Chapter 3 #2
There was a large couch positioned at the center of the living room.
It was covered in furs and blankets, all browns and reds.
Well-worn. The kind of lumpy that sucked you right in and never wanted to let you out again.
A coffee table hewn directly from what looked like a tree stump sat before it, a neat set of homemade wooden coasters stacked to one side.
A thick sepia-colored rug connected the furniture to the fireplace.
A rocky monstrosity that was roaring with heat, flames flickering and popping as they devoured the logs within it.
All in all, it was a nice space. Cleaner than expected, not a dirty sock or wayward item in sight. I wasn’t sure if that meant Maddox was naturally neat or if he’d tidied up for my visit. Either way, I could appreciate a man with attention to detail.
It was like every item in the space—including the wall decorations and the paintings on the mantel—had been handpicked to lend his home a rustic yet welcoming atmosphere.
“Cozy,” I told him as he stood to the side, letting me observe without protest. “I like your decor.”
Maddox surprised me by responding. “Yours is different.”
That was true. I tended to lean towards blues and greens myself. And while my apartment wasn’t magazine-style-modern, it was certainly less outdoorsy-rustic than his. Also messier. As much as I liked his tidiness, I couldn’t seem to find the will to be that way myself.
“Just because mine is different doesn’t mean I don’t like yours,” I replied, spinning around to snoop the same way he’d snooped around my home.
Upon further inspection, I noticed a little signature at the bottom of the painting on the mantel.
It was a giant white canvas, textured, the pine-tree-filled expanse of it done with a paint knife.
“Is that…” I trailed off as I noticed the tiny, little MF. MF. Maddox Fuller. No way. I hunted through the other paintings, finding a similar signature on every one. The coasters on the table also had the little insignia, as did the table itself, near the bottom.
“Did you make all this?” I asked, spinning around to meet Maddox’s gaze. He nodded. “Christ. You are talented,” I couldn’t help but gush. “I didn’t realize you did anything other than sculpt ice.”
Maddox leveled me with a single look, and my cheeks flushed. “Do you do this for a living, then? The sculpting, and the crafting—and the painting?” He nodded again. “Wow.”
This was seriously—“Incredible,” I gushed aloud. “I can’t get over your attention to detail. And to have mastered so many mediums? That’s just…wow, Maddox. My God. You are amazing.”
A rosy flush coated Maddox’s cheeks, made even more obvious by the pale color of his beard. He was embarrassed but obviously pleased. “It’s nothing.”
“It’s not nothing!” I was in his space in seconds, waving his own coasters at him like a madman. “I’ve never seen anything like this! The attention to detail is impeccable. I—” I stopped waving the coasters, realizing too late that I was being kind of intense. Not that Maddox minded.
In fact…he was…
Oh.
He was smiling.
This soft, shy little thing. Kinda hidden by his beard. And oh—oh.
If I hadn’t already had my bi-awakening, I certainly would be now.
I’d never seen anything prettier than Maddox Fuller’s smile. All soft and timid on a man so very large and gruff. Warm enough to melt the ice he was so good at manipulating. Warm enough to melt me—to send my heart skittering and dropping all the way down to my knees.
I couldn’t help but kiss him then.
It was only natural.
Coasters pressed to his chest, I used my free hand to yank him gently by the beard until our mouths could meet.
If our first kiss had been a wildfire, this was burning coal.
Coaxing and warm, hotter than before—but slower too.
Desperation turned to nothing but popping embers as his tongue slid deep the way I liked.
Maddox was delightfully observant.
He’d paid attention last time. A fact made evident as all it took was a few wet flicks for my thoughts to go fuzzy soft.
When we parted, Maddox was no longer smiling. At least, not with his mouth. His eyes, though—his eyes spoke volumes, hotter than the sun that’d scorched the frost to puddles earlier that day.
“I’ve always been a terrible artist,” I told him, our lips skimming together, simply sharing space. “As you can probably guess.”
“Not terrible,” Maddox rumbled, nose brushing mine. “Unpracticed.”
“Mmm.” I suppose he wasn’t wrong. I had been getting better through his strict tutelage. Maybe if he continued to teach me, one day I’d make something that didn’t look like an artistic interpretation of an aneurysm. “I like your optimism.”
Maddox huffed softly through his nose, amused. And then, before I could kiss him again, he laid a massive hand on my shoulder and gently urged me to turn around. “Dinner,” he reminded me, using that same hand to coax me toward the kitchen.
“Dinner,” I repeated, still dazed from our kiss.