Unveiled
Page 90
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I’m being rolled repeatedly. I’m underneath him, then above him. We’re bound tightly together by the bedding, blind and laughing.
‘I’m stuck!’ I chuckle, trying to kick my legs out. ‘I can’t move!’
‘Bollocks,’ he curses, spinning us over again, but he goes the wrong way and my stomach drops when there’s suddenly no bed under us.
‘Oh!’ I cry as we hit the floor on an almighty thud. I’m laughing properly now, feeling Miller tugging and pulling at the sheets as he tries to locate me.
‘Where the hell are you?’ he grumbles.
All I can see is cotton. Everywhere is brilliant white cotton, but I can smell him and feel him, and when the sheets are whipped from my face on a polite curse, I can see him, too. He takes my breath away.
‘Falling out of bed is becoming a habit,’ he whispers, circling his nose with mine before saturating my senses with a full-blown kiss that’s loaded with a lifetime’s worth of love and a ton of exquisite desire. ‘You taste divine.’
Our tongues dance delicately together, our hands wander wildly, and our eyes remain open, locked and burning with fiery passion. Once again, it is just me and Miller in our own little bubble of happiness, like so many times before, except this time there’s no cruel world to face outside this flat.
It’s done with.
Our one night is now one lifetime. And way, way beyond that, too.
‘I love your bones, Miller Hart,’ I mumble into his mouth, smiling when I feel his lips stretch.
‘That makes me very happy.’ He pulls away and carries out a string of motions, blinking lazily, parting his lips just so, and watching me with hooded, intense eyes. It’s like he knows that each and every one of those characteristics contributed to my original fascination and he’s reminding me of them. No need. I close my eyes and I see them. I keep my eyes open and I see them. My dreams are my reality, but now it is all good. There’s no hiding anymore. I can have him day, night, in dreams, and for real. He belongs to me.
‘You’re creasing my suit, sweet girl.’ He’s straight-faced. It makes me laugh loudly. Of all the things for him to be concerned about now, it’s his fine threads. ‘What’s got you so tickled?’
‘You!’ I chuckle. ‘Just you.’
‘Excellent,’ he concludes sharply, pushing himself up. ‘That makes me happy, too.’ My hands are grasped and I’m pulled up into a sitting position. ‘I want to do something.’
‘What?’
‘Shhh,’ he hushes me as he encourages me to my feet, tugging on my hand gently. ‘You’ll come with me.’ He lightly takes my nape and my eyes close, savouring the familiar feel of his touch on my skin, the heat spurting from the source and creeping across my flesh. From my neck to my toes, I’m immersed in the comfort and warmth his touch provokes. ‘Earth to Olivia,’ he whispers in my ear, opening my eyes.
I smile through my attempted narrowed eyes and let him guide me to his studio. My peace only multiplies by a million when we enter the room. ‘What are we doing in here?’
‘Someone once told me that it would be more satisfying to paint something I find beautiful in the flesh.’ He guides me to his couch and pushes me down, lifting my legs and arranging them the full length of the sofa. ‘I’d like to test that theory.’
‘You’re going to paint me?’ I’m slightly taken aback. He paints landscapes and architecture.
‘Yes,’ he answers decisively, leaving me struck dumb on the couch. He wanders over to an easel, pulling it into the centre of the room. ‘Remove your clothes, sweet girl.’
‘Naked?’
‘Correct.’ He doesn’t look at me.
I shrug to myself. ‘Have you ever painted a living object?’ I ask, sitting up and reaching down to push my jeans from my legs. What I mean is, has he ever painted a person, and when he flicks smiling eyes to me, I note my question has been decrypted and he knows exactly what I mean.
‘I’ve never painted a person, Olivia.’
I try not to let my relief be known, but my face fails me and I’m smiling before I can stop it. ‘Is it wrong that that pleases me immensely?’
‘No,’ he laughs quietly, taking a blank canvas that’s propped against the wall and placing it on the easel.
I’m speaking to him and watching him over the back of the sofa that’s facing out towards the view, away from the room. How can he paint me when I’m concealed?
I’m removing my top when he approaches me, and I expect him to turn the couch so it’s facing inward, but instead he helps me out of my underwear, slowly, and wrestles with my body until I find my bare bottom resting on the back of the squidgy piece of furniture with my feet on the seat. My naked back is exposed to the room, and I’m looking out across London’s beautiful skyline, only the lights of the buildings illuminating the wonderful architecture. ‘It would be far better to do this in the daytime,’ I say, flicking my hair over my shoulders and placing my hands on the back of the couch, on either side of my hips. ‘You’ll see the buildings far clearer.’
I shiver when the heat of his breath meets my skin, and soon after that, his lips. He kisses his way across my back, up the centre of my spine, and to the hollow beneath my ear. ‘If it was light, you wouldn’t be the main subject.’ He takes my head and turns it until I’m gazing into sharp blues. ‘You are all I see.’ He kisses me tenderly, humming as he does, and I relax under the soft motions of his attentive lips. ‘Day or night, I see only you.’
I say nothing. I let him shower my face with kisses before he turns my face back towards the window and leaves me sitting on the back of the sofa, naked and completely unbothered by it. I try to admire the glowing landscape of London, something that I can usually lose myself in with ease, but hearing Miller busy behind me is far too distracting. So I take a little peek over my shoulder, finding him collecting an array of brushes and paints, his tall body slightly bent, his disobedient curl tickling his forehead. I smile when he blows it away, unable to brush it with a hand because they’re full of artist’s tools. He positions everything he needs and removes his suit jacket before rolling up the sleeves of his shirt, but everything else is in place – his waistcoat, his tie.
‘You’re going to paint in your new suit?’ I ask, watching as he pauses mid-arranging of pots and paints. That really would be a huge leap for Miller.
‘Let’s not make a big deal of it.’ He doesn’t look at me and quickly resumes readying himself for a painting session. ‘Look down at your left shoulder.’
I frown. ‘Look at my shoulder?’
‘Yes.’ He strolls over, dipping a paintbrush in red paint. My eyes follow him until he’s standing at my back. Then he takes the thin-tipped brush and brings it to my shoulder. I watch as he writes three words on my flesh.
I LOVE YOU
‘I haven’t written it on your left shoulder yet. Don’t take your eyes off those words.’ He kisses my smiling face and leaves me again. But I don’t watch him take up position behind his easel. I keep my eyes on those three words. They beat admiring the skyline of London any day of the week.
‘I’m stuck!’ I chuckle, trying to kick my legs out. ‘I can’t move!’
‘Bollocks,’ he curses, spinning us over again, but he goes the wrong way and my stomach drops when there’s suddenly no bed under us.
‘Oh!’ I cry as we hit the floor on an almighty thud. I’m laughing properly now, feeling Miller tugging and pulling at the sheets as he tries to locate me.
‘Where the hell are you?’ he grumbles.
All I can see is cotton. Everywhere is brilliant white cotton, but I can smell him and feel him, and when the sheets are whipped from my face on a polite curse, I can see him, too. He takes my breath away.
‘Falling out of bed is becoming a habit,’ he whispers, circling his nose with mine before saturating my senses with a full-blown kiss that’s loaded with a lifetime’s worth of love and a ton of exquisite desire. ‘You taste divine.’
Our tongues dance delicately together, our hands wander wildly, and our eyes remain open, locked and burning with fiery passion. Once again, it is just me and Miller in our own little bubble of happiness, like so many times before, except this time there’s no cruel world to face outside this flat.
It’s done with.
Our one night is now one lifetime. And way, way beyond that, too.
‘I love your bones, Miller Hart,’ I mumble into his mouth, smiling when I feel his lips stretch.
‘That makes me very happy.’ He pulls away and carries out a string of motions, blinking lazily, parting his lips just so, and watching me with hooded, intense eyes. It’s like he knows that each and every one of those characteristics contributed to my original fascination and he’s reminding me of them. No need. I close my eyes and I see them. I keep my eyes open and I see them. My dreams are my reality, but now it is all good. There’s no hiding anymore. I can have him day, night, in dreams, and for real. He belongs to me.
‘You’re creasing my suit, sweet girl.’ He’s straight-faced. It makes me laugh loudly. Of all the things for him to be concerned about now, it’s his fine threads. ‘What’s got you so tickled?’
‘You!’ I chuckle. ‘Just you.’
‘Excellent,’ he concludes sharply, pushing himself up. ‘That makes me happy, too.’ My hands are grasped and I’m pulled up into a sitting position. ‘I want to do something.’
‘What?’
‘Shhh,’ he hushes me as he encourages me to my feet, tugging on my hand gently. ‘You’ll come with me.’ He lightly takes my nape and my eyes close, savouring the familiar feel of his touch on my skin, the heat spurting from the source and creeping across my flesh. From my neck to my toes, I’m immersed in the comfort and warmth his touch provokes. ‘Earth to Olivia,’ he whispers in my ear, opening my eyes.
I smile through my attempted narrowed eyes and let him guide me to his studio. My peace only multiplies by a million when we enter the room. ‘What are we doing in here?’
‘Someone once told me that it would be more satisfying to paint something I find beautiful in the flesh.’ He guides me to his couch and pushes me down, lifting my legs and arranging them the full length of the sofa. ‘I’d like to test that theory.’
‘You’re going to paint me?’ I’m slightly taken aback. He paints landscapes and architecture.
‘Yes,’ he answers decisively, leaving me struck dumb on the couch. He wanders over to an easel, pulling it into the centre of the room. ‘Remove your clothes, sweet girl.’
‘Naked?’
‘Correct.’ He doesn’t look at me.
I shrug to myself. ‘Have you ever painted a living object?’ I ask, sitting up and reaching down to push my jeans from my legs. What I mean is, has he ever painted a person, and when he flicks smiling eyes to me, I note my question has been decrypted and he knows exactly what I mean.
‘I’ve never painted a person, Olivia.’
I try not to let my relief be known, but my face fails me and I’m smiling before I can stop it. ‘Is it wrong that that pleases me immensely?’
‘No,’ he laughs quietly, taking a blank canvas that’s propped against the wall and placing it on the easel.
I’m speaking to him and watching him over the back of the sofa that’s facing out towards the view, away from the room. How can he paint me when I’m concealed?
I’m removing my top when he approaches me, and I expect him to turn the couch so it’s facing inward, but instead he helps me out of my underwear, slowly, and wrestles with my body until I find my bare bottom resting on the back of the squidgy piece of furniture with my feet on the seat. My naked back is exposed to the room, and I’m looking out across London’s beautiful skyline, only the lights of the buildings illuminating the wonderful architecture. ‘It would be far better to do this in the daytime,’ I say, flicking my hair over my shoulders and placing my hands on the back of the couch, on either side of my hips. ‘You’ll see the buildings far clearer.’
I shiver when the heat of his breath meets my skin, and soon after that, his lips. He kisses his way across my back, up the centre of my spine, and to the hollow beneath my ear. ‘If it was light, you wouldn’t be the main subject.’ He takes my head and turns it until I’m gazing into sharp blues. ‘You are all I see.’ He kisses me tenderly, humming as he does, and I relax under the soft motions of his attentive lips. ‘Day or night, I see only you.’
I say nothing. I let him shower my face with kisses before he turns my face back towards the window and leaves me sitting on the back of the sofa, naked and completely unbothered by it. I try to admire the glowing landscape of London, something that I can usually lose myself in with ease, but hearing Miller busy behind me is far too distracting. So I take a little peek over my shoulder, finding him collecting an array of brushes and paints, his tall body slightly bent, his disobedient curl tickling his forehead. I smile when he blows it away, unable to brush it with a hand because they’re full of artist’s tools. He positions everything he needs and removes his suit jacket before rolling up the sleeves of his shirt, but everything else is in place – his waistcoat, his tie.
‘You’re going to paint in your new suit?’ I ask, watching as he pauses mid-arranging of pots and paints. That really would be a huge leap for Miller.
‘Let’s not make a big deal of it.’ He doesn’t look at me and quickly resumes readying himself for a painting session. ‘Look down at your left shoulder.’
I frown. ‘Look at my shoulder?’
‘Yes.’ He strolls over, dipping a paintbrush in red paint. My eyes follow him until he’s standing at my back. Then he takes the thin-tipped brush and brings it to my shoulder. I watch as he writes three words on my flesh.
I LOVE YOU
‘I haven’t written it on your left shoulder yet. Don’t take your eyes off those words.’ He kisses my smiling face and leaves me again. But I don’t watch him take up position behind his easel. I keep my eyes on those three words. They beat admiring the skyline of London any day of the week.
