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I lead him over to the couch, sitting with our legs pressed together, not an inch of space between us. Pulling the painting to myself, I lay it on his lap. A smile breaks over his lips. “Well, fuck. Look at that.” His fingers brush over the painting, amazement lighting up his features. “This is amazing. I’m proud of you, baby.”
I blush, a shy smile tilting my lips up. “Are you getting soft on me, Easton?”
He chuckles. “You fucking wish.” Our eyes catch and hold. So much is exchange with that one simple look. “I love you, Jasmine.”
I swallow, an all-encompassing bliss wrapping around me. “I love you, too, Easton”
EPILOUGE
EASTON
Jasmine's eyes are wide as she takes in my penthouse. The small dashes of decorations from her apartment brings life to the dull modern look I had going on before. The floor-to-ceiling window that overlooks the city, the deep wood that lines the floor. Exposed brick walls. A fireplace sits in the middle of the room, open glass exposing it from all angles, her first happy painting sitting on the mantle.
Mr. Tuxedo brushes against her leg, a string of meows making a chorus as he tries to catch her attention.
The day I woke up after being pistol-whipped, my eyes opened to the fucker, kneading his sharp claws into my chest. I debated donating him to the shelter, because cats are not loyal and probably made by Satan himself, but I voted against it, because she loves him.
A soft gasp leaves her lips as she drops to her knees, clutching the cat to her chest. “You moved me into your apartment without my consent or thoughts on it?”
I look around, taking in the beautiful expanse of the room. “That should not be the shock value of this situation.”
She purses her lips, eyes narrowing on me. I wink, melting away the anger she’s trying and failing to throw at me.
I hold out my hand. “Come on. I want to show you something.”
She grasps my hand, stepping out onto the patio with me. The pool water twinkles under the light, inviting us in, but I have something much better. Where a greenhouse made up of clear glass windows sits on the fake grass. It’s not as small as most are as it takes up a good portion of the space I have out here. Opening the door, I glance over my shoulder, watching her eyes round in awe as her lips part.
Inside is lined with shelves. Every color and type of paint she could ever want—well, I hope, since I don’t know a damn thing about art. Brushes of different sizes sit in glass jars that my mom helped me pick out because I would have probably just laid them on the shelves. Blank canvases line the bottom of one wall. An easel sits in the middle, an art tray next to it. A painting pallet resting on the stool. I put up a hanging bed in the far corner so I could sit out here and watch her lose herself in her art. Fairy lights hang from the ceiling; we can’t see the stars from here, so I wanted to give her the illusion.
She turns in a circle, a huge, bright smile lighting and carving every inch of her face. She stops, eyes landing on mine. She catches me off guard when she launches at me. Legs wrapping around my waist, arms tangling around my neck as she presses her lips to mine punishingly. I slide down the glass wall until she sits in my lap on the floor. Tilting her chin back, I deepen the kiss.
When we finally break apart, catching our breaths, I whisper, “I want to watch you paint.” She smiles, planting a small kiss to the corner of my mouth before she gets up. She squirts paint onto the pallet, carefully picking brushes and setting them on her tray. Finally, she takes a seat, tilting her head to study the blank canvas, as if seeing an image in the white.
She begins freehand painting, and I rise, a joint tucked between my lips. Walking up behind her, I move her hair away from her neck, kissing the back of it. “I want to watch you paint naked.” My voice comes out raspy, thick with arousal.
I grab the hem of her dress slowly, pulling it up her body, over her head. My hand curls around her neck, slowly drifting over the lace of her teal bra. My hand trails down over her soft skin, swiping over her stomach, slipping my hand inside her matching panties. My fingers skim over her wet heat.
“These are going to have to go,” I whisper into her neck, pulling the fabric until they snap.
“I really loved this set.” She sighs, head falling back to my shoulder, eyes fluttering.
“I’ll buy you a new one.”
Her hands reach behind her back, unlatching the bra. It falls down her arms, as she slowly pulls it off, dropping it to the floor. My finger lightly pinches her nipple, my other hand holding the joint as I blow smoke along her neck. “I want you to keep painting for me. It’s our foreplay.” She shivers but slowly leans away from me, picking her brush back up. “I’m fucking you later. Bet on that, baby,” I whisper into her ear.
I unbutton my shirt, tossing it to the ground, then put my joint out in an ashtray I set up out here. Picking up a brush, I dab it in black, moving her hair from her back and over her shoulder. Painting on her back with horrible precision because I don’t have an artistic bone in my body.
She asks, “What are you doing?”
“Worry about your painting, baby. I’ll worry about mine.” She giggles, focusing back on her work. Stepping back, I grin. Grabbing my white dress shirt from the ground, I hold it out in front of her. “Put this on for me. Only to your elbows. Don’t want to mess up my masterpiece.”
“Why?” she questions, and I’m honestly happy to hear the sass.
“Because I’m going to snap a picture of it. I don’t particularly care if your ass is covered or not, but you will.”
“True.” She nods, grabbing the shirt and slipping it on.
I pull out my phone, snapping a picture. Looking at my phone, I take her in. Her raven hair over her shoulder, a pallet in her hand, my dress shirt swooping low, showcasing the curve of her spine, cutting off the spectacular view of her ass. ‘Jasmin, marry me,’ painted along her shoulder blades. I show her the phone, placing it right in front of her face.
