Page 97 of For the Love of Art

Nathan dragged soft, messy kisses over my sweat slicked chest as I worked to get my vision straight and my heart rate down. My fingers combed through his hair, enjoying him still being so close.

“Nathan?”

“Yes?” He replied between his kisses.

“I thought you wanted me to suck you.”

Nathan’s eyes flicked up and met mine. “Oh, I’m sure we’ll have more opportunities.” He kissed my stomach. “You’re mine, so we have all the time in the world.”

I smiled at his words.

“Come on. We better shower before work.”

I didn’t fully trust my legs, but I allowed Nathan to help me up and to the shower, where we came together again.

Later that day, I was on the gallery floor, replacing some paintings to fill the space after Victoria’s opening. I heard my name as I stepped back to decide if a picture was straight. I looked over my shoulder to see Nathan strolling toward me with a wide grin. It took everything in me not to roll my eyes. I knew that grin– it was a sex grin.

“Don’t be so obvious,” I scolded playfully when he approached me.

He feigned confusion. “Obvious about what?”

Now, I rolled my eyes. He laughed.

“I came out for a reason. I wanted to discuss some things in your office,” Nathan said.

I looked over his shoulder at Dori. She was thankfully oblivious to Nathan and me as she typed on the computer.

“Nathan, we’re at work,” I whispered.

Nathan’s tongue darted out and wet his lips.

He whispered, "That is exactly why I want to talk about work.”

I still wasn’t sure if work was code for something else, but I followed him to my office. Once inside, Nathan closed the door and then rushed to me, cupping my cheeks and planting a deep kiss on my lips.

“I thought you said this was about work,” I teased, gripping his wrists.

“It is.” He let go of my face and walked around my desk. “It’s just hard not to take advantage of a private moment with you.”

He sat in my floral chair, and I crossed my arms as I approach the opposite side of the desk.

“Alright, Mr. Work-Ethic. What do you got for me?”

“Our next opening for an artist named Effie Vandershaaf.” Nathan looked around my desk.

“Do you need something?”

“A pen to write the name for you.”

He continued looking, opening the top drawer of my desk in his efforts. His brows furrowed, and my blood ran cold, knowing what he had found. He pulled out a manilla envelope and looked at me.

“Are these the–”

“Divorce papers,” I finished the sentence for him.

Nathan nodded. “Right.” He placed them back in the drawer and stood up. “I can just email you.”

“Yeah, that works.”