4. Dax
DAX
At some point during the movie, I drifted off to sleep, and when I woke, I found myself curled around Picasso in a room I hadn’t seen before.
There were skylights to let in tons of natural light on one half of the space where a whole art studio we set up.
An easel stood with a canvas on it that had the beginnings of a painting splashed over its stark white color.
Next to it was a table full of paints, brushes, and other art supplies.
Where we were sleeping was up on a loft platform, allowing there to be more room for the studio portion of the space.
Picasso was still passed out on his stomach.
His was turned toward me with an arm flung across my waist, so I reached out and brushed the hair out of his face, noticing it had gotten pretty long on top, the sunlight showing the hints on red in the deep brown color.
The black and gray tattoos that ran down the length of the arm over my stomach stood out against the black shirt I was wearing.
Slowly, I let my finger trace the designs, taking in all the details of his artwork he had placed there.
Eventually, I was gonna need him to draw me something and have Wes tattoo it on me.
Picasso’s talent deserved to be forever on my body, always keeping a piece of him close.
When I reached his hand, I lifted it to my mouth and kissed the back of it.
“Someone’s rather adorable for so early in the morning,” Picasso mumbled as he pulled out of my hold and used his hand to tug me against his chest. “Did you sleep well, spitfire?”
“I must have because I didn’t wake up until just now,” I answered. “When my body decides it’s time to get up, I’m not quite so grumpy. It's when others do it that the bitchy side of Dax comes out.”
Picasso huffed. “Right, that’s the only thing that does it.”
“Hey now, don’t ruin the moment,” I scolded as I snuggled into him, tucking my head under his chin. “Do you think there will ever be a day that’s normal for us when this is all over?” I asked.
“Guess it depends on what you think is normal,” he countered. “Personally, I think normal is boring. Could I go for less danger to those around us, yeah, but I don’t think life with you around is ever going to be what others consider normal,” he added.
I took a deep breath and let it out again. “Damn, I knew you were going to stay something like that.”
“Do you really want things to be mundane, get a dog, settle down, and do the typical American dream?” Picasso asked, his voice full of curiosity.
Rolling onto my back, I looked at the sky with the puffy white clouds going by.
“Some days I wonder what that would be like… then I remembered my childhood up until college. None of that was great either. Lots of heartache, loss, and experiences I never want to go through again. Now I have far more control over my life, making my own rules to live by no matter what anyone else thinks.”
“Then why ask the question if you like your life?”
Turning my head, I looked in his hazel eyes and cupped his cheek.
“Because it’s not just my life anymore. It's our life together, the seven of us. What worked for me alone isn’t going to fly with you guys.
It's the reason you’re all so upset with me about yesterday.
Or at least that's what I think all of you were trying to pound into my skull all night.”
Picasso leaned his forehead against mine, not saying anything for a moment, simply letting us be.
Then his hand gripped the back of my head and pulled my lips to his.
Our kiss was languid, full of reassurance, and enjoying the moment of being close to each other.
I rolled and hitched my leg over his, just wanting to feel more of him.
His other hand grabbed my ass and pulled me flush, no space left between us.
He rolled us over so I was on my back, and he straddled me, looking into my eyes, searching. “You really mean that, don’t you… that we’re a family?”
A grin tugged at my lips. “Did those words finally make it past the morning wood?”
“Don’t,” he pleaded, shaking his head. “Don’t pull back and use humor to shield yourself right now. You were so vulnerable a moment ago. Each time you show me a glimpse of you before Two Tricks, it vanishes in a second. Why won’t you let me know that part of Dax too?”
“Having you, all of you in my life makes me more vulnerable than I’ve ever been since I lost my twin.
Devin was the other half of my soul, the part you still see a glimpse of.
When the darkness of the world stole him from me, they also robbed me of my innocence.
There are parts of you that remind me of him, and that’s when you see the old me appear, but just like my brother, there’s no getting back what's been taken from you.” I reached up and molded my hands around his face, letting the scruff of his beard he’d let fill in prickle my palms. “The fact you even catch a flash of that part of me should tell you how much you mean to me, Picasso.”
His lips captured mine once more, only this time it was more urgent, filled with the need.
The two of us had been feeling the pull toward each other, but each time we’d get close, one of us would do something to piss the other off.
We’ve shared intimate moments here and there, but something had been holding us back from taking the plunge.
For me, he reminded me of my twin, and I never wanted to face the feelings that came with that. Picasso was who my brother could have been and become with the right people behind him.
Now all I saw was one of the men who had fought their way into my heart, never letting me push them away.
Fighting to be with me for God knows what reason, but it worked, and I was finally ready to give in.
I would surrender to this man who saw into the depths of my soul, deep enough to find a sliver of that girl even I didn’t know remained.
Pulling back from his kiss, I met his gaze and spoke from the heart just like he pleaded I would. “I love you, Picasso. We might fight and disagree on the ways of the world, but you also challenge me to see more than what’s in front of me.”
“God, I fucking love your crazy stubborn ass too,” Picasso answered as his hands slipped up my ribs, bunching my shirt up until he yanked it over my head.
He looked down at my bare upper body and smiled as love and lust swirled in his eyes.
“Looks like I got you in my bed just how I wanted you. What did you say back at the ranch?” He paused to kiss up my stomach until he got to my breasts.
“Try,” he said, swirling his tongue around my nipple, holding my gaze, then moved to the other side.
“Try.” His lips latched onto the other nipple, still tender from Cognac’s attention to it last night, as his hand slipped into my boxers and flicked my clit.
“Try, again,” he finished as he slid a finger inside me.
The groan that burst from my mouth echoed off the ceiling, reverberating through the converted garage. My back arched, begging for him to touch me more.
“Just so you know what's coming, I plan to take my time with you. This isn’t going to be a quick, meaningless fuck, spitfire. I’m going to make love to you until your body never forgets the reward for letting down your walls,” Picasso murmured along my skin, making me shiver.
His words made my body burn with desire, knowing that he would make good on his words.
Each of my men pleasured my body in different ways.
Some wanted to rule it, torture it drawing out to the finish, while others knew I could take a pounding.
It would only make sense that my rose-colored-glasses-wearing Picasso would need to make my heart surrender to him as he explored every inch of my body.
Sitting back, he pulled off the boxers and tossed them over the railing to the garage floor.
Now I was stripped, body and soul, for the taking.
His hands started at my ankles, letting them skim up my legs, then back down again in a rhythmic motion kneading my muscles.
Closing my eyes, I let him do as he pleased, trusting he would do right by me.
Picasso’s hand moved up to my knees and pushed outward, spreading me open to him.
Then the touch of his lips as he kissed my inner thigh right to where my leg joined my torso had me moaning until he stopped.
A whimper escaped me when he started up the next leg, stopping once more at the crease.
This time, he brought his lips to the top of my mound, hands brushing along the sides of my pussy, but not touching where I wanted most. His kisses moved up my stomach, between my breasts to the base of my throat.
The feel of his palms skimming over my ribs until they grasped my breasts made me suck in a sharp breath.
“Tell me what you feel, spitfire,” Picasso instructed. “I want to know all the thoughts that are running through your head.”
I gulped and tried to find the words for what I was feeling.
“My body is hot. It feels like my skin is on fire, begging for you to touch me more. I can feel how wet I’m getting and the desperate need for you to touch my clit, to fuck me.
” I opened my eyes and looked at him, watching my lips.
“Goddammit, I want you inside me so badly it's hard not to take control.”
Picasso hummed in enjoyment as he kissed up my neck to my ear.
“You try to take over, you're not going to get any of those things. This is your punishment for making plans behind our back, treating your life with disregard, and making me worry more about you as I sat in that hospital than my own brother.”