My gaze trails over his face. “It was all I wanted to do. We’d take family trips and I’d bring my sketchpad. My dad would take me skiing and I’d bring my sketchpad. It was always near me. I sketched something every day.”
“They say practice makes perfect,” he shoots back. “You must have practiced a fuck ton.”
“A fuck ton and then some.” I wiggle my brows. “Once I started college, I realized that human form was the perfect fit for me. It felt natural.”
“You’re a natural. Your work is exquisite.”
“The first time I showed my dad a sketch I’d done of a male model, he turned beet red.” I laugh, remembering my dad’s reaction. It caught him off guard. He was used to seeing drawings of the mountains, trees and the occasional face. “He told me it was nice. My mom loved it.”
“Have they always supported you?” he pauses to take a deep breath. “Did they ever try to persuade you to take a different path?”
“No,” I answer matter-of-factly since it’s the truth. My parents have both encouraged me to chase my dreams, whatever they are. “They told me to follow my heart. Art might not be the easiest path to take, but if it’s in your blood and bones, you don’t have a choice.”
He closes his eyes as his legs kick be
neath the covers. “I need to get up. I don’t feel well.”
With those words, he slides my arms off his chest, swings his legs over the side of the bed and he takes off in the direction of the bathroom.
***
“You’re welcome to stay the night.” I stand to the side as I watch him dress. “I can make us some tea. That usually settles my stomach.”
I have no idea if an upset stomach is what chased him to the bathroom or not.
“I felt overheated.” He rakes me over from head to toe. I’m wearing a short white robe now.
I put my hands on my hips. “You’re not saying it’s my fault, are you?”
He laughs at the sound of the jest in my tone. “I’m saying that you’re the hottest thing I’ve ever seen, so it might have a little to do with it.”
I step closer as he tucks his tie into the pocket of his suit jacket. “You’re feeling better now, right? Do you think it was overexertion?”
“From the fucking?” He quirks a brow. “If I didn’t have an early meeting, I’d stay and fuck you against that window.”
I look back at the window that overlooks the street. “You’d fuck me there?”
“There or on the floor. We could do it against the wall.” He leans down to offer me a soft kiss. “Anywhere, Piper. I don’t care where it is, as long as I’m inside of you, I’ll be happy.”
I rub my legs together. “You know that you’re making me want to try all those places, don’t you?”
He huffs out a deep laugh. “Make a list of where you want to be fucked and I’ll come back tomorrow so we can get started.”
I sigh. “I have plans tomorrow.”
“Plans?” He adjusts the collar of my robe. “What plans?”
“I’m having dinner with Beck after the gallery closes.” The words sound foreign coming from my lips. Never in my wildest dreams could I have imagined that Brighton Beck would invite me to have dinner with him to talk about an art project. When he texted me to ask if I was free, I jumped at the chance.
“He’s married, right?” He trails his lips over my forehead. “Tell me it’s professional.”
“I’m your girlfriend, remember?” I nuzzle into his chest. “We’re going to talk about the gallery, I think.”
“He seems like a smart guy to me.” He strokes the pad of his thumb over my bottom lip. “I’m betting that he’s going to give up more space at the gallery for your sketches. They’re selling like mad right now.”
I playfully slap my hand across his chest. “Because you’re buying them all.”
“I’ll drop in tomorrow to pick out a new one for my office.”