when I hear Carlo walk in behind me. There’s something distinctive about his footsteps. I’d know them anywhere.
“Thank you,” I whisper, not turning for some reason. Maybe it’s because I know I’d see some of that uncertainty in his eyes. I want this to be a certain moment. “This is—just, thank you, Carlo.”
“Ubert said you were pleased,” he says briskly. He sounds like he doesn’t know what to do with the open display of gratitude. He wanders over to the painting, studying it. “Is this you?” he asks. “Breaking free, becoming something new, creating life where before there was only misery and pain?”
“Wow.” I finally turn to him. His blue-green eyes are fixated on my work. I feel a flurry in my chest. I’ve never had my paintings studied so closely before. Dad would pick apart my portraits, but that wasn’t even slightly enjoyable. “I knew there was an art critic buried in there somewhere.”
He loops his arm around my waist. I’ve tied my tank top in a knot, my belly bare. He smooths his hand over it and almost slides his hand down my leggings. “Is it bad that I just want to throw you against that painting and fuck you until you’re trembling and we’re both covered in paint?”
My heart is pounding. My core is hot.
“No,” I whisper. “Except that if you ruin my painting you might not live to regret it.”
He tugs me toward him so fast and hard that I squeal. His lips devour me. It’s like he’s been waiting to kiss me for weeks, though it’s only been a day. I’m not complaining. I wrap my arms around him and we stumble to the wall, his dick tracing a line across my belly.
“Oh, God,” he whispers, nibbling my ear lightly. “I’m addicted to you. I can’t stop myself. Every fucking second, I’m thinking of you. I could spend an entire afternoon just kissing those legs, getting closer to your pussy, feeling the heat and the wetness of it each time I get up between your thighs. And then just kiss all the way down to your ankles again.”
He’s shaking. We both are.
“I want that—”
“Oh, sorry,” Alda says, startling us.
We both turn to find her standing in the doorway, a sly smirk on her lips. I don’t think she’s sorry at all.
“Emily told me my son was going to make a romantic gesture. I simply did not believe it. But it seems I was wrong. This place is beautiful.”
“Thank you, Mother,” Carlo says stiffly. I can tell he’s resisting the urge to rearrange his erection. I’m doing my best to pretend not to notice how rock-hard it is in his suit trousers, or how paint blots his jacket and his hair is wild. I want him so bad it aches. “Do you like the partitions? They’re custom-made. I had the same man who did your Christmas veils work on them.”
“Oh, he’s a talented gentleman.”
“Yes.”
The tension is so thick that I’m choking on it.
“I suppose I should leave you two wild kids alone, shouldn’t I?” She smiles, enjoying every second of our discomfort. “I’d hate to be that horrible cliché of a mother who doesn’t know when she’s overstayed her welcome.”
She leaves, stopping just long enough to throw a cheeky look over her shoulder. Carlo turns on me with a grimace. That woman.
“I think I need a sec,” he mutters.
“Yeah,” I laugh. “I guess having sex right after your mom interrupts you could be a little distracting. Here, I’ve got an idea. Sit down. I’ll paint your portrait.”
He tilts his head as he brushes a hand through his hair. He can’t fix it, though. It’s still beautifully messy. “I thought you were forced to paint portraits? I didn’t think you enjoyed it.”
“Oh, one won’t hurt. Come on.”
“I have business this afternoon. How long will it take?”
“Not long. Now stop complaining!” I say sternly. “Come on.”
I grab him by the shoulders and lead him to the chair. After setting up the easel and making myself look as official as possible, I say, “Stay still, okay? This is very important work.”
His smile twitches. He knows this is some kind of joke. I really, seriously need to work on my acting skills.
I make umming and ahhing noises as I paint, pretending that I’m working on the next Rembrandt. I can tell that Carlo is getting impatient so, finally, I put the brush down and stand up.
“Would you like to see it?” I ask.
He stands cautiously, that same smile playing at