AllFreeNovel
Share Us
And he did. As I let the emotions from the past days flow onto the canvas, Austin was there beside me – sometimes offering a silent hand on my shoulder, at other times fetching a paint or a brush I needed. It felt cathartic, therapeutic.
Hours seemed to pass in minutes, and by the time I stepped back from the canvas, exhausted yet content, the sun had set outside, casting the studio in a soft, golden glow.
I turned to find Austin staring at the canvas, his expression unreadable. Walking over, he wrapped his arms around me from behind, resting his chin on my shoulder. "It's beautiful," he murmured, his voice thick with emotion. "Just like you."
Overwhelmed, I leaned back into him, letting his warmth and love envelop me. "Thank you," I whispered, tears once again threatening to spill.
With that, we left the studio, locking up behind us. As we walked out into the night, the weight of the past seemed to lift, replaced with hope and promise for the future. Whatever came next, we'd face it together.
36
AUSTIN
The quiet rhythm of brushstrokes filled the room, the scent of paint, turpentine, and something else—maybe it was the tangible sensation of emotions being channeled onto the canvases—that enveloped us. Paisley was lost in her world, and I found my attention shifting between my own work and the entrancing woman not far from me.
She always looked breathtaking, but right now, in her element, with the warm glow of the setting sun illuminating her, she was ethereal. The soft smudges of paint on her cheek, the way her fingers delicately held the brush, every detail about her was a testament to her passion, and it pulled me in deeper.
Every now and then, she'd tuck that strand of hair behind her ear, an unconscious habit of hers that I found endearing. The way the corner of her lips quirked up when she was satisfied with a brushstroke, or the small frown that settled when she was deep in thought. The slight crinkle of her nose when she was deciding on colors. Each tiny detail, a puzzle piece that made up the incredible woman I had fallen for.
Her old, paint-splattered jeans clung to her just right, showing off her curves. The simple white tank she wore had a few smears of paint, each mark a badge of her dedication to her art. There was a rhythm to her movements, an artist's dance, fluid and graceful. Every time she dipped her brush into the paint, every time she adjusted her stance, it was poetry in motion. And it was intoxicating.
It became harder and harder to concentrate on my own painting. Every brushstroke of mine became a way of transcribing the emotions that surged through me. My canvas slowly filled with hues of deep blues and fiery reds, reflecting the torrent of feelings Paisley evoked in me.
She moved towards the makeshift paint station, the old door laid across sawhorses that served as her palette. I watched her from the corner of my eye as she deliberated over her color choices, the soft arch of her brow, the way her fingers danced over the different paint tubes.
Seized by a sudden impulse, I put down my brush and approached her. She was so engrossed in her task that she didn't notice me until I was right behind her. Swiftly, I wrapped my arms around her waist, pulling her against me. She let out a surprised gasp, her body tensing for just a second before relaxing into my embrace.
Turning in my arms, her green eyes met mine, and for a moment, time seemed to stop. The world outside, the sounds of the busy street, the distant hum of life, everything faded away, leaving just the two of us in our own universe.
The corners of her mouth turned up in a half-smile, her lips parting slightly. Without a word, I closed the distance between us, capturing her lips in a kiss. It was soft at first, a gentle exploration, but it quickly deepened, becoming more desperate, more passionate. Her hands found their way to my hair, pulling me closer, while I tightened my grip around her waist, anchoring her to me.
As we pulled apart, our foreheads rested against each other, our breaths mingling. "What was that for?" she whispered, her voice husky.
I grinned, tracing a finger down her paint-streaked cheek. "Do I need a reason to kiss my future wife?"
She chuckled softly, her eyes twinkling with mischief. "No, but I wouldn't mind hearing one."
I leaned in, my lips brushing against her ear. "Every little detail about you drives me crazy. From the way you hold your brush to that smudge of paint on your cheek. I can't help but fall for you all over again."
She pulled back slightly, her eyes searching mine. "You have a way with words, Austin."
I smirked. "And yet you have a way of rendering me speechless, Paisley."
The weight of the world seemed to lift off our shoulders, replaced with a wild urgency, an undeniable magnetism that drew us closer. The quiet atmosphere of the studio was suddenly charged with electric energy, both of us seemingly fueled by the other's touch.
Our mouths clashed again, an urgent melding of lips and tongues, each kiss deeper, hungrier than the last. Her fingers fumbled with the buttons on my shirt, while I worked on ridding her of her top. Every inch of skin revealed was a new territory to explore, to claim, to relish in.
Clothes became an obstacle, and soon they were strewn haphazardly across the floor, a clear path from where we stood to the paint-covered door. I took a moment, my eyes scanning her form, taking in every curve, every mark, every imperfection that made her uniquely Paisley. Her chest heaved, her nipples hardened against the cool studio air, and her face was flushed with a mix of anticipation and excitement.
Without warning, I scooped her up in my arms, feeling the heat of her skin against mine, and she let out a surprised gasp, her fingers tightening in my hair. With deliberate movements, I settled her atop the old door, the paint underneath creating a stark contrast to her fair skin. She looked ravishing, a goddess in her domain, and I was utterly entranced.
I couldn't resist any longer. I leaned in, my lips planting a trail of heated kisses from her jawline down to her neck, savoring the taste of her skin, the sound of her soft moans, the way she arched into me, begging for more. Every whimper, every squeal was a testament to the connection we shared, the raw intensity of our emotions.
Her nails dug into my back, pulling me closer, the sweet pain mixing with the pleasure. Her voice, husky and laced with desire, whispered my name like a mantra, each repetition sending shivers down my spine.
My body was aching with need, the physical manifestation of the longing I felt deep inside. I could feel her warmth, the tantalizing evidence of her arousal, and it was a heady mix of scents—paint, sweat, and pure, unbridled desire.
Our eyes met, and I saw in them a mirror of my own emotions—lust, love, longing.
