Chapter 34
Ashlyn
“Are you sure about this?” I ask, following Zane down the hall.
“Of course, I’m sure. Why wouldn’t I be sure?” he asks.
“Because the last time we were standing here, the only thing you were sure about was that you weren’t ready for this,” I say hesitantly.
“Well, that was before. But now I want this. I’m sure.”
With that, he smiles, opens the door of his office, and leads me inside.
It takes a moment for me to drink it all in.
Most offices feel stuffy or cold, with sharp angles and no personality.
Zane’s is different in every way. The room is painted a deep navy blue, even the ceiling.
The floor is the same wood as in the rest of the house, and there’s a Moroccan inspired rug covering the part where the desk is.
And the desk isn’t really a desk at all. It’s a drafting table of sorts. The top is covered with works in progress, sketches and paintings, and photos and jars of brushes and pencils. Underneath is a shelf lined with more brushes, paper, and blank canvases.
Then something occurs to me.
“It’s not an office,” I say out loud as I slowly turn to take everything in.
“No, not really,” he says. “But honestly, I do all my work in gyms and studios and–”
“On beaches,” I tease, and he smiles.
“Yeah…”
“This is more of a sanctuary, for lack of a better word,” he says as he shoves his hands in his pockets and walks slowly around the room.
“I don’t think there is a better word,” I tell him. “That word is perfect.”
There is so much to see in here, and my eyes don’t know where to land first. There are finished paintings and sketches on the walls, and unfinished ones on the table. But I am drawn to the one on the easel.
“Is this one finished?” I ask.
Zane walks up behind me and studies it for a moment before answering. “I’m not sure,” he says.
“I hope this doesn’t sound rude…” I say. “But um…what is it?”
“I’m not sure,” he says again, and I look up at him with a curious smile.
“It started as a guy walking on the beach…and then I figured I’d add a sunset, so that’s where the vibrant colors come in.
But then I felt like…it was too bright and his stance too rigid.
Like he’s not just going for a leisurely walk or even an evening jog.
He’s running from something. Battling something,” Zane lets out a breath and steps forward towards the canvas.
“And then I started using darker colors, and it turned it into a storm. And the storm made the waters less calm and turned into waves. Not rolling waves but crashing, angry waves that could swallow the man whole.”
“And yet there’s still color,” I say softly, studying the painting. “And maybe the man’s stance isn’t rigid; it’s strong. He’s facing things.”
“What kinds of things?” he asks. “His demons?”
“Demons. Light. Dark. Good. Bad. All of it,” I answer.
“So…what do you think? Do you think the painting is done?” he asks.
I pull my eyes away to look at him. “I don’t know if this painting works that way,”
He chuckles. “What do you mean?” he asks.
I step closer to him, tugging on the hem of his shirt. “I think, considering what it represents, it might never be done.”
His lips pull into a slow smirk, and his eyes go sunburst, dark flecked with light, fire with ice, just like the colors in the painting. Then he pulls me even closer, our bodies pressing together.
“You know,” he says. “We have an hour before we technically have to pick Bentley up from daycare…”
“No, we don’t,” I say, and he stops.
“What do you mean?” he asks.
“I mean, we aren’t picking up Bentley tonight. Demi already picked him up. We have the night off…” I say, biting my lip and dragging it through my teeth.
“Really…?” he asks slowly.
“Mmhmm… and there’s more…”
Now he’s biting his lip too. “How much more?”
“I made dinner. It’s in the oven. Tri-tip with roasted red potatoes and asparagus,” I say as his hands trail from my hips up my sides.
“Oh?” he asks.
“And wine,” I say. “Red because I heard it has less sugar.”
“That sounds delicious,” he says. “But you know what else sounds delicious?”
Before I can answer, his mouth covers mine. I get lost in the kiss for a moment before managing to pull back, giggling into his mouth.
“But what about dinner?” I ask.
“It can wait,” he answers, kissing me again.
Again, I pull back. “But I worked hard on it.”
“And you know what I’m going to work hard on? You.”
He kisses me again, hard enough that I couldn’t pull away if I wanted to. Although, for the record, I don’t want to.
“Where do you want me?” I ask into his mouth as his hands roam over my body.
“Baby, I want you everywhere. Anywhere. Right here works for me,” he says.
“You want to have sex in your studio?” I ask.
“You mean my office?”
“No, I said your studio. I meant studio,” I tell him, dropping to my knees, smiling up at him before I lay back on the rug.
“I’ve never called it that before,” he smiles, peeling his shirt up over his torso before tossing it aside.
“Well tell me this,” I say, shedding my own shirt and pants. “Have you ever had sex with anyone in your studio?”
Zane unbuckles his pants before meeting me on the floor, crawling his way up to kiss me again. “Honey, I’ve never even shown anyone my studio before. Now no more talking, unless it’s to scream my name.”
After that, it’s all a game of kissing and nibbling and sucking and licking.
We go back and forth; me taking his hard and ready cock in my hand, stroking it until he groans.
Him taking both my hands in his and pinning them to the floor while kissing me again and again until I am literally gasping for air.
I grind my hips against him, massaging my clit and the tip of his dick.
He shifts his weight down so he can stop me from getting him off too quickly, all while putting him at face level with my tits.
His mouth goes back and forth, covering each nipple, his tongue thrashing against them, soaking through my satin bra until I am grinding myself against his hard abs.
Those abs are ribbed enough to provide just the right amount of friction to get me off.
“Fuck,” I let out as my hips rub against his skin.
“What’s the matter?” he asks.
But I don’t answer with words, only moans as I get off by doing nothing but grinding against him.
“Am I really that good?” he asks.
“You don’t get credit for that,” I tell him. “I’m the one that did all the work.”
“Oh? We’ll see about that,” he says grittily, with a smirk. Then he yanks my satin panties aside and drives himself deep inside of me, deep enough that I cry out again.
“Damn, you feel good,” I whimper and he lets out a gravelly laugh.
“Too good?” he asks.
“Shut up and fuck me,” I say.
“Yes, ma’am,” he responds. But then his eyes go dark and he thrusts himself even deeper inside of me, deep enough to unhinge my jaw and make my vision blur around the edges. We find a rhythm, hard and fast, moving against each other and together all at the same time.
“Fuck,” I say again.
“Yeah?” he grunts, beads of sweat forming on his chest as we race desperately towards the finish line.
Usually, we take our time. Usually, we don’t want it to be over.
But after ten minutes of wrestling, play fighting, and teasing each other into a frenzy, we both need this orgasm. And we need it to be explosive.
And explosive it is.
As it rips through us at full force, we tear into each other again; him kissing me hungry and hard; me scratching my hands through his hair until finally it settles. We both relax, melting into each other on his Moroccan rug.
“That was incredible,” he says.
“Yeah,” I nod. “I don’t think I can move…”
“Me either,” he says.
“So let’s not…”
On cue, both of our stomachs growl and we chuckle.
“Well,” I say, pushing myself to my feet. “Turns out I’m still hungry.”
“Girl, don’t mess with me. I’ll take you all over again,” he says as he shoves himself up from the floor.
I giggle, but when I hear fast footsteps behind me, I shriek and make a run for the kitchen. Zane grabs me and spins me around, pinning me against the counter and kissing me.
“You’re insane,” I laugh into his mouth.
“I’m hungry,” he says.
“Well, you have to let go of me if you want something to eat,” I say.
“There are other things that I could eat that don’t require me letting go of you…” he says and I laugh again, ducking out from underneath his grasp.
“You sit down. The table is already set,” I say, and he salutes me before heading over to the table.
I follow with a bottle of wine and fill each glass. Then I pull out a lighter for the candles.
“What’s all this for?” he asks softly.
“It’s for us,” I say, matching his smile.
“You are incredible, you know that?” he asks.
I head back to the kitchen to grab the asparagus and the potatoes.
“I could get used to this,” he says. “Not the you serving me part. That’s not really how I roll. But making love and sharing dinners and sharing the moments we have alone. I could do this forever,” he says, reaching into his pocket.
Suddenly his phone buzzes on the table, and he looks down at it. His brow furrows and his smile turns downward. He pulls his hand out of his pocket and looks at me.
“What is it?” I ask. “Is something wrong?”
Zane doesn’t answer. Instead, he picks up his phone and looks at it. As his thumb scrolls through the message, his frown turns to a scowl.
“Zane, what is it?” I ask.
“What the hell is this?” he asks, and I am lost. Then he hands me his phone, and my stomach bottoms out.
The message is from his manager, Nigel. It’s a string of photos. Photos that have gone viral. Photos like Deborah wanted.