deliver twenty-five paintings, and this is one of them. I can’t go back on my word.
There’s a knock on the door, and when I turn, it’s to find Lizzie popping her head around. "Can I come in?" She beams at me. I wave her in, and she walks over and hugs me. "So good to see you!"
"You, too." I squeeze her shoulders. "How was the tour?"
"Great!" She steps back, and there’s a sparkle in her eyes. One I recognize. It’s how I feel when I’ve completed a painting and I know it’s good. It’s that sense of complete satisfaction at having emptied everything you have into your creation. That sense of having plumbed the depths of your subconscious and given it shape, knowing it's not yours anymore.
We smile at each other, and then Lizzie hugs me again. "Marriage suits you."
“Thank you.” I bite the inside my cheek. “I heard about you confronting my husband, by the way.”
She seems a little taken aback, then she holds up her hands. “I’m sorry if it felt like I was interfering... Which I was. But when I realized how unhappy you were on that phone call, and I could tell you’d been crying…. And while you didn’t let slip much about the details, I gathered enough from our various conversations to realize your man was being bull-headed. He needed a talking to, and?—”
“You decided you were the person to give it to him?” I half smile.
“Something like that.” She squeezes my shoulder. “I hope I didn’t make things worse. I mean, clearly, I didn’t because you’re here all smiling and glowing. And I’m sorry if you feel I overstepped, but you’ve done so much for me Vivi, and I couldn’t stand by and see you unhappy. I had to do something about it.”
I take in her nervous tone and the anxiety in her features. I do think she overstepped, but that’s Lizzie. She’s impetuous and spontaneous and she meant well. Besides, whatever she told Q seems to have changed his mindset completely. “I am grateful for what you did, but”—I wag my finger— “don’t do it again.”
