8
Siobhan
My legs are still shaking. Violently trembling as I lay comatose on the floor. With spaghetti arms, I'm barely able to push myself up. Resting on my palms, my lungs struggle to take in air and keep it.
“You know, I thought when we had sex last time that I was too drunk for it have been as good as it was. I was so wrong.”
“What are you saying? That I'm so good in bed it's mind blowing?” Mark smirks, wagging his brows playfully.
“Don't go getting a big head or anything, but yeah, that was fucking amazing.”
Mark pushes to his feet, still naked and exposed as he walks around the room picking up our clothes. His muscles are slick and shining from sweat, his ass plump and firm. I can't stop the flutter in my chest as I watch his muscles flex smoothly all the way from his shoulders to the perfect V-shape of his lower back.
Handing me my clothes, he holds up a jagged piece of fabric. “I don't think these will work anymore.” The thin fabric dangles over his finger as he sways it back and forth.
Giggling, I nod. “Yeah, they're dust.” Taking my torn panties off his finger, I ball them up and toss them into the waste basket next to the door. “Looks like I'm going commando.”
“And in jeans, that ain't going to go over well. There'll be chaffing, and probably some raw skin—”
“Okay, all right, I get it.” Holding up my hand, I slip my legs into my pants and stand up. Wiggling them over my hips, I jump softly to get them up the rest of the way. “You'll just have to kiss me better later is all.”
Mark is standing in just his pants, and hot damn, he looks good enough to jump again. Pulling his shirt over his arms, he starts to move around the studio. He stops at every painting and drawing I have hanging up, studying them closely.
“These are really amazing. Impressive actually. I look at the one you made me a dozen or more times a day.”
“Stop it,” I say, clipping my bra and tugging my shirt on.
“No, I'm serious. You're really good at this.”
“I appreciate the compliment, but it's just a hobby.”
“Maybe it should be a full time gig. You could do it.”
Shaking my head, I walk to his side and stare at the picture. “No I can't.”
“Why not?”
Looking up at him, I roll my eyes. “Because that's not the plan for my life.”
“Has your family seen any of this? I think if they saw it they might—”
“You met my mother,” I cut in. “She doesn't even know this place exists. No clue, not one. I make up some excuse to come here and paint. I'm meeting a friend, I'm heading to the library, things like that. She'd kill me if she knew I had this place in Brooklyn.”
“Speaking of your mom, I really am sorry I just appeared the way I did. I had no idea the situation you're in with your family, and Jenna wasn't exactly straight forward with me about it.”
“Yeah, well, Jenna probably didn't want to scare you off. Which would have happened if you knew my family was crazy.”
“I'm sure they're not crazy, they're just protective, I bet.”
Dipping my chin into my chest, I open my eyes wide. “Uh, no, that's not it. They're super traditional, like no dating, no kissing or sleeping together before marriage, no being alone with a boy unattended. Speaking of which, this,” I say, pointing between us, “has to stay between us. I don't agree with the way they think, but they're family, and I need to respect them. So, all I ask is that we keep this a secret.”
“I like secrets,” he says, stepping behind me and wrapping his arms around my waist. Snuggling his face into the crook of my neck, he lays soft kisses. “And I'll promise to keep yours if you'll keep mine.”
“What's yours?” I ask, curling my arm around his neck and playing with the ends of his hair.
“That I want more of this,” he says, whispering against my neck. His hands glide weightlessly down the tops of my thighs, fingers brushing the outer edges of my pussy. “I'm here for a little bit and we're too good together to not enjoy each other.”
His lips move more slowly, pressing hard as he exhales a warm breath across my skin. I quiver in his arms so hard that I know he feels it too. His fingers tighten around my thighs, thumbs digging in hard.
“Absolutely,” I say, the words all breathy as my eyes close lightly.
Slipping his finger under my chin, he twists my head and kisses me. “Looks like we have a secret worth keeping.”
My stomach tumbles as his lips press against mine. It flips and rolls, coiling up tight and unraveling into a heavy pile that attempts to drag me down. But Mark holds me, he grips me around the waist and pulls me in against his chest.
What the hell am I doing?
This was supposed to be a one night thing. A quick release, a little sauce on the side to top off the evening, but here I am sucking face with him again, only this time, in my city. I tried, I really did try to convince myself that what I've been feeling is some weird aftermath of really great sex. But the longer he kisses me, the tighter he holds me, the more he whispers in my ear with sweetness, the less I care about what our original intentions were.
Holding my face, he breaks our kiss and smiles. “So, now that I have your attention, when are you going to stop postponing the inevitable and just showcase your talent?”
Laying my head back, I chuckle. “Not gonna happen. It's not in the cards my parents drew for me. Remember, we're art buyers, not art creators.”
“But aren't your parents doctors or something?”
“Plastic surgeons.”
“Isn't that just like art? They create a new face or chest or ass for someone else?” Mark gives me a toothy smile as he shrugs his shoulder. “I'm just saying, it's not that far off.”
“You really don't know my parents at all.”
“You're right, but I'm willing to try and get to know them. And I don't care if your mom gives me her stink eye. Hey, maybe you can drop this whole art thing on her, and she'll be so occupied with her hate for this poor country boy, that she'll just agree to anything you say to get rid of me.”
“Oh God. Trust me, you don't want to be on the sharp end of my mother's personality. She'll spear you, put your head on a stick, and set you out to ward off anyone else who thinks about coming close to her daughter. And this art idea will absolutely do that.”
“That could be a problem.” Mark spins me around so I'm facing him, gathering me up in his arms.
Leaning my cheek against his chest, I let him hold me. I love the way this feels. I know I shouldn't, but I do. Squeezing me snugly, he rests his chin on the top of my head.
And then it hits me. Maybe he's right. Not about being the distraction, but about making an impression.
“Hey, you want to come with me tomorrow morning to the charity breakfast my mother put together?”
“Charity breakfast. . .” Pausing, he quirks a brow. “Your mother doesn't strike me as the charity type. I see her more like Scrooge McDuck, diving into a vault of money.”