I narrow my eyes.
“I should go with you.”
“Oh, please. It’s fine. I’ll be right back.”
She hurries off, and I walk into the kitchen to start breakfast. I’ve just pulled everything out for pancakes when I hear the front door open and close, but when Sarah walks into the kitchen, she doesn’t have anything in her hands.
“I want you to sit on the couch and close your eyes.”
I tilt my head to the side, watching her. I would object, but she bites her lip in that way she does when she’s excited, and I know that I can’t tell her no.
So, I do as she asks. I sit on the couch and close my eyes, and I can hear her bustling about, rustling here and there.
Finally, she takes my hand.
“Don’t open your eyes; just stand up.”
She leads me to what feels like the center of the room, facing away from the beach, and then says, “Okay. Open them.”
And when I do, my heart skips a beat.
Sitting on an easel is a watercolor painting. With blues and grays, it’s an overcast day on the beach, with crashing waves. It’s moody and thought provoking.
Absolutely beautiful.
But what steals the breath from my lungs is the couple on the sand, dancing.
“Sarah.”
“I hope you like it,” she whispers. “That moment on the beach when we danced was really special to me, and I wanted to capture it for you.”
I step closer and examine the brush strokes, the love that she poured into the piece, and then I turn back to her and scoop her up into my arms, carrying her to the bedroom.
“Does this mean that you like it?”
“I don’t have words,” I admit as I set her on her feet and strip us both bare, and when we’re finally in the bed, I take both of her hands in one of my own and pin them over her head on the mattress.
A smile tickles her lips.
“What’s so funny?”
“We talked about this last night.”
I narrow my eyes. “About what?”
“The whole hands-pinned-over-the-head thing.” She bites that lip again, and I lean down to brush my tongue over it. “It’s hot, in case you didn’t know.”
“Why do you think I do it?”
She lets out a laugh, but when I nibble along her collarbone, she sighs and squirms under me. I can’t stop kissing her, can’t stop exploring every inch of her shoulders and chest, and when I dip lower, I have to let go of her hands.
Her fingers dive into my hair and hold on tightly as I move over her.
“I need you,” I whisper against her ear as I move between her legs and slowly, inch by inch, sink inside of her.
“Oh, hell yes,” she moans. “Oh, God, it’s so fucking good.”
“Every time.” I brush a strand of hair off of her soft cheek. “Thank you for that incredible gift, Sarah.”