Chapter 38
thirty-eight
. . .
SUMMER
Rory doesn’t seem like the kind of guy who would get satisfaction out of edging his wife on a picnic table at the outdoor diner on a Friday morning, but that’s exactly what he did to me. I’m still thinking about how badly I wanted him to yank my underwear aside and sink his finger into me. I couldn’t care less who was there to witness it.
But he’d pulled back and vowed to properly take care of me later.
After we barely refrained from public indecency, Rory headed back to the aquatic center for a team meeting, weight training, a nutrition check-in, and a mobility workout.
I was exhausted just listening to all the different elements that go into his day. He’d clearly earned every bite of his two-thousand-calorie breakfast.
Now, I’m walking home from breakfast, my body still buzzing from Rory’s voice in my ear, from the way he’d tossed my leg over his like he’d done it a hundred times. That’s what had caught me off guard. The realness. The ease of simply sitting next to each other and eating a meal. Effortless conversation mixed with tender, teasing touches.
It felt good.
But this wasn’t supposed to be real. It wasn’t supposed to feel like anything.
And yet, the way Rory looked at me when he thought I wasn’t paying attention.
The way he listened intently when I talked.
The way I’m already addicted to his touch.
It’s making me forget that this is supposed to be temporary. That I made Rory promise not to fall in love with me. Because the truth is, I’m starting to wonder if I’m going to break my own rule.
While I’m walking, I pull out my phone to text Scarlett about last night.
My fake husband fingered me last night and it was the most erotic experience of my life
Scarlett
OMG! Details please.
I can’t even remember the details. The intensity of my orgasm wiped everything from my brain.
Scarlett
God, I’m single as fuck. But yay for you! Hope your husband can introduce me to one of his hot swimmer friends.
Sorry And yes, if you come visit. Although I don’t know which one. Eli is hung up on his ex. Logan is a player who gets hangry. I swear Charlie has a thing for the team’s publicist, and Xio and Finn are just way too young.
Scarlett
It doesn’t matter anyway. I don’t have time for a guy right now. I’m hell bent on getting this promotion.
You’re going to get it! How was your trip to Fiji?
Scarlett
Amazing! But you’ll never believe it. My publication merged with Adventure Abounds!
Wait. Isn’t that Wilder’s publication?
Scarlett
Yeah.
That’s all you have to say about it?
Scarlett
It’s a huge company. I probably won’t even see him. Btw, how’s your art piece coming? The hot swimmer one that is totally not based off the obsession you have with your fake husband.
Watch it.
Scarlett
So, you’re not denying it?
I leave Scarlett’s message unanswered. My brain has too much going on to form a plausible response.
Then, I text Rory a pickle emoji just to mess with him.
After my shift at the café, I revive my skateboarding skills by taking Paulie and Pearl for a ‘walk’ down the beachfront path and out to visit Cal at his resident fishing spot on the boardwalk.
“You know you don’t have to feed me just to come say hi.”
“I know.”
But I want to. After so many years of others always expecting me to act a certain way or be something for them, I like bringing Cal food because he doesn’t expect it. That’s what gives me joy.
I know if I were to show up empty handed, because I’ve done it before, Cal would smile and we’d talk about his fishing and the weather and something else just as mundane and it would be perfect. Because Cal doesn’t expect me to be anything I’m not.
It’s the same way I feel when I’m with Rory.
The thought makes my chest pinch. For a moment, I feel like the wind has been knocked out of me.
Cal pats my hand.
“You’ll figure it out.”
“What?” I struggle to remember what we had been talking about before my brain took a dangerous turn.
On my way to return Paulie and Pearl home, we walk through downtown Coral Cove so they can get a treat at the pet supply shop. As we’re leaving, the frame store next door catches my eye. Not just the store, but a frame displayed in the window. It would be perfect for Rory’s Covey painting, so I return the dogs home, then head back to the frame shop to make a purchase.
The sound of Edgar’s collar tag clinking from where he was curled up in his bed near the door alerts me to Rory’s arrival.
I turn to find him standing in the doorway. Edgar is excitedly bouncing at his feet, so Rory picks him up and cuddles him close so Edgar can lick his face.
“Hey, buddy. I missed you, too.”
While Rory’s smiling down at the giddy pug, I take a moment to appreciate how good he looks. He’s dressed in black joggers and a gray hoodie. To top it all off, he’s wearing his blue Carolina Current hat backwards. Those tufts of hair that stick out from beneath his hat are my weakness.
Among other things.
I’d just finished cleaning up for the day.
I’ve been using the walk-in closet as storage for my canvases; using a fan to keep airflow and reduce humidity to help my paintings dry.
Earlier, I’d taken my easel out onto the deck and painted the beach as the sun set. Afterward, I’d turned my attention to the swimmer piece I’m working on.
The swimmer is mid-stroke, rising out of the water as seen from the end of the lane. It’s exactly the way I’d seen Rory that day at practice right before Winnie drove me home from the aquatic center after examining my wrist.
The painting is nothing like the beachscape Coveys I’ve done, and while I’m still working to get the right proportions and shading on his body, it’s been a fun challenge.
Rory sets Edgar down on the floor, his easygoing smile fading into hunger at the sight of me.
“Is that what you paint in?” he asks, voice hoarse.
“Yeah.” My eyes drop down to the worn in, olive green canvas overalls. “When I’m in the house.”
“You expect me to function with you looking like that?”
“Like what?” I ask, eyes narrowing.
I’d been wearing my bikini earlier, but took it off when I slipped into my overalls and neglected to put anything on underneath. I attempt to adjust the top part of my overalls to cover the side boob I know I’m sporting.
“Like a damn fantasy.” He steps closer, and my body hums in response to his proximity, making me even more aware that I’m not wearing anything underneath these overalls. “Paint-splattered. Messy hair and glasses. And practically falling out of these overalls.”
“I know. I’m a mess. I should go shower.”
He shakes his head, a knowing smirk on his face. “Later.”
It’s a command. Like he’s got a plan and while me showering is on the agenda, it’s not what’s happening now.
“Can I see what you’ve been working on?” Rory asks, moving toward the easel where the painting is.
My entire body tenses. It’s a familiar sensation I’ve come to associate with the thought of showing someone my art.
But I fight against it. Because it’s a step I want to take.
Showing someone my art. No, not someone. Rory.
I move to lift the cover off the swimmer painting, then step back.
Fidgeting with my hands in silence, I watch him take it in.
He blinks. Then turns to me and smiles.
“Summer, this painting is incredible. Your work is incredible. And I’m not just saying that because I’m happy you have a thing for swimmers.”
I laugh at his joke, but really my heart swells with his kind words.
He moves closer toward the canvas. “The detail work on this. You’re extremely talented. I can’t believe you almost gave this up.”
“Thank you. That means a lot.” I move to stand next to him. “I’m working on getting the right shading. I’m used to working with water in my paintings, but the way his face reflects in the pool is different than anything I’ve done before.”
“What do you normally paint?”
“Um, mostly still-life.” It’s a vague response in order to not give away more details.
He turns to me with a mischievous smile on his face. “Would you paint something for me?”
“I don’t know. What do you have in mind?” I ask curiously.
He grips the neck of his hoodie and pulls it off.
Shirtless is pretty much Rory’s natural state of being, but it never gets easier to control my racing heart and sweaty palms at the sight of him. Or to keep myself from wondering what it would be like to lick his nipples.
Maybe that’s why I’d been annoyed he hadn’t woken me last night. I never got to explore him the way I wanted to.
I want to trace his nipples with my tongue. Tease him like he did me. Then slide my hand into his pants and fist his cock.
The thought has my nipples hardening against the soft cotton of my overalls.
Why am I so focused on nipples right now?
Oh, because my husband has the hottest nipples I’ve ever seen.
He steps forward, and I suck in a breath, remembering the thrill of having his hand beneath my dress at breakfast this morning.
“A mermaid, right here.” He points to the space above his heart where his pectoral muscles are bulging, and his nipple is tight.
Call it my nerves, but a laugh breaks loose from my throat and Rory’s smile gets bigger.
“Yeah, I’m thinking of getting another tattoo and want to see what it would look like.”
My eyes roll toward the ceiling. “God, please no.”
“A mermaid with a pink and purple tail and long blonde hair.” He brushes one of the loose strands from my messy bun out of my face. “The wilder the better. And glasses. Don’t forget the glasses.”
I shake my head, but my smile persists because when Rory is smiling at me, I feel at ease.
“Didn’t you know mermaids don’t wear glasses?” I smirk.
“Mine does.” His finger glides along one leg of my glasses before it teases along the shell of my ear. I disguise the quiver his touch causes as simply being chilled by the early evening breeze coming in from the cracked sliding door overlooking the beach.
Mine does .
How can two simple words make my heart race so uncontrollably?
“Fine. I’ll do it if only to prove to you that you should definitely not get a tattoo of a mermaid on your chest.”
“Where do you want me?” he asks.
Everywhere.
I glance around the room to determine where this impromptu art session should take place, but the only place to sit is on the futon.
“Have a seat.” I point to it and Rory follows my direction. Then, I rummage through my paints to see what I have for acrylics.
Finally, with a palette and assortment of paintbrushes in hand, I move to stand between Rory’s legs to start my work. But with the first stroke of my brush, I realize we have a problem.
“The paint is going to run; I need you to lie down.”
“Sure thing.” He removes his hat, then drops to his back, lacing his fingers behind his head. I lean over him to keep working on the mermaid’s tail, but now he’s too far away.
“I need to get closer.”
“So come closer.”
His hands grip the sides of my waist and in one quick motion, he’s got me straddling his lap.
“How’s this?” he asks, grinning. “Because I think this is the perfect position.”
It is the perfect angle for painting, among other things.
“You would.”
“What can I say? I like this view.”
I shake my head, trying to focus on keeping my hand steady. I’ve never had this issue before, but there’s something about straddling Rory’s hips and leaning into his naked torso that makes focusing on my art more challenging. Oh, and the fact that with every tilt of my hips, I can feel his rigid cock pressing at my center. That’s making it nearly impossible to focus.
“Rory.”
“Hmm?” His brows lift, a feigned look of innocence on his face.
“Behave.”
“My beautiful wife is straddling me. It’s out of my control.”
“How’s your knee?” I ask, hoping to distract us from how good it feels to have him beneath me.
“Good.” He exhales deeply, like he’s letting all the day’s worries go.
“How was practice without Connor there?”
He chuckles. “I think I’ve gotten so used to pushing myself, it was hard to dial it back.”
“So maybe it’s been a good thing to have Connor challenging you?”
“Hmm. Still doesn’t mean I like the guy.”
Rory reaches up with one hand to brush aside a rogue hair, his thumb teasing along my jaw line as he sweeps it behind my ear.
“Stay still, Flipper, or it won’t be a mermaid, just a blob.”
That’s when I get an idea. I put the finishing touches on the mermaid, then mix the black and white paint to create the perfect shade of gray before getting to work.
I do some shading work around the fins and tail, then finish it off with a blue eye, just one since the animal is in profile.
“There. I’m finished.”
I climb off him to grab a hand mirror from the bathroom, then return to my position to show him my work.
“What’s this?” Rory uses the mirror to check out the art painted on his chest.
“Your mermaid looked lonely so I gave her a friend. His name is Flipper.”
Rory’s gaze locks on mine. “Now all I need is a cute little pug floating on an inner tube between them and our little family is complete.”
My heart pounds at his suggestion. To put Edgar in the painting, and that we’re a family. There’s a niggling feeling in my ribcage. Whispers of questions that have started to grow louder in the back of my mind.
What would it be like to give this man everything?
But this is just playing around. It’s temporary. The tattoo I’m painting and our marriage.
Right?
Rory’s magnetic smile makes it easy to forget and for once, I want to keep playing along. To soak up as much of this man before he realizes there’s more downside than benefit to me being his fake wife.
“Easy fix,” I say, hopping off his lap to grab more paint from my basket. When I’m back in place, to work on adding in Edgar, Rory settles back into the pillows with his hands behind his head. His abs contract, displaying all eight of his distinct abdominal muscles, and with the shifting of our bodies, his joggers are now hanging obscenely low on his trim waist. Those V muscles on each side of his pelvis expertly defined and leading to the thick ridge beneath that I’m trying to pretend doesn’t have me wired and wanting.
I want to write mine in paint across his chest. That’s the tattoo he should get.
“If your parents didn’t want you to pursue art, how did you keep painting?” he asks.
I glance up to find him studying me.
Now I’m feeling silly because I’m over here ogling him and he’s trying to have a serious conversation. That’s the power of Rory Shields, sexy and genuine…it’s a deadly combination.
“I kept it a secret. I set up a little studio in my closet. Never talked about it or showed them pieces I was working on.” My paintbrush hovers over his chest as I recall the memory. “Then, I came home one day, and everything was cleared out.”
“ Summer .” Rory exhales my name, heavy with sympathy. Normally I would hate for someone to see my weaknesses, but I’m starting to realize that showing him this side of myself, the vulnerable side, isn’t as scary as I’d thought. It feels good to be seen by someone. No, scratch that. It feels wonderful to be seen by Rory.
“You setting up this studio for me is the first real one I’ve had. My van was too small to keep anything set up permanently. So, this is the first time I’ve been able to have my art out in the open. To play and create without looking over my shoulder.”
“I’m so sorry that you couldn’t chase your dreams. I can’t imagine what that felt like. I don’t know what my life would be like without swimming. It’s been my foundation. The only thing I’ve known. My parents, although they can be heavy handed and try to control my personal life, they’ve still been mostly supportive throughout my career.”
I lean back and examine my work.
“Now it’s complete.”
Rory smiles and everything in my body turns to mush.
“If you’re trying to convince me not to get this tattoo then you played it all wrong.”
I lean forward, then lower my face to his chest, blowing a puff of air at the fresh paint. I watch as goosebumps spread across his torso. With my hips forward, and the way our bodies align, I feel every thick inch of him against my center.
Now, I’m shamelessly grinding my center over Rory’s hard cock because I can’t fucking help it when I’m near this man. My husband.
“Did I?” The innocence in my voice is in complete contrast to the sinful way I’m practically dry humping him.
“Yeah.” He grins, his eyes dropping to the space between our chests.
The front of my overalls hangs open between us and I know he can see straight down them. Especially when he licks his lips, then slowly lifts his eyes back to my face.
Easing his hands out from behind his head, his warm palms encircle my waist before slowly moving upward until they dip inside my overalls. His fingertips wrap to the back of my ribcage, while his thumb teases inside the front. The anticipation of his thumb grazing the underside of my breast is torture. And when he does, it’s a whisper of touch, nothing like the firm stroke I’m desperate for.
But then his hand is gone and I almost whimper at the loss.
“I like that you have no bra on. Does the material rub your nipples?”
I nod. “And if you could see the wet spot between my legs, you’d know I have no panties on, either.”
“Fuck, Summer.” He grips my hips, halting my movement before he lets out a pained groan. “I’m a minute away from coming in my shorts.”
“Please don’t. I want to make you come with my mouth.”
“Not helping.” He lets out a strained chuckle, but then he glances around and his lips curl up in a wicked grin.
“Do you have a new brush? One that hasn’t been used before?”
“Are you going to paint me?” I ask. I’m hoping now isn’t the time that he decides to explore his artistic side.
“No, I’m not an artist. I’m going to play with you, then make you come.” He grins wickedly. “Now hand me that paintbrush.”