Chapter 25 #2
He licks his lips, fighting a smile. “Today after training, I got off in the shower fantasizing about fucking you on a surfboard.” He leans back on his elbows, shaking his head as he stares up at the ceiling.
“I’m not even sure that’s plausible. I’m certain it wouldn’t even be possible out on the water, and yet that’s exactly what I envisioned until I lost it all over the shower door. ”
Heat floods my veins at his admission, and I cross my legs to ease the ache he’s created between my thighs. “I thought you didn’t see anything, or anyone, when you . . .”
His eyes flick to mine, smoldering blue flames. “That was before I knew you. Now, Willow? I know what your skin feels like, what your mouth tastes like, what you sound like when you’re coming. I don’t imagine I’ll see anything but you ever again.”
“Fuck,” I mutter. “Remind me again why we’re taking things so slow?”
This man is driving me mad.
He tosses me an amused smile. “Because we’ve both been through a lot, and I’m terrified of fucking it up.” Weston’s face softens as he continues. “I know the last time for you was . . . I don’t want to risk . . . I just want to make sure you’re ready too.”
I nod. Frustrating as it is, he’s right. We both need to be absolutely ready to take that step, because I don’t want to risk screwing us up either. “How about I tell you when I feel ready, and if it’s before you do, I’ll wait until you’re ready too?”
“That sounds like a plan, Trouble.” He grins, sitting up to take my face between his hands before pressing his lips to mine. “Now eat your food so we can get to painting those canvases.”
“Oh . . .” I laugh, bringing my sandwich to my mouth. “We’re not using those canvases, I have a much better use for all that paint.”
He tilts his head, confusion overtaking his features. I flash him a mischievous smile.
“So . . . do I get to paint your body too?”
“Yes, when I’m finished,” I chime. “Now roll over like I told you to.”
Weston exhales a resigned sigh, tossing his shirt to the side before lying face down on the blanket. We traded our food for art supplies, and I hold a palette in one hand and a brush in the other as I straddle his hips.
“I’ve always wanted to do this,” I say, swiping the brush through the blue dollop of paint on my palette.
I saw the trend—painting someone’s bare back—online years ago, but Parker refused to try it with me. When I asked Weston if he would take his shirt off and let me paint his skin instead of the canvas he brought, he didn’t even question it.
Inspired by Penelope’s presentation earlier, I use an angle brush to begin crafting small squares starting at Weston’s hip and working up toward his spine.
“I got some news today.” I smile, swirling blue and green to create a new shade.
“What’s that?” Wes asks sleepily.
“I was accepted to UC Irvine.” The giddiness in my tone apparent.
“I’m still waiting to hear from a few other universities, but Lou and Liv own a house in Costa Mesa, and they’ll be spending the second half of the year in Central America with Liv’s family, so they offered to let me stay there while they’re gone.
I can’t imagine how I’d choose any other school. ”
“Willow that’s—” He begins to turn over, but I grip his shoulder.
“Don’t fuck up my paint!”
He pauses, craning his neck toward me. “I’m trying to look you in the eye when I tell you how incredible I find you, dammit!” he mock-growls, before bursting into a chuckle. “Willow, that is amazing. I’m so happy for you.”
Pride ricochets off the walls of my chest. “Thank you.”
“I plan on heading back to Santa Monica after the summer, so I won’t be horribly far from you.” His body shakes with laughter, nearly causing me to smear the mosaic wave that’s forming over his spine. “I’ll finally be convinced to get my truck tuned up enough to make the drive back and forth.”
“First of all, didn’t you drive here?” I muse. “Second, why would you go back to Santa Monica? You’re not going to keep working with my dad?”
“Dunno,” he says, the sound muffled into the blanket. “The agreement was only for the summer, but I imagine as I compete more, I’ll need to be out on the real breaks. The cove is less ideal for competitive strategy.”
I hum in contemplation, but Wes goes on, “Liv said she has some connections closer to L.A. that she’s going to introduce to me to. And,” he continues, “I did drive here, but there is no promise my truck is going to start up again when we leave, so I may be hitching a ride home.”
“Okay,” I drawl. “But I control the music.”
“Of course, Wills. Whatever you want. It’s your night, baby.”
I want to be yours. Irrevocably.
“You know, nobody has ever done this for me before. Gone to such lengths to . . . What was the purpose of all this?” I wave my brush around, referencing the candlelit room, homemade meal, and idealistic art-date setup, though Weston can’t see the motion.
“To make you smile.”
I audibly swoon. “Nobody has ever gone to such lengths to make me smile.”
Weston turns over this time, lifting himself and rolling beneath me, bracing on his forearms before his skin can touch the ground—so I don’t disturb the paint. I rock backward with the movement of his hips, nearly tumbling off him before I curl an arm around his neck, drawing us together.
“I’m sorry you’ve never been seen the way you deserve, Willow.
I wish I had an explanation for it, but honestly, I’m completely dumbfounded.
All I can drum up is that most men are fucking stupid, perhaps myself included .
. .” He cups my jaw, raw fervor in his eyes.
“But I won’t be stupid about you. I see you, and I’ll never let you forget that. ”
A twinge of guilt pinches my nerves when I remember the secret I’m keeping from him.
Weston deserves to know about the decision I made earlier this summer, and eventually, the further and deeper we fall, I’m going to have to tell him.
It’s an effort to remind myself that I have the freedom to navigate this on my own timeline, that Weston promised he’d give me the space to heal, to re-open my wounds and share my past at the pace I need.
I remind myself that I promised him the same, that he’s still keeping things from me too.
That’s why we’re moving slowly. We’re creating a foundation, bearing our souls little-by-little, until nothing is left unsaid and untouched, and we’ll be stronger for it.
“Maybe the boys before were stupid, and there will always be things I wish never happened,” I whisper, hand grazing his jaw, thumb dancing over his bottom lip. “But I’m grateful that it brought me you.”
“It’s like you stole the thought directly from my head.”
His smile spreads beneath my skin, and he lifts his chin, forcing my hand to drop as he surges forward to replace my touch with my lips.