AllFreeNovel
Share Us
He hesitates, then nods. He turns off the engine, engages the handbrake, then gets out of the car. By then, I’m standing on the sidewalk. He follows me toward the main door, which I push open, then scowls. "There’s no lock on this door?"
14
Vivian
"I have a lock on the door to the apartment," I demur.
He follows me up the stairs, which creak. The scent of food lingers in the corridor. The sound of a woman yelling reaches us as we pass the apartment on the second floor. We reach the third floor, and I fit the key into the lock and push it open. I walk in, and Q follows me. I drop my handbag on the breakfast counter and turn to find him surveying the paintings I’ve stacked against the wall.
He walks over to them, begins to peruse them, and it feels like he’s touching my body. I didn’t feel this exposed when Zoey looked at them. I wasn't worried she was cataloging my soul the way Q is.
My paintings are personal; each of them contains a bit of my soul, but not everyone can see that. I'm afraid he's one of those who can. He continues to glance through them, and when he doesn’t say anything, I bite the inside of my cheek. Don’t say it, don’t say it… "What do you think?" I blurt out.
Without replying, he continues to survey the canvasses. When he’s done with the last one, he turns to me. He gives my words careful consideration then nods. "They have potential."
I blink, wait, but he doesn’t say anything more.
"That’s it?" I stare. "That’s all you have to say?"
"I’m no expert, but there are flashes of brilliance in what you’ve done. I think you could be better. In fact, I’m sure you’ll get better the more you paint."
Why do I feel so deflated that he didn't effusively praise my work? I should appreciate his honesty. Especially since he's right. And his observation cut straight to the crux of what's been bothering me. Time. I need to carve out more time to paint.
The more you express yourself, the better you get. That’s all there is to it. Again, he’s right. And now, I am more pissed-off, both at him and myself. Why does he always have to be right? Is it because he’s older than me and has more experience? Why does that make me feel unsophisticated? Ugh. I spin around and head to the bathroom, with him at my heels.
By the time I retrieve the first aid kit from the shelf below the sink and turn to him, he’s perched at the edge of the tub. I grab the roll of cotton and the antiseptic. I wet a clean washcloth with hot water from the tap and walk over to him.
“Take it off,” I nod toward his blood splattered T-shirt.
Only when the words are out do I realize how suggestive they sound. He notices it, too, for his eyes gleam. “Bossing me around, Raven?”
“And if I am?” I tip up my chin.
Our gazes connect again and I’m sure he’s going to tell me off for taking the lead, but he must be more hurt than I realized for he doesn’t protest further.
He pulls off his T-shirt, and I gasp. The area around his ribs has turned a mottled-green. Blood oozes from the wound. He must have been in pain all this time, but the ease with which he carried me… I never would've guessed.
Without meeting his eyes, I step between his legs. When I touch the cloth to his wound, the muscles bunch under his skin. And when I begin to clean the wound, he exhales sharply.
“Sorry, I... Did I hurt you?”
I look into his face to find blue fire in his gaze. The muscles at his jaw flex, and I know he’s grinding his teeth.
“Are... Are you okay?”
“Just get on with it.” His voice is terse.
Oh god, it must be hurting him more than I realized. I increase my pace, while also trying to be gentle. I dab the cloth around the edges of his wound, and he flinches. When he doesn’t pull away, I continue to soak up the blood with the cloth. I lean in closer to get a better look, and his breath ghosts over my cheek. I shiver. My hair brushes over his torn skin, and he groans.
“Oh, shoot. Sorry, sorry, I’m going as fast as I can.”
My hand slips, and his entire body jolts.
“Ugh, I’m such a klutz." I blow on the wound, and a low groan rumbles up his chest. Instantly, I’m wet. My nipples peak. Shit, shit, shit. The man is in pain, and I’m worried about him, but touching him, taking care of him, being this close to him, and knowing he’s just as affected by my nearness spikes the air between us with an eroticism that escalates the level of horniness I feel to thermonuclear levels.
I follow the cuts and bruises to one that dips under the waistband of his jeans. It feels right to be on my knees in front of him, so I sink down, my skin on the cool tile the only thing keeping me from overheating as I run the washcloth across his torso. The noise he makes thrills me. I want him to make it again and again.
I slide the cloth under the waistband, and he swears. His thigh muscles ripple like there are waves trapped under his skin. Also, there’s a boat between his legs. No, make that a cruise ship as big as the titanic, after it hit the iceberg and is now sinking in a vertical fashion. He’s aroused, and it’s because I’m touching him. Exhilaration dampens the triangle between my legs further. A giddy sense of power courses under my skin. That... that... thing at his crotch is nothing to sneeze about. If he... If he puts it inside me... Assuming it fits, I’m sure to feel it at the backs of my eyes. My pussy begins to weep.
