Total pages in book: 28
Estimated words: 26221 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 131(@200wpm)___ 105(@250wpm)___ 87(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 26221 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 131(@200wpm)___ 105(@250wpm)___ 87(@300wpm)
The feel of her teeth in my skin sends me hurtling over the edge. I roar her name, planting myself deep.
I come so fucking hard I can't breathe, I can't think.
I collapse on top of her, rolling us to the side so I don't crush her with my weight, both of us breathing hard. My lips brush her crown, her cheeks, her lips. My hands run across her arms, her sides, everywhere I can reach.
"Harlow. Jesus, Harlow," I breathe, my voice shaking.
"Wade," she whimpers, burying her face in my throat. "Don't let me go. Please, don't let me go."
"I'm not letting you go," I whisper against her ear. "Not ever, beautiful. Not fucking ever."
"Okay," she whispers back.
Chapter Nine
Harlow
"These are stunning," Eve says, rummaging through the paintings stacked against the wall on the back porch.
"Thanks," I murmur, tucking one leg underneath me in the chaise. "You can show any of them that you want." I pause, my eyes catching on the one of Wade. "Except that one. That one is private."
Eve glances at it and then at me, a knowing smile on her face. "Wade Jessup, huh?"
I shrug, pretty sure I'm blushing.
"He's a good man."
"Yeah, he is," I whisper. I think he's probably the best man I've ever known. I could tell myself that's just because my experience with men is limited to one short-term boyfriend when I was twenty-one, who couldn't handle how much time I spent caring for my mom, and a handful of dates, but it'd be a lie. There is no one else like Wade. I knew it the first time I saw him in the bar. He's proven it every damn day since.
He's spent the last three nights here, and they've been the best of my life. For once, I don't feel like I'm just surviving. I feel…happy. Like I'm living. It's not the sex—or at least not entirely the sex, though that's amazing. It's him. It's the way he makes me feel. It's the way he takes care of me. It's the way he looks at me, the way he makes me laugh, and the way the world doesn't feel so heavy when he's around.
Is it possible to fall in love with someone this fast? I don't know, but if that's not what's happening here, I'm not sure there is a word for it. Somehow, inexplicably, he's flipped my whole world upside down and made it so much better.
I don't want him to stop.
"What do you think?" Eve asks.
"What?"
"About the theme?"
I stare at her blankly.
She notices the look on my face and laughs softly. "You were zoned out," she says, perching on the chaise opposite mine. "Since you mostly do portraiture, and you capture the essence of your subjects very well, what do you think about doing a Personas theme?"
"That's fine with me."
"Perfect!" She grins at me. "When will you be free next month?"
"Uh… I work at a bar, so I'm not really sure. If you can give me a date, I'll ask Redd if I can have it off."
"Redd," she repeats, her brows furrowing. "You work at the Spur?"
I nod.
Her teeth sink into her bottom lip. "Can I ask why? I mean, it's not my business, and I promise I'm not trying to be rude. We all have our reasons for needing work, but…art is your world."
"My mom was diagnosed with an aggressive form of primary progressive multiple sclerosis when I was eleven," I murmur. "By the time I was fifteen, she couldn't walk at all."
"Oh, Harlow." Eve reaches out, squeezing my arm. "I'm so sorry."
"I took care of her, but eventually, she needed more care than I could provide on my own, so I had to take out loans to cover what insurance wouldn't. Since I signed for them, they're my responsibility. I've been trying to pay them back since she passed last year. Pneumonia." I shrug helplessly. "The Spur helps me do that."
"Would you…" Eve hesitates. "Do you enjoy it?"
"It's okay," I say, shrugging. "It helps pay the bills."
"But you aren't in love with it?"
"With serving drunk cowboys and trying to keep fights to a minimum all night?" I laugh. "No, can't say that I am."
"Would you be willing to consider a position at the gallery?"
I slow-blink at her, certain I heard her wrong. "What?"
"It's not glamorous," she hurries to say. "It's mostly teaching kids and couples to paint, and assisting me with shows, but I'm sure I can match what the Spur pays you, plus commission."
"I…seriously?" I gape at her, stunned. "You're offering me a job?"
"Um, yes!" she says, laughing. "You're incredibly talented. People would love to learn from you."
"I don't have any formal training. I could never afford school and my mom's care."
"Who cares about that?" She waves me off. "You don't need it when you paint as well as you do."