Caroline #2
Slowly, I unwrap my legs from around his waist and lower to the floor. My legs feel like jelly as I try to stand and wobble a little. Killian smirks proudly as he grips my arm to steady me. I place a hand on my hip and arch an eyebrow.
“What’s that smirk for?”
“Feeling a bit weak in the knees?” Killian asks.
I roll my eyes, smiling at his cuteness. Never thought I’d refer to Killian as cute. Then again, I never thought I’d end up in this situation with him.
“You’re awfully confident,” I say.
“A man should always be confident in his abilities to make a woman come,” Killian says. “Especially when he’s been fantasizing about it for years.”
I startle at his words. “Years? Like, plural? More than one year?”
Killian runs his hand over my ponytail, tugging at the end slightly. “Do you want to see your painting or not?”
“Years, plural?” I ask again. Because my brain refuses to move past that bit of information.
“Painting or not?” He counters.
Unbelievable. Making a split second decision to drop this for now, I go to the bathroom to pee and clean up properly. When I come out, I see that Killian has sadly replaced his towel with a pair of jeans. He’s still shirtless, though, so I still have some eye candy.
Taking my hand, he leads me into his studio.
It’s incredibly bright, the sun streaming in from all the windows.
His scent lingers beneath the smell of paint.
He leads me to the canvas in the middle of the room and my breath catches in my throat as I look at the hyper realistic, painted version of me.
Killian has painted each individual strand of hair, every freckle.
The color of my eyes is more vibrant than in real life.
My parted lips are a soft, inviting pink.
The bright red robe draws your eyes down to a wide expanse of pale skin.
The flush on my cheeks is so realistic I feel like if I touch the painting, I’ll feel the warmth beneath my skin.
It’s me like I’ve never seen before. Sensual and confident. A woman who knows what she wants and isn’t afraid to take it.
I tilt my head as I look at it more closely.
“You don’t like it?” Killian asks. I almost think he’s nervous, which surprises me because he’s a famous artist. My opinion, even of my own painting, shouldn’t make him nervous.
“No, it’s not that,” I say. “I love it. I just…I’m not sure if I’m this.”
“This?”
I have a lot of conflicted feelings over this painting. “It’s nothing. Don’t worry about it.”
“As if I’m going to forget about it that easily.” Killian tugs me closer, putting a finger under my chin and tilting my head back so I’m looking at him. “If you don’t like the painting, we’ll burn it.”
“Don’t you dare,” I say. “I love this painting. I’m just not sure if I’m this confident, sensual person you’ve painted. Makes me feel like a fraud.”
Killian hums, looking between me and the painting. “Why do you think you’re a fraud? You walked into this room wearing that robe like you knew exactly what you were doing. You chose yourself when you realized no one else will. That doesn’t make you a fraud.”
I rest my head against his shoulder, turning to look at the painting. I know what he’s saying is right, but it’s hard to make myself believe that I’m this person. If I was confident, I wouldn’t have let my family tie me into knots and make me whoever they wanted me to be.
“I think it’s going to take me some time to accept that,” I say quietly.
“There’s a part of me which still feels guilty about leaving without telling anyone.
I know I’ve disappointed my parents even though I also know they never cared about my happiness.
Maybe if I was always this person, they would have just accepted me instead of making me into someone I’m not. ”
The last part is an afterthought, one that I don’t mean for him to hear. Killian places his hands on my shoulders and pushes me until I’m standing straight in front of him. His blue eyes bounce between mine, a frown marking a dip between his brows.
“Listen to me carefully, Caroline,” he says. “You’re not at fault for those people. You made yourself into exactly who they wanted you to be, and it wasn’t enough. It would never have been enough.”
Killian cups my face, his gaze softening.
“Wanting to be loved and accepted for who you are doesn’t make you weak, baby.
It just makes you human. There was a time when I wanted that, too.
Until I realized I don’t give a fuck what they or anyone has to say about my life choices.
You’re amazing, and perfect, and you have a smile which lights up the darkest nights.
If they don’t see that, that’s their loss. ”
I lean up onto my toes and press a soft kiss on his lips. “You give good orgasms and pep talks. Are you trying to become the perfect man?”
“Can’t become something you already are,” he says.
“Nobody loves a cocky man, Killer.”
With another kiss on his lips—because I can do that—I push him away and leave the studio. I need a shower. A long hour with my thoughts, away from Killian and his intoxicating scent.